Emily Dickinson – The Soul has Bandaged moments (Poem 360)

The Soul has Bandaged moments -
When too appalled to stir -
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her -

Salute her, with long fingers -
Caress her freezing hair -
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover - hovered - o'er -
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme - so - fair -

The soul has moments of escape -
When bursting all the doors -
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours,

As do the Bee - delirious borne -
Long Dungeoned from his Rose -
Touch Liberty - then know no more -
But Noon, and Paradise

The Soul's retaken moments -
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue -

Edgar Allan Poe – The Happiest Day

The happiest day- the happiest hour

My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,

The highest hope of pride and power,

I feel hath flown.

Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;

But they have vanish'd long, alas!

The visions of my youth have been-

But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee?

Another brow may even inherit

The venom thou hast pour'd on me

Be still, my spirit!

The happiest day- the happiest hour

Mine eyes shall see- have ever seen,

The brightest glance of pride and power,

I feel- have been:

But were that hope of pride and power

Now offer'd with the pain

Even then I felt- that brightest hour

I would not live again:

For on its wing was dark alloy,

And, as it flutter'd- fell

An essence- powerful to destroy

A soul that knew it well.

Thomas Stearns Eliot – Cousin Nancy

Miss Nancy Ellicott

Strode across the hills and broke them,

Rode across the hills and broke them—

The barren New England hills—

Riding to hounds         

Over the cow-pasture.

 

Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked

And danced all the modern dances;

And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,

But they knew that it was modern.   

 

Upon the glazen shelves kept watch

Matthew and Waldo, guardians of the faith,

The army of unalterable law.

Rudyard Kipling – "Tin Fish"

1914-18

(Sea Warfare)

The ships destroy us above

    And ensnare us beneath.

We arise, we lie down, and we move

    In the belly of Death.

The ships have a thousand eyes

    To mark where we come . . .

But the mirth of a seaport dies

    When our blow gets home.

Rudyard Kipling – Danny Deever

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?' said Files-on-Parade.  

‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes you look so white, so white?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

      For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,

      The Regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day;

      They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,

      An’ they're hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s bitter cold, it's bitter cold,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes that front-rank man fall down?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

      They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,

      They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;

      An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—

      O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin!’

‘’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

      They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,

      For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;

      Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,  

      While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What’s that so black agin the sun?’ said Files-on-Parade.  

‘It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.  

‘What’s that that whimpers over’ead?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

      For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play,

      The Regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;

      Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,

      After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!