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FRANCIS THOMPSON
English poet
(1859 - 1907)
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Her soul from earth to Heaven lies,
  Like the ladder of the vision,
    Wheron go
      To and fro
        In ascension and demission,
          Star-flecked feet of Paradise.
      - Scala Jacobi Portaque Eburnea (st. 1)
        [Soul]

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
    I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
      Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
        I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
      - The Hound of Heaven [God]

I was heavy with the even,
  When she lit her glimmering tapers
    Round the day's dead sanctities.
      I laughed in the morning's eyes.
      - The Hound of Heaven (l. 84) [Evening : Night]

Baby smiled, mother wailed,
  Earthward while the sweetling sailed;
    Mother smiled, baby wailed,
      When to earth came Viola.
      - The Making of Viola [Babyhood]

The Father of Heaven.
  Spin, daughter Mary, spin,
    Twirl your wheel with silver din;
      Spin, daughter Mary, spin,
        Spin a tress for Viola.
      - The Making of Viola (st. 1) [Hair]

The Father of Heaven.
  Scoop, young Jesus, for her eyes,
    Wood-browned pools of Paradise--
      Young Jesus, for the eyes,
        For the eyes of Viola.
          Angels.
            Tint, Prince Jesus, a
              Dusked eye for Viola!
      - The Making of Viola (st. 2) [Eyes]

East, oh, east of Himalay
  Dwell the nations underground,
    Hiding from the shock of day,
      For the sun's uprising sound . . .
        So fearfully the sun doth sound,
          Clanging up beyond Cathay;
            For the great earthquaking sunrise
              Rolling up beyond Cathay.
      - The Mistress of Vision [Sunrise]

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
  And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
    Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,
      And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.
        With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank
          The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank,
            And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine
              When the eastern conduits ran with wine.
      - The Poppy [Poppies]

Anchorite, who didst dwell
  With all the world for cell!
      - To the Dead Cardinal of Westminster
         (st. 5) [World]


Displaying page 2 of 2 for this author:   << Prev  1 [2]

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