"misericorde" poems
(1674.)
I have desired, and I have been desired;
But now the days are over of desire,
Now dust and dying embers mock my fire;
Where is the hire for which my life was hired?
Oh vanity of vanities, desire!
Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure,
Longing and love, a disenkindled fire,
And memory a bottomless gulf of mire,
And love a fount of tears outrunning measure;
Oh vanity of vanities, desire!
Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles,
Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire,
The dross of life, of love, of spent desire;
Alas, my rose of life gone all to prickles,--
Oh vanity of vanities, desire!
Oh vanity of vanities, desire;
Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher,
Turning my garden plot to barren mire;
Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire,
Oh vanity of vanities, desire!
14.3k
Your ideals side by side with the rhythm of your stride,
misericorde,
what have I stumbled across.
In the middle of the road,
you struck a pose
so vividly natural,
it's as if the outline of your being
burst forth from your physicality
and sang songs of love
and integrity.
all in accord to say, you gave me no other choice,
but to fall for you and the warmth of your smile.
even the ground murmurs with jealousy
because gravity has no effect on what you stand for;
love, understanding, equivalence and so on...
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
Donne-moy tes presens en ces jours que la brume
Fait les plus courts de l'an, ou, de ton rameau teint
Dans le ruisseau d'oubly, dessus mon front espreint,
Endors mes pauvres yeux, mes gouttes et mon rhume.
Misericorde, ô Dieu ! ô Dieu, ne me consume
A faute de dormir ! plustost sois-je contreint
De me voir par la peste ou par la fiévre esteint,
Qui mon sang desseiché dans mes veines allume.
Heureux, cent fois heureux, animaux qui dormez
Demy an en vos trous, sous la terre enfermez,
Sans manger du pavot qui tous les sens assomme.
J'en ay mangé, j'ay beu de son just oublieux,
En salade, cuit, cru et toutesfois le somme
Ne vient par sa froideur s'asseoir dessus mes yeux.
585
Donne moy tes presens en ces jours que la Brume
Fait les plus courts de l'an, ou de ton rameau teint
Dans le ruisseau d'Oubly dessus mon front espreint,
Endor mes pauvres yeux, mes gouttes et mon rhume.
Misericorde ô Dieu, ô Dieu ne me consume
A faulte de dormir, plustost sois-je contreint
De me voir par la peste ou par la fievre esteint,
Qui mon sang deseché dans mes veines allume.
Heureux, cent fois heureux animaux qui dormez
Demy an en voz trous, soubs la terre enfermez,
Sans manger du pavot qui tous les sens assomme :
J'en ay mangé, j'ay beu de son just oublieux
En salade cuit, cru, et toutesfois le somme
Ne vient par sa froideur s'asseoir dessus mes yeux.
482
Night-hinted marriage
& old story ******* -
then another mono morning,
my mind a mountainside.
When I almost make you late,
your face so serious,
my polished misericorde
slips between the shining
plates, it knows with such
precision where to cut.
It's a proving hour,
long ices of thought,
before I pull it out. You
rest your head against me
& I imagine dropping
the blade into a scabbard
of blue hydrangeas.
I ask of you, if I lay down
beneath your troubles,
empty my unhappy hand.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC