Stars and the Dead
Stars and the dead
Are faithful;
These, you may set your clock by;
Promise to meet at such-and-such a time,
And such a place —
The living can keep face
With no such constancy.
Look on this thing
With disenchanted eyes —
Do not expect the living
In such wise!
The Old Lady and the Cat!
At the very top storey the old lady sat
Telling her love to a smoky grey cat.
In a high, dark, old house like a tenement place.
There were twinkles of merriment touching her face.
With a few bits of bread for the pigeons to eat
She sat in her eyrie above the dark street;
And the language she spoke to the cat and the birds
Was half made of poetry, half made of words.
She was something remembered from tales you'd been told
Of witchcraft and crones when you weren't very old.
From beneath those high eaves in the middle of town
A page from your childhood looked piquantly down!
This Green
This is the newest green
As if an unseen Leprechaun
Rushing across the lawn
Had tipped his hand!
Every tree
Is filigree.
There is a brush of colour
In the hedges.
The Scillas and the tulip spears
Conspire against you.
Tenderness runs like bright fire
Along the evening.
Turn quickly, if this thing can get you down…
This green… this little love, that wraps the town!