Smells
WHY is it that the poet tells
So little of the sense of smell?
These are the odors I love well:
The smell of coffee freshly ground;
Or rich plum pudding, holly crowned;
Or onions fried and deeply browned.
The fragrance of a fumy pipe;
The smell of apples, newly ripe;
And printer's ink on leaden type.
Woods by moonlight in September
Breathe most sweet, and I remember
Many a smoky camp-fire ember.
Camphor, turpentine, and tea,
The balsam of a Christmas tree,
These are whiffs of gramarye. . .
A ship smells best of all to me!
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Intruder
AS I sat, to sift my dreaming
To the meet and needed word,
Came a merry Interruption
With insistence to be heard.
Smiling stood a maid beside me,
Half alluring and half shy;
Soft the white hint of her bosom-
Escapade was in her eye.
'I must not be so invaded,'
(IN anger then I cried)-
'Can't you see that I am busy?
Tempting creature, stay outside!
'Pearly rascal, I am writing:
I am now composing verse-
Fie on antic invitation:
Wanton, vanish-fly-disperse!
[...] Read more
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Wedded Lover
I READ in our old journals of the days
When our first love was April-sweet and new,
How fair it blossomed and deep-rooted grew
Despite the adverse time; and our amaze
At moon and stars and beauty beyond praise
That burgeoned all about us: gold and blue
The heaven arched us in, and all we knew
Was gentleness. We walked on happy ways.
They said by now the path would be more steep,
the sunsets paler and less mild the air;
Rightly we heeded not; it was not true.
We will not tell the secret-let it keep.
I know not how I thought those days so fair
These being so much fairer, spent with you
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Commercial Traveler
AH very sweet! If news should come to you
Some afternoon while waiting for our eve,
That the great Manager had made me leave
To travel on some territory new;
And that, whatever homeward winds there blew,
I could not touch your hand again, nor heave
The logs upon our hearth and bid you weave
Some wistful tale before the flames that grew. . .
Then, when the sudden tears had ceased to blind
Your pansied eyes, I wonder if you could
Remember rightly, and forget aright?
Remember just your lad, uncouthly good,
Forgetting what he failed in spleen or spite?
Could you remember him as always kind?
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Two O'Clock
Night after night goes by: and clocks still chime
And stars are changing pattrns in the dark
And watches tick, and over-puissant Time
Benumbs the eager brain. The dogs that bark,
The trains that roar and rattle in the night,
The very cats that prowl, all quiet find
And leave the darkness empty, silent quite:
Sleep comes to chloroform the fretting mind.
So all things end: and what is left at last?
Some scribbled sonnets tossed upon the floor,
A memory of easy days gone past,
A run-down watch, a pipe, some clothes we wore-
And in the darkened room I lean to know
How her dreamless breath doth pause and flow.
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
To You, Remembering the Past
WHEN we were parted, sweet, and darkness came,
I used to strike a match, and hold the flame
Before your picture and rould breathless mark
The answering glimmer of the tiny spark
That brought to life the magic of your eyes,
Their wistful tenderness, their glad surprise.
Holding that mimic torch before your shrine
I used to light your eyes and make them mine;
Watch them like stars set in a lonely sky,
Whisper my heart out, yearning for reply;
Summon your lips from far across the sea
Bidding them live a twilight hour with me.
Then, when the match was shriveller into gloom,
Lo-you were with me in the darkened room.
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Taking Title
TO make this little house my very own
Could not be done by law alone.
Though covenant and deed convey
Absolute fee, as lawyers say,
There are domestic rites beside
By which this house is sanctified.
By kindled fire upon the hearth,
By planted pansies in the garth,
By food, and by the quiet rest
Of those brown eyes that I love best,
And by a friends bright gift of wine,
I dedicate this house of mine.
When all but I are soft abed
I trail about my quiet stead
A wreath of blue tobacco smoke
(A charm that evil never broke)
And bring my ritual to an end
By giving shelter to a friend.
[...] Read more
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Washing the Dishes
WHEN we on simple rations sup
How easy is the washing up!
But heavy feeding complicates
The task by soiling many plates.
And though I grant that I have prayed
That we might find a serving-maid,
I'd scullion all my days I think,
To see Her smile across the sink!
I wash, she wipes. In water hot
I souse each pan and dish and pot;
While taffy mutters, purrs, and begs,
And rubs himself against my legs.
The man who never in his life
Has washed the dishes with his wife
Or polished up the silver plate-
He still is largely celibate.
[...] Read more
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Old Swimmer
I OFTEN wander on the beach
Where once, so brown of limb,
The biting air, the roaring surf
Summoned me to swim.
I see my old abundant youth
Whee combers lean and spill,
And though I taste the foam no more
Other swimmers will.
Oh, good exultant strength to meet
The arching wall of green,
To break the crystal, swirl, emerge
Dripping, taut, and clean.
To climb the moving hilly blue,
To dive in ecstasy
And feel the salty chill embrace
Arm and rib and knee.
[...] Read more
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Animal Crackers
Animal crackers and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers I think;
When I'm grown up and can have what I please
I think I shall always insist upon these.
What do YOU choose when you're offered a treat?
When Mother says, 'What would you like best to eat?'
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It's cocoa and animals that I love most!
The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know;
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.
Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don't have nearly as much fun as I
Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;
And Daddy once said, he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea.
poem by Christopher Morley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
