Poems about point
To Perish In Her Recompense
they ask but our delight
to our familiar eyes
then my face take her recompense
to perish in her hand!
to whom this would have pointed me
i shouldn't like to come
if i couldn't thank you,
that they remember me;
when i could take it in my hand
it could not hold a sigh
i dared not enter, lest a face
and so and so had been to me,
so notelessly are made!
Still My Heart Would Wish It Compete
his preappointed pain
through it compete with death
no summer could for them
ducal at last stand up by thee
winter, were lie to me
and much not understood
neither could be heard
i had the glory that will do
my heart would wish it broke before
and still my heart my eye outweighs
Yet Remains To See
his own would fall so more
i have so much to do
will suit me just as well
some things that stay there be
it yet remains to see
yet know not what was done to me
to whom this would have pointed me
that they remember me;
i think just how my shape will rise
i'm that or nought
i found the phrase to every thought
it near as i can guess
i do not need a light
then will i not repine,
that just now dangled still,
Hope It Would Be Too Surrendered
the bee is not afraid of me,
that i could fear a door,
how goblin it would be
to whom this would have pointed me
tell him just how the fingers hurried
hope it was that kept me warm
if the life be too surrendered
to be alive is power
when one turned smiling to the land
it only moved as do the suns
some one the sum could tell
The Years
i can wade grief
then i turn soldier too,
oh, wouldn't you?
how could i of him?
to whom this would have pointed me
who till they died, did not alive become
such bliss had i for all the years
as we it were that perished
besides it isn't even it slants
the thing belonged to us
who'd be the fool to stay?
Say, Foot, Decide The Light, Yet Over,
or i should fear to pause
to eyes that closing go
say, foot, decide the point
over the light, yet over,
In The Meal-sack Didn't Catch Then,
i made the bed up for him there to-night,
that the man with the meal-sack didn't catch then,
had wound strings round and round it like a bundle,
there was never a sound beside the wood but one,
but still lies pointed as it plowed the dust,
i have outwalked the furthest city light,
and over the walls i have wended;
i have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
with one stroke of your finger in the middle,
in hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
for its suggestion of what dreams!
that fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind,
holding the curve of one position,
So, But That He Knows In Singing Not
we don't cut off from coming to church suppers,
all this to prove we cared, why is there then
pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it,
and taken with it all the hyla breed
they bring the telephone and telegraph,
to have inside the house with doors unlocked,
to ease away they have it, with a laugh,
the sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
as you came up the hill, we met, but all
so, but the hand was gone already,
but that he knows in singing not to sing,
with doctoring, but it's not medicine
The Bird Would Have The Rabbit Out Of
when this one fell
but with one step backward taken
but still lies pointed as it plowed the dust,
when, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
half closes the garden path,
but the flower leaned aside
but they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
and yet too ready to believe the most,
they were welcome to their belief,
as the road winds would bring him to his door,
as well to-night as any night,
the bird would cease and be as other birds
nor yet in any spur it may be to ambition,
But Still Lies Pointed As I Walked Once
as i walked once round it in possession,
but still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust,
that slowly dawned behind the trees,
a tree beside the wall stands bare,
the he shut down the trap door with a ring in it
the wood was grey and the bark warping off it
then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung,
then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung,
With Only Strength Of Dauntless Wings,
the more of right the more he loves;
and the nature of time and space,
for thought has a pair of dauntless wings,
with only strength of the fighting arm
the fen had every kind of bloom,
that trouble the sleep of lumber folk,
with one stroke of your finger in the middle,
and work was little in the house,
the barn opposed across the way,
that struck the earth,
pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust,
For Flowers
that day she put our heads together,
he says that leaves are old and that for flowers
for him to conquer, he learned all there was
he would put him onto the case,
so long as he would leave enough unsaid,
but still lies pointed as it plowed the dust,
erect, but not without its waves, as when
were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
He Calls On Stone,
they make us cringe for metal-point on stone,
on through the watching for that early birth
to drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
and tripped the body, shot the spirit on
years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
and the nature of time and space,
the spoils of the dead,
then the rain stopped and the blowing,
kicking his way down through the air to the ground,
he calls on change through the violence of the elements,
with the glittering things,
and the awe passes wonder then,
and the world had found new terms of worth,
more blameless in the sense of being less
I Saw Does Still Abide,
i felt my standpoint shaken
i'd like to get away from earth awhile
from up there always? for i want to know,"
in winter he comes back to us, i'm done,"
seek not in me the bit i capital,
i would not come in,
and tell you that i saw does still abide,
i almost think if i could do like you,
if i can change it, oh, i won't, i won't!"
i don't know where it's likely to go better,
i asked him well beforehand, `don't you get one!'
off he goes always when i need him most,
but one thing about it, it mustn't get warm,
He Had In Mind To Say To Lose
on a white heal-all, holding up a moth
my long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
somehow the change wore out like a prescription,
he says they two will make a team for work,
he had in mind to say to a bad neighbour
to flames without twice thinking, where it verges
only to lose it when he pirouettes,
he wouldn't let me put him on the lounge,
She,
so small the window frames the whole of it,
but still lies pointed as it plowed the dust,
but still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust,
as where some flower lay withering on the ground,
the moon, the little silver cloud, and she,
and the sun shrunken yellow in smoke,
before the last went, heavy with dew,
that tinged the atmosphere,
perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
had it been the will of the wind, was left
that trouble the sleep of lumber folk,
turn the poet out of door,
as where some flower lay withering on the ground,
I'll Only Stop To See If Still Lies
i'll only stop to rake the leaves away
and long to know if still i held them dear,
and one thing more that was not then to say,
going the other way and they not seen it,
to see if the birds lived the first night through,
it blow but that you saw the trees in motion,
but still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust,