"While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.

"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.

"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.

"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover;--
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?--
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"

Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.

The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;

The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.

Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and ******
His tongue out with its fork.

I.

I would not if I could undo my past,
  Tho' for its sake my future is a blank;
  My past for which I have myself to thank,
For all its faults and follies first and last.
I would not cast anew the lot once cast,
  Or launch a second ship for one that sank,
  Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank,
Or break by feasting my perpetual fast.
I would not if I could: for much more dear
  Is one remembrance than a hundred joys,
    More than a thousand hopes in jubilee;
  Dearer the music of one tearful voice
    That unforgotten calls and calls to me,
"Follow me here, rise up, and follow here."

II.

What seekest thou, far in the unknown land?
  In hope I follow joy gone on before;
  In hope and fear persistent more and more,
As the dry desert lengthens out its sand.
Whilst day and night I carry in my hand
  The golden key to ope the golden door
  Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore,
For long the journey is that makes no stand.
And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee?
  Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right;
    One exile holds us both, and we are bound
  To selfsame home-joys in the land of light.
Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?--
    Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.

III.

A dimness of a glory glimmers here
  Thro' veils and distance from the space remote,
  A faintest far vibration of a note
Reaches to us and seems to bring us near;
Causing our face to glow with braver cheer,
  Making the serried mist to stand afloat,
  Subduing languor with an antidote,
And strengthening love almost to cast out fear:
Till for one moment golden city walls
  Rise looming on us, golden walls of home,
Light of our eyes until the darkness falls;
  Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome
I hear again the tender voice that calls,
  "Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come."

If I might only love my God and die!
But now He bids me love Him and live on,
  Now when the bloom of all my life is gone,
The pleasant half of life has quite gone by.
My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high,
  And I forget how summer glowed and shone,
  While autumn grips me with its fingers wan,
And frets me with its fitful windy sigh.
When autumn passes then must winter numb,
  And winter may not pass a weary while,
    But when it passes spring shall flower again:
  And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile,
    Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane,
Yea, they shall sing for love when Christ shall come.

"O happy happy land!
Angels like rushes stand
  About the wells of light."--
  "Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight:
Hold fast my hand."--

"As in a soft wind, they
Bend all one blessed way,
  Each bowed in his own glory, star with star."--
  "I cannot see so far,
  Here shadows are."--

"White-winged the cherubim,
Yet whiter seraphim,
  Glow white with intense fire of love."--
"Mine eyes are dim:
  I look in vain above,
And miss their hymn."--

"Angels, Archangels cry
One to other ceaselessly
  (I hear them sing)
  One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."--
"I do not hear them, I."--

"Joy to thee, Paradise,--
  Garden and goal and nest!
Made green for wearied eyes;
  Much softer than the breast
Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes.

"All precious souls are there
  Most safe, elect by grace,
  All tears are wiped forever from their face:
Untired in prayer
  They wait and praise,
  Hidden for a little space.

"Boughs of the Living Vine,
They spread in summer shine
  Green leaf with leaf:
Sap of the Royal Vine, it stirs like wine
  In all both less and chief.

"Sing to the Lord,
  All spirits of all flesh, sing;
For He hath not abhorred
  Our low estate nor scorned our offering:
  Shout to our King."--

"But Zion said:
  My Lord forgetteth me.
Lo, she hath made her bed
  In dust; forsaken weepeth she
  Where alien rivers swell the sea.

"She laid her body as the ground,
  Her tender body as the ground to those
Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound
In a strange land; discrowned
  She sits, and drunk with woes."--

"O drunken not with wine,
  Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,--
  Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb;
Arise, shine,
  For thy light is come."--

"Can these bones live?"--
            "God knows:
  The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin
  A wind blew on them and life entered in;
They shook and rose.
  Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin,
  Let life begin."

She sitteth still who used to dance,
She weepeth sore and more and more--
Let us sit with thee weeping sore,
    O fair France!

  She trembleth as the days advance
Who used to be so light of heart:--
We in thy trembling bear a part,
    Sister France!

  Her eyes shine tearful as they glance:
"Who shall give back my slaughtered sons?
"Bind up," she saith, "my wounded ones."--
    Alas, France!

  She struggles in a deathly trance,
As in a dream her pulses stir,
She hears the nations calling her,
    "France, France, France!"

  Thou people of the lifted lance,
Forbear her tears, forbear her blood:
Roll back, roll back, thy whelming flood,
    Back from France.

  Eye not her loveliness askance,
Forge not for her a galling chain;
Leave her at peace to bloom again,
    Vine-clad France.

  A time there is for change and chance,
A time for passing of the cup:
And One abides can yet bind up
    Broken France.

  A time there is for change and chance:
Who next shall drink the trembling cup,
Wring out its dregs and **** them up
    After France?

Look far at th' showering rain!
Dull and gray it is with old pain,
and how nature now shrieks in vain-
until no more cloud but remains.

How t'is misty day shalt insist;
and too tempest'ous to desist.
But how thy lithe feet shalt still dance!-
And doth entrance everyone's glance.

Antonina, Antonina
Sweet and graceful ballerina
Spin and spin again like a swan;
in circles t'at'll never be done

Antonina, Antonina
Who shalt but know thy darkest fear?
With t'ose movements t'at seem so dear
but no-one sees thee by eyes clear.

Th' night I saw thee walk by home
Passed thou th' yard and hollow tombs
A golden trophy's in thy hand
Whereth suddenly in sprang some men.

What merciless, heartless creatures!
Thy ****** body t'ey ruptured!
And escaped 'em when all was done
Wept thou amongst t'ose leaves alone.

Amidst trees and grim foliage
I smelt th' foulness of plain rage;
Forward dashed I into th' screen!
Blood on thy thighs, bruised wasth thy skin!

I stood still at t'is pure menace;
thou spread t'ere like a brutal mess!
Screamed and wailed in a hasty blaze;
upon thy gazeth onto my face.

I shuddered with blasts of fury!
As I thought of t'eir cruelty!
T'ose ungrateful sons of evil
T'eir souls'd be ****** in great peril.

I walked thy little body home-
and kept thy by the fireside warm.
How in my arms thy'rt once conscious
With t'ose eyes big and curious.

Thou looked at me, thou questioned me
I just nodded and smiled gently
How I wanted to run in shame
Afraid thou might then knoweth my name

And how thou crashed to sleep once more
As soon as we opened the door
How I kissed thy warm and bruised forehead;
and thy drying tears didst I shed

Antonina, Antonina
Never did thou know my daydreams
How t'at tragic night they came true
In t'is cru'l world thou'rt th' victim
When th' stars sleep in a light hue

Antonina, Antonina
T'is passion shalt never be real
As thou'd never know how I feel
Thy childhood and thy faithful friend
With loveth you wisheth from 'ot'er man.

But how in thy smile now thou weepeth!
After such a mis'ry so deep!
How he's gone to tie his wedlock
When th' sun but strikes twelve o'clock.

How he left thee after t'at night!
And ran away with grief and fright.
Th' youngeth maiden he wasth to wed,
but in her woes then he just fled!

Antonina, Antonina
Unanswer't as my prayer is
I shalt but free thee from all t'is;
when thou conquereth thy memories.

Let me be thy chin and shoulder;
let me bringst thee'th truest wonder.
I who loveth thee just thou art now;
and relieveth thee from thy sorrow.

But a spectator as I am,
can I just watch thy pristine fame!
From th' stage art thou now to smile,
as people sound 'plause for a while.

And in thy sorrow wilt thou weep
Until blushing dawn slowly creeps.
No-one comforts thee in thy sleep;
no-one frees thee from thy hardship!

But unworthy as here I am
Like a flower without its stem
Can I wish you joy, my lady!
And only joyeth I prayeth for thee.

Pure still thou art, Antonina!
Thy stateliness shalt never die;
not even if th' world could lie
Thou'rt as lovely as th' rainbow
T'at I'll long to see tomorrow.

Blest be thy days, Antonina!
Thou'rt still my queen but here and now
As th' snow melts and sun hangs low
As winter breaks and summer comes
'Tis still thee I want in my arms.

Soul o' thy chirpin' melodies,
Ink o' thy timid symphonies,
Collects me, t'se calmeth tranquilities,
Requiem t'en pierceth my heart,
Blameth me, she, consumed h've I,
The light, b'low the gallow t'at lie,
Blameth me, she, stolen h've I,
The sound, droppeth o'er her lip,
Enigmatic melancholy, me,
Serenely, thou, me h've dippeth,
Solemn agony, fragnance o' thee,
Silent solace, dream o' me,
L'ft shadows o' my licketh be,
Eternal soul, weepeth un'r thy tree,
Why? Trappeth my soul thou,
Why? Not it flow an' fly free,
Bitter wine t'en, show color o' thee.

Fortify this Amozanian square,
Wherith Baldheads are anguished,
No other place shall compare!!!!

Altered skin wearers,
Sleeve wearing tribesmen!!!

Amourostity don't leave me to far gone,
Showeth me love,
Showeth me loving kindness,
Shower me thy grain!!!
And thine finess....

Fruition comes suddenly,
Studdingly the airs wind stays chill,
Dead/lock exhibitions of fan fare latitude!!!!

A blonde chapter of northern affairs,
How changeable is ones man I can smile!!!

Defilement she hath seen,
Derider,
Non abider,
Doesn't fit on thine circuited scene...

What a guise to all wherin whom sleep!!!

Guardeth thy soul,
Their mind is of allotrope,
You'll whimper as they weepeth!!!!

Flourisher,
Nourisher of nutrientral push!!!
Snappish,
Irenic, lover of pre school books!!!!

Sorceries own solvent,
Dissolvent of surmise talk,

Your a new age Delilah thou fresh smelling mucosa you!!!!!

O yea, judge a lady not on the company she keepeth,
It may be a reflection of her lack of choice
Due to the ugliness of her face, tragic be that,
Verily, measure her not by the tears she weepeth,
For she may be weeping tears of humiliation, forsooth,
Pronounce thee not upon the words she speaketh,
Her accent may not be of the finest calibre
Thanks to her lower class upbringing and bad teaching
In this accursed socialist society we are curséd withal.
Who be one such as I to contemn her in hypocritic words?
In dark’s solace I'll just take her hand and let her share my camp-bed
And in innocent insomniac lust we'll **** like puppy-dogs.

i

I feeleth a calming bereavement, from mine own heart's dying
I mosey the coffin carousel of this lonesomeness artistic torture;
I dig with nail's into mine isolation box, kicking stones, lifting rock's, and as the nightshine seepeth, I close mine eyes, weepeth.

ii

Yet this grave shalt not be mine end, though an amour is not there, for forlornness hath becometh a beloved best of friends;
Thither the protection of the gloom, I shalt burst on through, breaking into the rainbow that shalt streameth to mine beauty.

iii

Mine dying shalt reneweth me, the tomb shalt not subdue me
The copse forest shalt enticeth me, as I swayeth and flyeth asunder from mine carcass, with none asunder to holdeth back mine natural capabilities, as all senses shalt be enhanced.

iv

The wind wilt guideth me wherein others couldst not, mine creator to showeth me mine lifespan plot, to continue to loveth, even whilst the groan's that cometh near, mine vision, and view's to be glorious, this freedom of mine eternal entity alive, no fear's.

v

It shalt be a triumphant of all life's, wherein I shalt haveth a wife, to comfort me, thus all to be alright, as guardian's to me shalt be an insight, an insight of mineself deeply and the spiritual realm that shalt engulf me, and swaddle me so peacefully in awakening.





©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry