"needst" poems
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you, that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with that wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow;
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ***** cast in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally, as to a midwife, show
Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first, why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
2.2k
What needst I of thee, O precious one?
What hast thou to offer me?
Thou who art a star brighter than the sun,
What hast I to profit from your company?
True, thou art possessed of a great wit
And thou hast a heart most kind
These things might I admit
But what knowledge hast thou of the mind?
What comfort wouldst thou offer in my melancholy?
Wouldst, in my hysteria, thou keep me grounded?
What else but pain wouldst I give to thee-
I wouldst naught but keep thee confounded
A separation 'tween I and thee
Wouldst best preserve they sanity
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Ah, t'is dream is but so strange-o, strange, strange, strange!
And how an impediment, and a burden it is-to my brain!
O, I saw thee in t'is morn's dream,
So clearly and purely-just as I hath loved 'im.
Thou wert as adorable as thy picture canst be,
and upon gazing into thy posture-
t'at very strange feeling swished into me;
I felt it my mistake not to be close to thee;
To embrace thee and adore thee in my arms;
To cup thy cheeks with my round hands-and kiss thee;
Kiss thee so smoothly and lovingly for it shall take away all thy pains.
I woke up and looked for thee in vain;
I wanted to retreat into my dream,
And remove all the vagueness on thy face,
Whisper only the best loving words into thy air.
And to rub my palms about thy dark hair,
And assure thy hesitant, and dreary soul-t'at everything
shall be all right; and tomorrow shall be fair.
Ah, indeed-indeed; 'tis but indeed so strange!
For I thought not of thee before;
Thou wert not the one I wanted;
Nor the one my fertile heart adored.
Ah, thee! What is wrong then-with me?
Where hath all my hating feeling gone to-and hath it been for nothing?
Ah, canst but fate be true-t'at I am to be thine; and thou be my darling?
And in the adjacent minutes thereafter-I saw thee roamin' about alone;
Thy face clouded by dull loneliness-ah, seeing which indeed made my heart torn;
Thou wert too fatigued-very unlike thy usual bright complexion;
Thou wert indignant, and perhaps all too dark-and forlorn!
From thy face had faded all means of loveliness,
And thou wert mourning over such loneliness,
Loneliness t'at was evil-and haunted thee, and fiercely mocked thee;
Rendering thee agreeable not-much less deserving; of thy immortality.
Ah, thou art immortal, immortal, immortal! And how canst fate deem thee not?
How violent-how strange! How dire and petty-how impertinent!
Ah, but t'is feelin' really is absurd-in every way;
For hath I never thought of thee, and praised thee not;
Only at night and noon, thou hath oft' attended my poetry;
but still not my joy and woes, and even not my story plot.
Ah, thee! But t'is hope is dangerous-for I am supposed to hate thee;
As well defile, deject, ****** and abuse thee;
For I needst to despise, strangle, and destroy thee;
For I remember how thou wert once not sweet-and bitter to me;
And thus put the wholeness of thy being forever, into fires of struggle-
For thou art still-not the one I hath precisely been destined for;
For I hath not loved thee like t'is-for t'is feeling is all new; like never before.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love:
I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully
to thee-yes, only to thee!
My eyes brighten at every sight of thee,
my mind delights at the thoughts of thee,
my pulse fastens at the views of thee,
my blood curdles at the scent of thee,
my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark!
Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps,
sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee!
Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets
as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and
with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful-
sweeping straightly back into my soul.
Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers-
blowing silently with the rustic gallantry
of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated
with defiant, but affectionate branches
of terrific, terrific love for thee!
Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know-
t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee,
as well as how my pure joys rely on thee!
As despairingly as how
my soul was born for thee,
my life was crafted for thee,
my hands were paired with thee,
and thus so graciously are my young feet-
my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs
in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated
by thy gentle, manly breath.
Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate
and blessed with all the might
of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first
been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold,
my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light,
my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou
shalt always be!
And so art thou the perfect accord
to comply with all such of my mine;
as thou art but the freshest bloom
of my ****** years,
as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths-
but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious-
yet ardently succulent imagination.
And how I am so devoted to thee, my love!
Just like the stars are to the moon above.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
O my love!
In my hate I shall miss thee,
in my mind I shall keep thee!
In disdain still I think of thee,
and in sorrow I shall praise thee!
Ah, and in drought I shall drink of thee,
but in t'is snow I'll draw of thee!
In summers I'll yearn for thee,
and in t'eir warmth I'll dreameth of thee!
To my readers I'll tell of thee,
in my poems I'll write of thee.
Thy innocence, thy innocence t'at shall
never fade!
O, in my songs I'll sing of thee,
and in my plays I'll imagine thee.
How in the mornings thou'lt sit beside me,
and whispereth that thy heart needst me.
For in my heart I want only thee;
and in my soul do I crave thee!
Because thou art the kingst of my longing,
and the hero of my dreaming!
Ah! Thus thy presence my everything,
yes-everything, my love!
Just like the giggling stars
to the moon above.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
To His Mistress Going to Bed
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s ***** cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
A fine accoutrement, be sure,
A funeral pall of gold,
A lively crown the laurels make,
For those that death preserved
And death, his hand, or her's,
For death is equal parts,
Is softer than a velvet veil,
And harder than men's hearts
Oh friend, do not the silence break,
With comfort driven word,
I know where we are going
It needst not be heard
And though this world I leave,
Another comes to view!
Oh friend it is so lovely!
It would be glorious with you!!!!
And do not be afraid, my friend,
When death comes seeking you,
The hall of death is velvet soft,
The sweetest of all fruits!!!
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC