When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
Written January 1718 in the Chiosk at Pera, overlooking Constantinople
Give me Great God (said I) a Little Farm
in Summer shady, & in Winter warm
where a cool spring gives birth to a clear brook
by Nature slideing down a mossy Rock
Not artfully in Leaden Pipes convey'd
Or greatly falling in a forc'd Cascade
Pure & unsully'd winding throu' ye Shade.
All bounteous Heaven has added to my Praier
a softer Climate and a purer Air.
They paddle with staccato feet
In powder-pools of sunlight,
Small blue busybodies
Strutting like fat gentlemen
With hands clasped
Under their swallowtail coats;
And, as they stump about,
Their heads like tiny hammers
Tap at imaginary nails
In non-existent walls.
IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BOOTH AND CON MARKIEWICZ
THE light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
redbird flight of noon
lavish burgundy on gold
off to anywhere
skies of September
are home to wandering ones
seas of flowers wave
restless late summer
getting ready for a fall
Pretty polka dots
Grace red butterflies in air,
ladybugs on leaves,
rare parakeets and blossoms
and frogs, mushrooms and cheetahs.
Tiger lily moon
dressed up in dotted silver,
weary of the gold!
Spotted horses and fishes,
Dancing in the dark
amidst lilac fragrances
No moon can be seen
deep in shadowy summer
at the edge of woods so green
so thrilling and romantic
Night birds are warbling
as warm breezes are blowing
In the wilderness of emerald summer, rose blossoms brightness,
Like the moon's latterly visits, in pearly, glimmering contriteness.
Her scent lingers in the hearts and minds, of those who knew her,
Through the precious and golden days, gone by in a piquant blur.
Grace, beauty, and cool elegance, in a thousand delicate shades,
Swirling and dancing in silent places, that honeyed sun pervades.
Unforgettably luscious and languid, visitor to many dreamy hours,
Pursuing on a winding path to forever, with odd, hypnotic powers!
Colors in the trees
They're decked out for summer fest
in raspberry days
At last the get together
Seasons come but once a year
Here comes red robin
for the sunshine singalong
as jay sings the blues
amidst dark berries galore