Month: October 2019

“Primpara: The Valley Harvest” by H.L. Davis

The Valley Harvest

Honey in the horn! I brought my horse from the

water

And from the white grove of tall alders over the

spring,

And brought him past a row of high hollyhocks

Which flew and tore their flowers thin as his mane.

And women there watched, with hair blown over their

mouths;

Yet in watching the oat field they were quiet as the

spring.

[ . . . ]

H.L. Davis' poem "Primpara: The Valley Harvest" was published in Others for 1919. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below:

Archive.org

 

“Invocation” by Francis Brett Young

Invocation

Whither, O, my sweet mistress, must I follow thee?

For when I hear thy distant footfall nearing,

And wait on thy appearing,

Lo ! my lips are silent : no words come to me.

 

Once I waylaid thee in green forest covers,

Hoping that spring might free my lips with gentle

Alas ! her presence lingers                            fingers ;

No longer than on the plain the shadow of brown kestrel

hovers.

[ . . . ]

Francis Brett Young's poem "Invocation" was published in Georgian Poetry, 1918-1919. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below:

Archive.org

“Postlude” by William Carlos Williams

Postlude

Now that I have cooled to you
Let there be gold of tarnished masonry,
Temples soothed by the sun to ruin
That sleep utterly.
Give me hand for the dances,
Ripples at Philse, in and out,
And lips, my Lesbian,
Wall flowers that once were flame.

[ . . . ]

William Carlos Williams poem "Interlude" was published in the 1914 Des Imagistes anthology. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the links below:

Archive.org

The Blue Mountain Project (The Glebe)

The Modernist Journals Project (The Glebe)

The Modernist Journals Project (Publisher: Albert and Charles Boni, NY)

The Modernist Journals Project (Publisher: The Poetry Bookshop, London)

“Envious Youth” by Helen Rootham

Envious Youth

I am not old enough to claim the privilege of years,
To sit apart and say to youth—
'Now watch my nodding wisdom;
Pay reverence to that you cannot see
Has any claim to reverence but age.'
I am not old enough to say to youth,
'I too once felt like you. But now the years
Sit heavy on my shoulders—therefore you are wrong.'
I cannot fold my hands, and having lived my life
Count with uneasy eyes the heavy, passing hours,
Nursing each minute with unceasing care,
Lest an unwary movement snatch a few from me.
For I am young, and in my glad young veins
The blood runs freely.
I seize each passing hour
And fling it gaily where its fellows lie,
And care not what old age doth call that heap—
The Past—the Present—or To Be.
Why should I care ? All time is mine,
Or should be.
But wise age has held the world,
And turned it round and round,
Until the sudden death that age avoids with anxious care
Lurks in its every corner, and claims
Not age, but me.

 

Helen Rootham's poem "Envious Youth" was published in the 1916 Wheels anthology. To read this poem in a digitized version of this publication, follow the links below:

Archive.org

Modernist Journals Project