Introduction by Nancy Milford
RENASCENCE AND OTHER POEMS
Renascence
Interim
The Suicide
God’s World
Afternoon on a Hill
Sorrow
Tavern
Ashes of Life
The Little Ghost
King to Sorrow
Three Songs of Shattering
I.The first rose on my rose-tree
II.Let the little birds sing
III.All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
The Shroud
The Dream
Indifference
Witch-Wife
Blight
When the Year Grows Old
Sonnets
I.Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no
II.Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
III.Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring
IV.Not in this chamber only at my birth
V.If I should learn, in some quite casual way
VI.Bluebeard
A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES
First Fig
Second Fig
Recuerdo
Thursday
To the Not Impossible Him
MacDougal Street
The Singing Woman from the Wood’s Edge
She Is Overheard Singing
The Prisoner
The Unexplorer
Grown-up
The Penitent
Daphne
Portrait by a Neighbor
Midnight Oil
The Merry Maid
To Kathleen
To S.M.
The Philosopher
Sonnets
I.Love, though for this you riddle me with darts
II.I think I should have loved you presently
III.Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!
IV.I shall forget you presently, my dear
SECOND APRIL
Spring
City Trees
The Blue-Flag in the Bog
Journey
Eel-Grass
Elegy Before Death
The Bean-Stalk
Weeds
Passer Mortuus Est
Pastoral
Assault
Travel
Low-Tide
Song of a Second April
Rosemary
The Poet and his Book
Alms
Inland
To a Poet that Died Young
Wraith
Ebb
Elaine
Burial
Mariposa
The Little Hill
Doubt No More that Oberon
Lament
Exiled
The Death of Autumn
Ode to Silence
Memorial to D.C.
Epitaph
Prayer to Persephone
Chorus
Elegy
Dirge
Sonnets
I.We talk of taxes, and I call you friend
II.Into the golden vessel of great song
III.Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
IV.Only until this cigarette is ended
V.Once more into my arid days like dew
VI.No rose that in a garden ever grew
VII.When I too long have looked upon your face
VIII.And you as well must die, beloved dust
IX.Let you not say of me, when I am old
X.Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this
XI.As to some lovely temple, tenantless
XII.Cherish you then the hope I shall forget
Wild Swans
SONNETS AND THE BALLAD OF THE HARP-WEAVER
Sonnets
When you, that at this moment are to me
I know I am but summer to your heart
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Here is a wound that never will heal, I know
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why
Euclid along has looked on Beauty bare
The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver
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