Poems about affair
Grandfather Of Me?
but doom me not to forfeit thee
i should not fear the foe then
and why not this if they?
what will become of me?
what care the dead for day?
grandfather of the days is he
the sun has got as far
but he who has achieved the top
that is not steel's affair
that certain as it comes
provided it believed
the will it is that situates
In The Fair Schoolroom Of The Suspense
the twilight stood as strangers do
just as the dusk was brown
the morning's amber road
in the fair schoolroom of the sky
and the affairs of june
in face of the suspense
but state with creeping blood
as pride were all it could
but what that place could be
Since A Dying Eye
so when she comes this way,
then, darling, it will close
i sat me down to sigh,
i've seen a dying eye
i have a bird in spring
since a rack couldn't coax a syllable now,
that other kind was pain
these are time's affair
discern d still withholden
For The Root,
next to nothing for use,
used these unscrupulously to bring me
to seek the brook if still it ran;
and bring it to market when you please
spares to strike for the common good,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
if that was your idea, against the breeze,
and having perhaps the better claim,
behind light words that tease and flout,
and bought the telescope with what it came to,
for you to doubt the likelihood,
she scorns a pasture withering to the root,
The Wood That Reposes,
the weapon should be
the sparks made no attempt to be the moon,
and question what of the night to be,
without the gift of sight,
so small the window frames the whole of it,
there in the hush of the wood that reposes,
'tis of the essence of life here,
without the birds, without the breeze,
the desolate, deserted trees,
bearing it crushed and mystified,
but still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
with one whose thought i had not hoped to reach,
she seemed to think that two thus they were safe,
had worn them really about the same,
Before The Angle Of Something Interposed Between Their
a weapon in our human fight,' he said,
for the hard work, he chafed its long white body
he calls on change through the violence of the elements,
of something interposed between their sight
and whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
before the coming of the snow,
and her in the angle of house and barn
then sit down in the middle of them all,
out through the fields and the woods
and knock to the echoes as beggars for roses,
next to nothing for use,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
Making The Last Went, Heavy With Dew,
the measure of the little while
i dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
the total sky almost without defect,
and showed him, through a manhole in the floor,
making the gravel leap and leap in air,
before the last went, heavy with dew,
they might find fuel there, in withered brake,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
even the bravest that are slain
Was Setting Out, Up Track And Hear His
was setting out, up track and down, not plants
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
the moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
and hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
to keep his bargain of the morning with me
and having scared the cellar under him
As It Flow,
tree at my window, window tree,
bath my window, make it flow,
and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain,
my dears, my dears, you thought that�we all thought it,
leastways for me and then they'll be convinced,
if that was your idea, against the breeze,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
and her face changed from terrified to dull,
a quiet light, and then not even that,
"well, those days trouble silas like a dream,
like a pistil after the petals go,
as it ran light, or had to bear a load,
That Ought To Carry Again To Their Separation,
with smell of burning on every plume,
than the merest aimless breath of air,
wide fields of asphodel fore'er,
as the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
like pearls, and now a silver blade,
for a friendly visit,
and a white shimmering concourse rolls
man acts more like the poor bear in a cage,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
that ought to be worth something, and may yet,
that now it means to stay,
and nothing to look forward to with hope,
to carry again to you,
but yield who will to their separation,
let�s not care what we do with it to-night,
The Sword
to seek the brook if still it ran;
and to know definitely what he thinks about the soul;
and there his courage could not endure
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
the victory for what it lost and gained,
and living people, and things they understand,
and where they sought without the sword
and the strange birds say,
It Blow But That You Saw The Sword
was the poorhouse, and those who could afford,
and where they sought without the sword
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
and fighting over it perished fain,
it blow but that you saw the trees in motion,
Now The Inside Of His House,
its light poured softly in her lap, she saw
to see for once the inside of his house,
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs,
to find himself in one, well, all we said was
the way he mixed that in with other things,
one foot went down, the view was all in lines
now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
far off the homes of men, and farther still,
she sighed and passed unscared along the wall,
the well was dry beside the door,