Poems

by

Alan Seeger


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Contents:

Introduction by William Archer

Juvenilia

An Ode to Natural Beauty
There is a power whose inspiration fills
Nature's fair fabric, sun- and star-inwrought,
The Deserted Garden
I know a village in a far-off land
      Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain
The Torture of Cuauhtemoc
Their strength had fed on this when Death's white arms
Came sleeved in vapors and miasmal dew,
The Nympholept
There was a boy -- - not above childish fears -- -
With steps that faltered now and straining ears,
The Wanderer
To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so
Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves,
The Need to Love
The need to love that all the stars obey
      Entered my heart and banished all beside.
El Extraviado
Over the radiant ridges borne out on the offshore wind,
      I have sailed as a butterfly sails whose priming wings unfurled
La Nue
Oft when sweet music undulated round,
      Like the full moon out of a perfumed sea
All That's Not Love . . .
All that's not love is the dearth of my days,
      The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit,
Paris
First, London, for its myriads; for its height,
Manhattan heaped in towering stalagmite;
The Sultan's Palace
My spirit only lived to look on Beauty's face,
      As only when they clasp the arms seem served aright;
Fragments
In that fair capital where Pleasure, crowned
Amidst her myriad courtiers, riots and rules,
Thirty Sonnets:
   Sonnet I
Down the strait vistas where a city street
Fades in pale dust and vaporous distances,
   Sonnet II
Her courts are by the flux of flaming ways,
Between the rivers and the illumined sky
   Sonnet III
There was a youth around whose early way
White angels hung in converse and sweet choir,
   Sonnet IV
Up at his attic sill the South wind came
And days of sun and storm but never peace.
   Sonnet V
A tide of beauty with returning May
Floods the fair city; from warm pavements fume
   Sonnet VI
Give me the treble of thy horns and hoofs,
The ponderous undertones of 'bus and tram,
   Sonnet VII
To me, a pilgrim on that journey bound
Whose stations Beauty's bright examples are,
   Sonnet VIII
Oft as by chance, a little while apart
The pall of empty, loveless hours withdrawn,
   Sonnet IX
Amid the florid multitude her face
Was like the full moon seen behind the lace
   Sonnet X
A splendor, flamelike, born to be pursued,
With palms extent for amorous charity
   Sonnet XI
When among creatures fair of countenance
Love comes enformed in such proud character,
   Sonnet XII
Like as a dryad, from her native bole
Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge,
   Sonnet XIII
I fancied, while you stood conversing there,
Superb, in every attitude a queen,
   Sonnet XIV
It may be for the world of weeds and tares
And dearth in Nature of sweet Beauty's rose
   Sonnet XV
Above the ruin of God's holy place,
Where man-forsaken lay the bleeding rood,
   Sonnet XVI
Who shall invoke her, who shall be her priest,
With single rites the common debt to pay?
   Kyrenaikos
Lay me where soft Cyrene rambles down
In grove and garden to the sapphire sea;
   Antinous
Stretched on a sunny bank he lay at rest,
Ferns at his elbow, lilies round his knees,
   Vivien
Her eyes under their lashes were blue pools
Fringed round with lilies; her bright hair unfurled
   I Loved . . .
I loved illustrious cities and the crowds
That eddy through their incandescent nights.
   Virginibus Puerisque . . .
I care not that one listen if he lives
For aught but life's romance, nor puts above
   With a Copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets on Leaving College
As one of some fat tillage dispossessed,
Weighing the yield of these four faded years,
   Written in a Volume of the
Comtesse de Noailles
Be my companion under cool arcades
That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square
   Coucy
The rooks aclamor when one enters here
Startle the empty towers far overhead;
   Tezcotzinco
Though thou art now a ruin bare and cold,
Thou wert sometime the garden of a king.
   The Old Lowe House, Staten Island
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye,
And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes)
   Oneata
A hilltop sought by every soothing breeze
That loves the melody of murmuring boughs,
   On the Cliffs, Newport
Tonight a shimmer of gold lies mantled o'er
Smooth lovely Ocean. Through the lustrous gloom
   To England at the Outbreak of the Balkan War
A cloud has lowered that shall not soon pass o'er.
The world takes sides: whether for impious aims
   At the Tomb of Napoleon Before the Elections in America -- November, 1912
I stood beside his sepulchre whose fame,
Hurled over Europe once on bolt and blast,
The Rendezvous
He faints with hope and fear. It is the hour.
      Distant, across the thundering organ-swell,
Do You Remember Once . . .
Do you remember once, in Paris of glad faces,
      The night we wandered off under the third moon's rays
The Bayadere
Flaked, drifting clouds hide not the full moon's rays
More than her beautiful bright limbs were hid
Eudaemon
O happiness, I know not what far seas,
      Blue hills and deep, thy sunny realms surround,
Broceliande
Broceliande! in the perilous beauty of silence and menacing shade,
Thou art set on the shores of the sea down the haze of horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Lyonesse
In Lyonesse was beauty enough, men say:
Long Summer loaded the orchards to excess,
Tithonus
So when the verdure of his life was shed,
With all the grace of ripened manlihead,
An Ode to Antares
At dusk, when lowlands where dark waters glide
Robe in gray mist, and through the greening hills
Translations
Dante. Inferno, Canto XXVI
Florence, rejoice! For thou o'er land and sea
So spread'st thy pinions that the fame of thee
Ariosto. Orlando Furioso, Canto X, 91-99
Ruggiero, to amaze the British host,
And wake more wonder in their wondering ranks,
On a Theme in the Greek Anthology
Thy petals yet are closely curled,
      Rose of the world,
After an Epigram of Clement Marot
The lad I was I longer now
Nor am nor shall be evermore.
Last Poems
The Aisne (1914-15)
We first saw fire on the tragic slopes
      Where the flood-tide of France's early gain,
Champagne (1914-15)
In the glad revels, in the happy fetes,
      When cheeks are flushed, and glasses gilt and pearled
The Hosts
      Purged, with the life they left, of all
That makes life paltry and mean and small,
Maktoob
A shell surprised our post one day
      And killed a comrade at my side.
I Have a Rendezvous with Death . . .
      I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
Sonnets:
   - Sonnet I -
Sidney, in whom the heyday of romance
Came to its precious and most perfect flower,
   - Sonnet II -
Not that I always struck the proper mean
Of what mankind must give for what they gain,
   - Sonnet III -
Why should you be astonished that my heart,
Plunged for so long in darkness and in dearth,
   - Sonnet IV -
If I was drawn here from a distant place,
'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address,
   - Sonnet V -
Seeing you have not come with me, nor spent
This day's suggestive beauty as we ought,
   - Sonnet VI -
Oh, you are more desirable to me
Than all I staked in an impulsive hour,
   - Sonnet VII -
There have been times when I could storm and plead,
But you shall never hear me supplicate.
   - Sonnet VIII -
Oh, love of woman, you are known to be
A passion sent to plague the hearts of men;
   - Sonnet IX -
Well, seeing I have no hope, then let us part;
Having long taught my flesh to master fear,
   - Sonnet X -
I have sought Happiness, but it has been
A lovely rainbow, baffling all pursuit,
   - Sonnet XI -
Apart sweet women (for whom Heaven be blessed),
Comrades, you cannot think how thin and blue
   - Sonnet XII -
Clouds rosy-tinted in the setting sun,
Depths of the azure eastern sky between,
Bellinglise
Deep in the sloping forest that surrounds
The head of a green valley that I know,
Liebestod
I who, conceived beneath another star,
Had been a prince and played with life, instead
Resurgam
Exiled afar from youth and happy love,
      If Death should ravish my fond spirit hence
A Message to America
      You have the grit and the guts, I know;
You are ready to answer blow for blow
Introduction and Conclusion of a Long Poem
      I have gone sometimes by the gates of Death
And stood beside the cavern through whose doors
Ode in Memory of the American
Volunteers Fallen for France
Ay, it is fitting on this holiday,
Commemorative of our soldier dead,