Amarantha

I was introduced to to Lovelace back in November 2011 (I think!) by a friend, and immediately fell in love with his poems. This was the one that I first read, so it seems apt it should be here. I also recommend ‘To Lucasta, Going To The Wars’ and ‘Valiant Love’.

TO AMARANTHA; THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL HER HAIRE – RICHARD LOVELACE

I.
Amarantha sweet and faire,
Ah brade no more that shining haire!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it flye.

II.
Let it flye as unconfin’d
As it’s calme ravisher, the winde,
Who hath left his darling, th’ East,
To wanton o’re that spicie neast.

III.
Ev’ry tresse must be confest:
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clue of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.

IV.
Doe not then winde up that light
In ribands, and o’er-cloud in night,
Like the sun in’s early ray;
But shake your head, and scatter day.

V.
See, ’tis broke! within this grove,
The bower and the walkes of love,
Weary lye we downe and rest,
And fanne each other’s panting breast.

VI.
Heere wee’ll strippe and coole our fire,
In creame below, in milk-baths higher:
And when all wells are drawne dry,
I’ll drink a teare out of thine eye.

VII.
Which our very joys shall leave,
That sorrowes thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrowes weepe,
That joyes so ripe so little keepe.

A Noiseless Patient Spider

I’ll reveal why I chose this one another time.

 

A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER –  Walt Whitman

A noiseless, patient spider,

I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;

Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,

It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;

Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.      

And you, O my Soul, where you stand,

Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,

Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;

Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;

Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul

One Need Not Be A Chamber – To Be Haunted

I’ve decided to have a working week of poems. A post each day.

I’m not going to comment on why I like them (other than generic comments). But I hope you do to.

Please note: there are many different versions of Emily Dickinson’s poems – this is the version I think is the best.

 

ONE NEED NOT BE A CHAMBER TO BE HAUNTED – Emily Dickinson

 

One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted,

One need not be a House

The Brain has Corridors surpassing

Material Place

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting

External Ghost

Than its interior Confronting

That cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,

The Stones a’chase

Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter

In lonesome Place

Ourself behind ourself, concealed

Should startle most

Assassin hid in our Apartment

Be Horror’s least.

The Body borrows a Revolver

He bolts the Door

O’erlooking a superior spectre

Or More