Eidolons - Poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Those forms we fancy shadows, those strange lights
That flash on lone morasses, the quick wind
That smites us by the roadside are the Night's
Innumerable children. Unconfined
By shroud or coffin, disembodied souls,
Still on probation, steal into the air
From ancient battlefields and churchyard knolls
At the day's ending. Pestilence and despair
Fly with the startled bats at set of sun;
And wheresoever murders have been done,
In crowded palaces or lonely woods,
Where'er a soul has sold itself and lost
Its high inheritance, there, hovering, broods
Some mute, invisible, accursèd ghost.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Egypt - Poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Fantastic sleep is busy with my eyes;
I seem in some waste solitude to stand
Once ruled of Cheops; upon either hand
A dark illimitable desert lies,
Sultry and still -- a zone of mysteries.
A wide-browed Sphinx, half buried in the sand,
With orbless sockets stares across the land,
The wofulest thing beneath these brooding skies
Save that loose heap of bleachèd bones, that lie
Where haply some poor Bedouin crawled to die.
Lo! while I gaze, beyond the vast sand-sea
The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn,
And one bleared star, faint glimmering like a bee,
Is shut in the rosy outstretched hand of Dawn.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Echo Song - Poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I

Who can say where Echo dwells?
In some mountain-cave, methinks,
Where the white owl sits and blinks;
Or in deep sequestered dells,
Where foxglove hangs its bells,
Echo dwells.
Echo!
Echo!

II

Phantom of the crystal Air,
Daughter of sweet Mystery!
Here is one has need of thee;
Lead him to thy secret lair,
Myrtle brings he for thy hair--
Hear his prayer,
Echo!
Echo!

III

Echo lift thy drowsy head,
And repeat each charmëd word
Thou must needs have overheard
Yestere'en ere, rosy-red,
Daphne down the valley fled--
Words unsaid,
Echo!
Echo!

IV

Breathe the vows she since denies!
She hath broken every vow;
What she would she would not now--
Thou didst hear her perjuries.
Whisper, whilst I shut my eyes,
Those sweet lies,
Echo!
Echo!
Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Victory

There is no Rescue Mission where it isn't freezing
from the need that created it. The lost children

distill to pure chemical. Where Good is called No-Tone
it's the one who cries out who doesn't get a coat.

The children fuse colors because they don't want to
separate. Daughters shot off of hydrants who cut

each other in the neck and gut, don't care
which one of them will end up later in surgery.

And drugged sons pretending to be costumes,
well, they're not welcome to comprehension either.

Why does a wild child confuse a moon
with a hole in his skin?

One was born soaked in gin.
His first sip was from a bottle of denial.

What can "leave me alone" mean after that?
The system is settled, dimensions fixed.

Another one's hand feels like a starfish.
Makes me hysterical like the word perestroika.

But they all dig the way the pepper is rosy in the vodka.
It's verbocity that creates jokers.

Brick and grit are the candy and frosting
where volunteers and teachers write cards that go:

"Donate books that say NOT and NO and poets
who say Urn instead of Oh."

How do the children convert their troubles
into hip-hop? Dunno—but it's wonderful.

by Fanny Howe

Thou Art My Lute

Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,--
My being is attuned to thee.
Thou settest all my words a-wing,
And meltest me to melody.

Thou art my life, by thee I live,
From thee proceed the joys I know;
Sweetheart, thy hand has power to give
The meed of love--the cup of woe.

Thou art my love, by thee I lead
My soul the paths of light along,
From vale to vale, from mead to mead,
And home it in the hills of song.

My song, my soul, my life, my all,
Why need I pray or make my plea,
Since my petition cannot fall;
For I 'm already one with thee!

by Paul Laurence Dunbar