The Pilot In The Jungle (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
IMachine stitched rivets ravel on a treeWhose name he does not know. Left in the sky,He dangles from a silken ...
IMachine stitched rivets ravel on a treeWhose name he does not know. Left in the sky,He dangles from a silken ...
That so much change should come when thou dost go,Is mystery that I cannot ravel quite.The very house seems dark ...
Behold, even I, even I am Beatrice.(Div. Com. Purg. xxx.)OF Florence and of BeatriceServant and singer from of old,O'er Dante's ...
Down, you mongrel, Death!Back into your kennel!I have stolen breathIn a stalk of fennel!You shall scratch and you shall whineMany ...
'Twas in a wee bit but-an'-benShe bade when first I kent her,Doon the side roadie by the kirkWhaur Andra was ...
The senses loving Earth or well or illRavel yet more the riddle of our lot.The mind is in their trammels, ...
How shall I know, unless I goTo Cairo and Cathay,Whether or not this blessed spotIs blest in every way?Now it ...
The stone grows old.Eternity is not for stones.But I shall go down from this airy space, this swift whitepeace, this ...
Since I lost you I am silence-haunted, Sounds wave their little wings A moment, then in weariness settle On the ...
(Quevedo, Mire los muros de la partia mia and Buscas en Roma a Roma, (!)O peregrino!) I I saw the ...
Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, The Thoughtful Fisher casteth wide his Net; So I with begging Dish ...
That so much change should come when thou dost go, Is mystery that I cannot ravel quite. The very house ...
Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle ...
for all my country poses my cells belong to a town grass is symbol-deep in me but brick dips deeper ...
Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of ...
'Though to my feathers in the wet, I have stood here from break of day. I have not found a ...
I am weary of lying within the chase When the knights are meeting in market-place. Nay, go not thou to ...
Old man, you surface seldom. Then you come in with the tide's coming When seas wash cold, foam- Capped: white ...
Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez, The little white dog on the Victor label Listens long and hard as he is ...
How shall I know, unless I go To Cairo and Cathay, Whether or not this blessed spot Is blest in ...
Down, you mongrel, Death! Back into your kennel! I have stolen breath In a stalk of fennel! You shall scratch ...
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