(an excerpt from Absalom and Achitophel)

In pious times, e'r Priest-craft did begin,

Before Polygamy was made a sin;

When man, on many, multiply'd his kind,

E'r one to one was, cursedly, confind:

When Nature prompted, and no law deny'd

Promiscuous use of Concubine and Bride;

Then, Israel's monarch, after Heaven's own heart,

His vigorous warmth did, variously, impart

To Wives and Slaves; And, wide as his Command,

Scatter'd his Maker's Image through the Land.

Michal, of Royal blood, the Crown did wear,

A Soyl ungratefull to the Tiller's care;

Not so the rest; for several Mothers bore

To Godlike David, several Sons before.

But since like slaves his bed they did ascend,

No True Succession could their seed attend.

Of all this Numerous Progeny was none

So Beautifull, so brave as Absalon:

Whether, inspir'd by some diviner Lust,

His father got him with a greater Gust;

Or that his Conscious destiny made way

By manly beauty to Imperiall sway.

Early in Foreign fields he won Renown,

With Kings and States ally'd to Israel's Crown

In Peace the thoughts of War he could remove,

And seem'd as he were only born for love.

What e'er he did was done with so much ease,

In him alone, 'twas Natural to please.

His motions all accompanied with grace;

And Paradise was open'd in his face.

With secret Joy, indulgent David view'd

His Youthfull Image in his Son renew'd:

To all his wishes Nothing he deny'd,

And made the Charming Annabel his Bride.

What faults he had (for who from faults is free?)

His Father could not, or he would not see.

Some warm excesses, which the Law forbore,

Were constru'd Youth that purg'd by boyling o'r:

And Amnon's Murther, by a specious Name,

Was call'd a Just Revenge for injur'd Fame.

Thus Prais'd, and Lov'd, the Noble Youth remain'd,

While David, undisturb'd, in Sion raign'd.

(...)

The sick rose

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. 

To  the autumnal moon

Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil;
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud
Behind the gather’d blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o’er the awaken’d sky.

Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-wing’d Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o’er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.

To Night.

I

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
            Spirit of the Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
            Swift be thy flight!

                       II
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
            Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
            Come, long-sought!

                       III
When I arose and saw the dawn,
            I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
            I sighed for thee.

                       IV
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
            Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—And I replied,
            No, not thee!

                       V
Death will come when thou art dead,
            Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
            Come soon, soon!

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be 

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be 
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, 
Before high piled books, in charact’ry, 
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain; 
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, 
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, 
And think that I may never live to trace 
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; 
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! 
That I shall never look upon thee more, 
Never have relish in the faery power 
Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore 
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 

The eagle

"Nature" is what we see

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity. 

The road not taken

Irony

An arid daylight shines along the beach
Dried to a grey monotony of tone,
And stranded jelly-fish melt soft upon
The sun-baked pebbles, far beyond their reach
Sparkles a wet, reviving sea. Here bleach
The skeletons of fishes, every bone
Polished and stark, like traceries of stone,
The joints and knuckles hardened each to each.
And they are dead while waiting for the sea,
The moon-pursuing sea, to come again.
Their hearts are blown away on the hot breeze.
Only the shells and stones can wait to be
Washed bright. For living things, who suffer pain,
May not endure till time can bring them ease.

Still I rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Anna who was mad 

Anna who was mad, 
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I some sort of infection? 
Did I make you go insane? 
Did I make the sounds go sour? 
Did I tell you to climb out the window? 
Forgive. Forgive.
Say not I did.
Say not.
Say.

Speak Mary-words into our pillow.
Take me the gangling twelve-year-old
into your sunken lap.
Whisper like a buttercup.
Eat me. Eat me up like cream pudding.
Take me in.
Take me.
Take.

Give me a report on the condition of my soul.
Give me a complete statement of my actions.
Hand me a jack-in-the-pulpit and let me listen in.
Put me in the stirrups and bring a tour group through.
Number my sins on the grocery list and let me buy.
Did I make you go insane? 
Did I turn up your earphone and let a siren drive through? 
Did I open the door for the mustached psychiatrist
who dragged you out like a gold cart? 
Did I make you go insane? 
From the grave write me, Anna! 
You are nothing but ashes but nevertheless
pick up the Parker Pen I gave you.
Write me.
Write. 

Don't look

Don't look.
The world's about to break.

Don't look.
The world's about to chuck out all its light
and stuff us in the chokepit of its dark,
That black and fat suffocated place
Where we will kill or die or dance or weep
Or scream of whine or squeak like mice
To renegotiate our starting price

Barren woman

Empty, I echo to the least footfall,

Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas.

In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself,

Nun-hearted and blind to the world. Marble lilies

Exhale their pallor like scent.

I imagine myself with a great public,

Mother of a white Nike and several bald-eyed Apollos.

Instead, the dead injure me attentions, and nothing can happen.

Blank-faced and mum as a nurse.