poetry

the archivist March 27, 2022

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls; […]

the archivist December 30, 2021

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 15 Alfred, Lord Tennyson To-night the winds begin to rise          And roar from yonder dropping day:          The last red leaf is whirl’d away, The rooks are blown about the skies; The forest crack’d, the waters curl’d,          The cattle huddled on the lea;          And wildly dash’d on tower and […]

the archivist December 21, 2021

Invocation To Misery Percy Bysshe Shelley 1. Come, be happy!—sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery: Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation—deified! 2. Come, be happy!—sit near me: Sad as I may seem to thee, I am happier far than thou, Lady, whose imperial brow Is endiademed with woe. 3. Misery! we […]

the archivist November 15, 2021

Well, it’s become harder to track the search terms that people use to find one’s blog, but a few do come in. I had originally wanted this to be a monthly feature, but it seems that it takes about a year to accrue enough data. Here are the most popular searches from the past 365 […]

the archivist November 14, 2021

I Shall Not Care Sara Teasdale When I am dead, and over me bright April Shakes out her rain drenched hair, Tho’ you should lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care. For I shall have peace. As leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough. And I shall be more silent and […]

the archivist October 1, 2021

October Jacob Polley Although a tide turns in the trees        the moon doesn’t turn the leaves, though chimneys smoke and blue concedes        to bluer home-time dark. Though restless leaves submerge the park        in yellow shallows, ankle-deep, and through each tree the moon shows, halved        or quartered or complete, the moon’s no […]

the archivist August 16, 2021

Sea Surface Full Of Clouds Wallace Stevens I In that November off Tehuantepec, The slopping of the sea grew still one night And in the morning summer hued the deck And made one think of rosy chocolate And gilt umbrellas. Paradisal green Gave suavity to the perplexed machine Of ocean, which like limpid water lay. […]

the archivist August 9, 2021

The Sky is Low, the Clouds are Mean Emily Dickinson The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean. A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut Debates if it will go — A Narrow Wind complains all Day How some one treated him Nature, like Us, is sometimes caught Without her Diadem […]

the archivist August 2, 2021

Surprised by Joy William Wordsworth Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind— But how could I forget thee?—Through what power, Even for the least division […]

the archivist July 15, 2021

The Dictionary Charles Simic Maybe there is a word in it somewhere to describe the world this morning, a word for the way the early light takes delight in chasing the darkness out of store windows and doorways. Another word for the way it lingers over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses someone let drop on […]