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I

Among twenty snowy mountains,

The only moving thing

Was the eye of the blackbird.


II

I was of three minds,

Like a tree

In which there are three blackbirds.

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.

It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV

A man and a woman

Are one.

A man and a woman and a blackbird

Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,

The beauty of inflections

Or the beauty of innuendoes,

The blackbird whistling

Or just after.

VI

Icicles filled the long window

With barbaric glass.

The shadow of the blackbird

Crossed it, to and fro.

The mood

Traced in the shadow

An indecipherable cause.

VII

O thin men of Haddam,

Why do you imagine golden birds?

Do you not see how the blackbird

Walks around the feet

Of the women about you?

VIII

I know noble accents

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;

But I know, too,

That the blackbird is involved

In what I know.

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,

It marked the edge

Of one of many circles.

X

At the sight of blackbirds

Flying in a green light,

Even the bawds of euphony

Would cry out sharply.

XI

He rode over Connecticut

In a glass coach.

Once, a fear pierced him,

In that he mistook

The shadow of his equipage

For blackbirds.

XII

The river is moving.

The blackbird must be flying.

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.

It was snowing

And it was going to snow.

The blackbird sat

In the cedar-limbs.



The apparition of these faces in the crowd:

Petals on a wet, black bough.



Grieve not for the invisible, transported brow

On which like leaves the dark hair grew

Nor for the lips of laughter that are now

Laughing inaudibly in sun and dew

Nor for those limbs that, fallen low

And seeming faint and slow,

Shall yet pursue

More ways of swiftness than the swallow dips

Among... and find more winds than ever blew

The straining sails of unimpeded ships!

Mourn not!—yield only happy tears

To deeper beauty than appears!



I am young, O shaggy mountains; I am young and you are old;

You are mighty, brooding pines, and I am small;

And your great, gaunt shadows crush me with a horror still and cold,

And your sullen silence holds me like a pall.


Just today I went for water to a little silver spring

Where the air was sweet and scarlet berries grew;

And my dreams came flocking homeward and my haunting fears took wing

Till the night crawled forth to meet me. Then I knew.


I am stranger to your silence; I am alien to your might;

I am longing for a little, laughing world

Where the days went dancing past me, for my heart as very light,—

And from many friendly hearths the smoke upcurled.


Yet he loves you, lonely mountains, and he says he loves me too,

But my heart is torn with longing for the gentle land I knew—

And the careless hours when life was very sweet.


Will you always frown upon me through the weary, weary years

Till my dream-home fades to silence and to night?

I was gay, O brooding mountains, till you taught me pain and tears.

I am alien to your solitude and might.



Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall

She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,

And she is dying piece-meal

of a sort of emotional anemia


And round about there is a rabble

Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.

They shall inherit the earth.


In her is the end of breeding.

Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.


She would like some one to speak to her,

And is almost afraid that I

will commit that indiscretion.



anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did.


Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain


children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more


when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone’s any was all to her


someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream


stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)


one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was


all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.


Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain



Ho, brother! Art thou prisoned too?

Is thy heart hot with restless pain?

I heard the call thy bugle blew

Here by the bleak and chilling main,

(Whilst round me shaven parks are spread

And cindered drives wind on and on);

And at thy cry, thy lifted head,

My gladdened heart was westward drawn.


O splendid bird! your trumpet brings

To my lone heart the prairie springs.



The mountains they are silent folk

They stand afar — alone,

And the clouds that kiss their brows at night

Hear neither sigh nor groan.

Each bears him in his ordered place

As soldiers do, and bold and high

They fold their forests round their feet

And bolster up the sky.