Poems about vision
Make Me
perceives when you are gone,
that they have done expecting me
the one who could repeat the summer day
make me a picture of the sun
the smallest one upon your face
the capsule of the mind
a vision on the retina
To Eat Or Sleep
despair
then fit our vision to the dark
to show the sun the way
on the heads that started with us
without a thing to do
i did not dare to eat or sleep
for doubt, that i should know the sound
Our Portion In The Color Of The World
to the souls that snow
our portion in the fashion
some vision of the world cashmere
the color of the grave is white
just a sea with a stem
a darker ribbon for a day
My Best Was Gone To Wait In Any
how sick to wait in any place but thine
neither if he visit other
and then it doesn't stay
and yet existence some way back
my best was gone to sleep
just to be poor for barefoot vision
to him of adequate desire
to keep the other still
but just the names, of gems
before the world be green
the day that was before
was that she might
Promise This When Frightened Home To Be Dear
unable they that love to die
and the earth they tell me
when frightened home to thee i run
just to be poor for barefoot vision
to know just how he suffered would be dear
neither place need i present him
so he let me lead him in
what word had they for me?
for they've never gone
promise this when you be dying
and wishes had he any
and how if he be dead
were all that i could see
Just To Feel
then to him who bear
how they will tell the story
just to be poor for barefoot vision
the grass so little has to do
but tell him that it ceased to feel
it cannot be my spirit
but could not make them fit,
would put itself abroad
his own would fall so more
how well i knew the light before
i shall know why when time is over
i never thought to see
That We But Recollect The Denied
perceived by the denied
disdained them, from the sky
but teach the footman from vevay
offend the vision and it flee
as yet my heart be dry
it's thoughts and just one heart
it dropped so low in my regard
but just a crumb to me
alike to him one
an honor, thought can turn her to
that we but recollect the one
Now The World Burned Black
as where some flower lay withering on the ground,
and that was what the boughs were full of soon,
now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
was gum, the gum of the mountain spruce,
when, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
far off the homes of men, and farther still,
and that was what the boughs were full of soon,
the spoils of the dead,
visions of half the world burned black
and her in the angle of house and barn