Isaiah Beethoven

    They told me I had three months to live,
    So I crept to Bernadotte,
    And sat by the mill for hours and hours
    Where the gathered waters deeply moving
    Seemed not to move:
    O world, that's you!
    You are but a widened place in the river
    Where Life looks down and we rejoice for her
    Mirrored in us, and so we dream And turn away, but when again
    We look for the face, behold the low-lands
    And blasted cotton-wood trees where we empty
    Into the larger stream!
    But here by the mill the castled clouds
    Mocked themselves in the dizzy water;
    And over its agate floor at night
    The flame of the moon ran under my eyes
    Amid a forest stillness broken
    By a flute in a hut on the hill.
    At last when I came to lie in bed
    Weak and in pain, with the dreams about me,
    The soul of the river had entered my soul,
    And the gathered power of my soul was moving
    So swiftly it seemed to be at rest
    Under cities of cloud and under
    Spheres of silver and changing worlds -
    Until I saw a flash of trumpets
    Above the battlements over Time.

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. Born in Kansas and raised in Illinois, Masters is best known for his collection of poems entitled "Spoon River Anthology" (1915), which is a series of epitaphs of residents of the fictional small town of Spoon River. His works reflect the everyday lives and frustrations of middle America. Masters also practiced law and wrote biographies for historical figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain.

Edgar Lee Masters

Bertrand And Gourgaud Talk Over Old Times

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Supplication

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

A. D. Blood

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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Heaven Is But The Hour

Eyes wide for wisdom, calm for joy or pain,
Bright hair alloyed with silver, scarcely gold.
And gracious lips flower pressed like buds to hold
The guarded heart against excess of rain.
Hands spirit tipped through which a genius plays
With paints and clays,
And strings in many keys -
Clothed in an aura of thought as soundless as a flood
Of sun-shine where there is no breeze.
So is it light in spite of rhythm of blood,
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Wind cannot dim or agitate the light.
From Plato's idea stepping, wholly wrought
From Plato's dream, made manifest in hair,
Eyes, lips and hands and voice,
As if the stored up thought
From the earth sphere
Had given down the being of your choice
Conjured by the dream long sought.

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Edgar Lee Masters

The Vision

    Of that dear vale where you and I have lain
    Scanning the mysteries of life and death
    I dreamed, though how impassable the space
    Of time between the present and the past!
    This was the vision that possessed my mind;
    I thought the weird and gusty days of March
    Had eased themselves in melody and peace.
    Pale lights, swift shadows, lucent stalks, clear streams,
    Cool, rosy eves behind the penciled mesh
    Of hazel thickets, and the huge feathered boughs
    Of walnut trees stretched singing to the blast;
    And the first pleasantries of sheep and kine;
    The cautioned twitterings of hidden birds;
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    Night's weeping stars and all the pageantries
    Of awakened life had blossomed i...

Edgar Lee Masters

Caroline Branson

    With our hearts like drifting suns, had we but walked,
    As often before, the April fields till star - light
    Silkened over with viewless gauze the darkness
    Under the cliff, our trysting place in the wood,
    Where the brook turns! Had we but passed from wooing
    Like notes of music that run together, into winning,
    In the inspired improvisation of love!
    But to put back of us as a canticle ended
    The rapt enchantment of the flesh,
    In which our souls swooned, down, down,
    Where time was not, nor space, nor ourselves -
    Annihilated in love!
    To leave these behind for a room with lamps:
    And to stand with our Secret mocking itself,
    And hiding itself amid flowers and mandolins,
    Stared at by all between salad and coffee....

Edgar Lee Masters

Something Beyond The Hill

To a western breeze
A row of golden tulips is nodding.
They flutter their golden wings
In a sudden ecstasy and say:
Something comes to us from beyond,
Out of the sky, beyond the hill
We give it to you.

        *        *        *        *        *

And I walk through rows of jonquils
To a beloved door,
Which you open.
And you stand with the priceless gold of your tulip head
Nodding to me, and saying:
Something comes to me
Out of the mystery of Eternal Beauty -
I give it to you.

        *        *        *        *        *

There is the morning wonder of hyacinth in your eyes,
And the freshness of June iris in your hands,
And the rapture of gardenias in your bosom.
But your voice is the voice of the robin
Singing ...

Edgar Lee Masters

Elijah Browning

    I was among multitudes of children
    Dancing at the foot of a mountain.
    A breeze blew out of the east and swept them as leaves,
    Driving some up the slopes. . . .
    All was changed.
    Here were flying lights, and mystic moons, and dream-music.
    A cloud fell upon us.
    When it lifted all was changed.
    I was now amid multitudes who were wrangling.
    Then a figure in shimmering gold, and one with a trumpet,
    And one with a sceptre stood before me.
    They mocked me and danced a rigadoon and vanished. . . .
    All was changed again.
    Out of a bower of poppies
    A woman bared her breasts and lifted her open mouth to mine.
    I kissed her.
    The taste of her lips was like salt.
    She left blood on my lips.
    I fe...

Edgar Lee Masters

When Life Is Real

    We rode, we rode against the wind.
    The countless lights along the town
    Made the town blacker for their fire,
    And you were always looking down.

    To 'scape the blustering breath of March,
    Or was it for your mind's disguise?
    Still I could shut my eyes and see
    The turquoise color of your eyes.

    Surely your ermine furs were warm,
    And warm your flowing cloak of red;
    Was it the wild wind kept you thus
    Pensive and with averted head?

    I scarcely spoke, my words were swept
    Like winged things in the wind's despite.
    We rode, and with what shadow speed
    Across the darkness of the night!

    Without a word, without a look.
    What was the charm and what the spell
    That made one...

Edgar Lee Masters