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Read Ebook: Selected Poems by Huxley Aldous
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Ebook has 189 lines and 12287 words, and 4 pages
Page
Song of Poplars 7
The Reef 9
The Flowers 12
The Elms 13
Out of the Window 14
Summer Stillness 15
Inspiration 16
Anniversaries 17
Italy 20
The Alien 22
A Little Memory 23
Waking 24
Valedictory 28
Private Property 30
Revelation 31
Minoan Porcelain 32
In Uncertainty to a Lady 33
Crapulous Impression 34
Complaint of a Poet Manqu? 35
Social Amenities 36
Topiary 36
On the Bus 37
Points and Lines 38
Panic 38
Stanzas 39
Poem 40
Scenes of the Mind 41
L'Apr?s-Midi d'un Faune 44
Mole 49
Two Realities 52
Quotidian Vision 53
The Mirror 53
Variations on a Theme of Laforgue 54
Philosophy 55
Philoclea in the Forest 55
Books and Thoughts 59
The Higher Sensualism 60
Formal Verses 61
Perils of the Small Hours 62
Return to an Old Home 63
SONG OF POPLARS.
Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute: Let them pierce, keenly, subtly shrill, The slow blue rumour of the hill; Let the grass cry with an anguish of evening gold, And the great sky be mute.
Then hearken how the poplar trees unfold Their buds, yet close and gummed and blind, In airy leafage of the mind, Rustling in silvery whispers the twin-hued scales That fade not nor grow old.
"Poplars and fountains and you cypress spires Springing in dark and rusty flame, Seek you aught that hath a name? Or say, say: Are you all an upward agony Of undefined desires?
"Say, are you happy in the golden march Of sunlight all across the day? Or do you watch the uncertain way That leads the withering moon on cloudy stairs Over the heaven's wide arch?
"Is it towards sorrow or towards joy you lift The sharpness of your trembling spears? Or do you seek, through the grey tears That blur the sky, in the heart of the triumphing blue, A deeper, calmer rift?"
So; I have tuned my music to the trees, And there were voices dim below Their shrillness, voices swelling slow In the blue murmur of hills, and a golden cry And then vast silences.
THE REEF.
My green aquarium of phantom fish, Goggling in on me through the misty panes; My rotting leaves and fields spongy with rains; My few clear quiet autumn days--I wish
I could leave all, clearness and mistiness; Sodden or goldenly crystal, all too still. Yes, and I too rot with the leaves that fill The hollows in the woods; I am grown less
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