Poems about strike
Then The Bride, And Prance Again,
conviction might, of me
contented, known, before
will peep, and prance again,
the bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
and so the night became,
and then i started too,
and i had put away
the heart i carried in my own
i'll seek his royal feet
and then it's time to strike my tent
so i let him lead me home,
Some Things That Was The Wind
when the redemption strikes her bells
whether it was the wind
but since we got a bomb
what come of him that day
some things that stay there be
but dying is a different way
the second to its friend
till love that was and love too best to be
and there, the matter ends
down which, on either hand
except that it is gone
Then It Would Split His Heart, To
they summoned us to die
to elude me so!
nor to dream he and me
for it would split his heart, to know it
and then it's time to strike my tent
it's all i have to bring today
away from home are some and i
should have the face to die,
and bid the world goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
and then abroad the world he go
they leave us with the infinite,
in dreams i see them rise,
yet not too far to come at call
I Heard It Cannot See
that knows it cannot see
that were not, we are sure
could not decide between
her needle would not go
and then it's time to strike my tent
i would as soon attempt to warm
i have a bird in spring
i heard it hit the ground
i know the whole obscures the part
tell which it's dull to guess
but make no syllable like death
the soul cannot be rid
or sometimes at your side to run
only a bee will miss it
How Well I Hear Her Say
the news would strike me dead
for fear i hear her say
of only taste we cared to please
had not a further use
for i was once a child
how well i knew the light before
i told him best must pass
to know just how he suffered would be dear
be sure you're sure you know
You Doubt That Your Bird Was True?
why make it doubt it hurts it so
it's thoughts and just one heart
now, do you doubt that your bird was true?
you'll know sir when the savior's face
and then it's time to strike my tent
he'll take it scan it step aside
is it dead find it
and if it had not been so far
but were no one
if we were true
but, had you looked in
death is but one and comes but once
you would not know it from the drifts
Were But Mine The Right Between
need you unto him
or else forgive not me
contenteth me
oh poor and far
it's thoughts and just two heart
too narrow is the right between
as we went out and in
and then it's time to strike my tent
were but mine the charter of the least fly
out of sound out of sight
When Spades Had For Less
would'st thou seek so just say
when frightened home to thee i run
and push it with my fingers next
on the heads that started with us
and then it's time to strike my tent
we talk in careless and it toss
but once aslant
but when spades had done
were had for less
our souls saw just as well
The While
patience of itself
the lightning playeth all the while
and then it's time to strike my tent
and what a privilege to be
nor does the night forget
Longer Trust
the reason deeper lies,
i pondered how the bliss would look
i knew not but the next
i shall meet with conviction i somewhere met
i stole them from a bee
god gave a loaf to every bird
some say it is "the spheres" at play!
and now the chance had come
when it was dark enough to do
and then it's time to strike my tent
good night! which put the candle out?
because it's sunday all the time
by my long bright and longer trust
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,
She Had To Ask, "what Was Intended So,
the scent of apples, i am drowsing off,
soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
so they made the place comfortable with straw,
and he likes having thought of it so well
and ever it was intended so,
how was it with him for a second trial,
that a man for god should strike a blow,
he thinks young wilson a likely lad, though daft
she had to ask, "what was it, dear?"
though doubtful whether he stayed to see,
but the thing of it is, i need to be kept,
so your mistake was ours, haven�t you heard, though,
it is because like men we look too near,
But In No Hush They String It, They
but in no hush they string it, they go past
but no, not yet, a snort to bid them wait,
spares to strike for the common good,
were not too much to pay for birth,
to get so we had no one left to live with,
what form my dreaming was about to take,
and all their logic would fill my head,
and all the rest for them permissible ease,
She Leaves Them Bitten When She Has To
he bore a green-white stick in his hand,
and a voice that has sounded in my room
and warn them away with a stick for a gun,
that a man for god should strike a blow,
a farm, a countryside, or if he can,
if design govern in a thing so small,
if we who sight along it round the world,
you needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time,"
she leaves them bitten when she has to fly,
and that was why it whispered and did not speak,
it is because like men we look too near,
To White Rest, And A Last Sounding Word
and spread her apron to it, she put out her hand
and still the bird revisited her young,
and caught me splitting wood in the yard,
the life from spilling, then the boy saw all
across the sill from the outer gloom,
to white rest, and a place of rest
one on a side, it comes to little more,
then there were three there, making a dim row,
there came a gust, you used to think the trees
spares to strike for the common good,
what brought the kindred spider to that height?
here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
almost like a call to come in
and a last sounding word to say,
he hates to see a boy the fool of books,
A Moment Sought In Air His Flower Of
spares to strike for the common good,
to have inside the house with doors unlocked,
and thing next most diffuse to cloud,
but turns to pink between the teeth,
to lean against and hear in the dark,
to white rest, and a place of rest
in the shape of a man,
a moment sought in air his flower of rest,
and brush the mow with the summer load,
and started down the gully,
portent in little, assorted death and blight
when pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
the trees that have it in their pent-up buds
so close the windows and not hear the wind,
That A Box,
but nothing so like beating on a box,
and fit the earth like a leather glove,
love and a question
that a man for god should strike a blow,
isn't given a moment's arrest-
with doctoring, but it's not medicine
A Year
he'd tear to pieces, even a bed to lie on,
held it a moment where it was, to calm me,
a brook to none but who remember long,
not to strike a blow for god
to this lean feeding save once a year
to think of the right thing to say too late,
grim giving to do over for them both,
and knock to the echoes as beggars for roses,
Striking, Break Their Own;
had wound strings round and round it like a bundle,
and reaching up with a little knife,
throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
and slept, the log that shifted with a jolt
and every fleck of russet showing clear,
a sort of catch-all full of attic clutter,
of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
the curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
assorted characters of death and blight
of carrying his pillow in his teeth;
upon the full moon's side of the first haycock
for heaven and the future's sakes,
her fingers moved the latch for all reply,
spares to strike for the common good,