Poems about blind
Of Waking Life, To Him Whose Heart Must
of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
was love, the blind, near sober duty known?
i have been happy, tho' in a dream,
so like its own above that, to this hour,
Just How He Suffered Would Be Dear
that as myself could pity him
the blind esteem it be
to know just how he suffered would be dear
the neighbors do not yet suspect!
forgive me, if the grave come slow
forget it lord of them
i wooed it too
none will
and just revere
my noon had come to dine
I Read The Way,
we wondered at our blindness
a thought went up my mind to-day
sounds long, until i read the place
it seemed the common way,
but this, might be my brief term
and a hoarse "get out of the way, i say,"
"would'st climb," i said?
who till they died, did not alive become
the thought to be alive
is enough for me
now, do you doubt that your bird was true?
i can't tell you but you feel it
i should not dare to leave my friend,
it kept me from a thief, i think,
Thine Eyes Are Sadly Blinded, But Yet Thou
that our ignoble eyes
thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
this dost thou doubt sweet
alone if those "veiled faces" be
to that repealless thing
were infinite to me
It Could See
or every man be blind
to him, it would be death
would you untie it, were you me
they're here, though; not a creature failed,
the lady cross, or not?
we ask that we may be,
they cannot put away
as far as it could see
it must mean that i'm sure
that there be standing here
Death We Do Not Sickness Then
we wondered at our blindness
and you got sleepy and begged to be ended
it was not sickness then
love is like life merely longer
and tell you all your dreams were true
you taught me waiting with myself
won't you wish you'd smiled just
death we do not know
you could not
should you but fail at sea
Nor Does The Blind Esteem It Must Die
the blind esteem it be
to have a god so strong as that
the man who would possess
nor does the night forget
one need not be a house
when certain it must die
To Put Away
to justify despair,
did leap, full flanked, upon the host
one need not be a chamber to be haunted,
a passage back or two to make
final fast above
make the blind leap
is left to put away
to stop and tell them where it is
That One, To Be Standing Here
forgive them even as myself
i shall know why when time is over
that there be standing here
that i could ascertain
we will not drop the dirk
let's play those never come!
i go to elsewhere go no more
some touch it, and some kiss it
what, when the rose is ripe
that is covered too
and mockery was still
the blind esteem it be
that one, to be quite sure
that you never do it
Through The Open Fire,
blindly striking at my knee and missed,
where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
begin in smudge with ropy smoke and know
through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
bent over the open fire,
and by the brook our woods were there,
and the slant spirits trooping by
To The Ancient Lands Where It Than Just
but finding nothing, sullenly withdrew,
soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
blind creature; and a while he didn't see,
when he did what he did and burned his house down,
for him to conquer, he learned all there was
he's trying to lift, straining to lift himself,"
to rest from his besetting fears,
give a heart to the hopeless fight,
and there's more to it than just window-views
to the ancient lands where it left the shells
then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung,
That Water Never Did To Flames Without Twice
and then the watcher at his pulse took fright,
blindly striking at my knee and missed,
upon my way to sleep before it fell,
i like to think some boy's been swinging them,
going the other way and they not seen it,
but, warren, please remember how it is,
i brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
but no, not yet, a snort to bid them wait,
to flames without twice thinking, where it verges
that water never did to land before,
to carry again to you,
what matter if we go clear to the west,
i think they would believe the lie,
There He Didn't See,
but a leaf that lingered brown,
if design govern in a thing so small,
but were always a rose,
blind creature; and a while he didn't see,
the bridegroom wished he knew,
there he had built his stolen shack,
though doubtful whether he stayed to see,
to seek the brook if still it ran;
to the ancient lands where it left the shells
and thought of doing something to the shore
and brush the mow with the summer load,
up to the brim, and even above the brim,
they turn their back on the land,