Stephen Vincent Benet: Всі вірші поета

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Poor Devil!

Well, I was tired of life; the silly folk,

The tiresome noises, all the common things

I loved once, crushed me with an iron yoke.

I longed for the cool quiet and the dark,

Under the common sod where louts and kings

Lie down, serene, unheeding, careless, stark,

Never to rise or move or feel again,

Filled with the ecstasy of being dead. . . .

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Campus Sonnets: Talk

Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceiling

From half a dozen pipes and cigarettes,

Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling,

As formless as our talk. Phil, drawling, bets

Cornell will win the relay in a walk,

While Bob and Mac discuss the Giants' chances;

Deep in a morris-chair, Bill scowls at "Falk",

John gives large views about the last few dances.

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Music

My friend went to the piano; spun the stool

A little higher; left his pipe to cool;

Picked up a fat green volume from the chest;

And propped it open.

Whitely without rest,

His fingers swept the keys that flashed like swords,

. . . And to the brute drums of barbarian hordes,

Roaring and thunderous and weapon-bare,

by Stephen Vincent Benet

The Drug-Shop, Or, Endymion In Edmonstoun

"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never make his way."

Letter of George Keats, 18—

Night falls; the great jars glow against the dark,

Dark green, dusk red, and, like a coiling snake,

Writhing eternally in smoky gyres,

Great ropes of gorgeous vapor twist and turn

Within them. So the Eastern fisherman

Saw the swart genie rise when the lead seal,

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Nightmare Number Three

We had expected everything but revolt

And I kind of wonder myself when they started thinking--

But there’s no dice in that now.

I’ve heard fellow say

They must have planned it for years and maybe they did.

Looking back, you can find little incidents here and there,

Like the concrete-mixer in Jersey eating the wop

Or the roto press that printed "Fiddle-dee-dee!"

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Campus Sonnets: May Morning

I lie stretched out upon the window-seat

And doze, and read a page or two, and doze,

And feel the air like water on me close,

Great waves of sunny air that lip and beat

With a small noise, monotonous and sweet,

Against the window — and the scent of cool,

Frail flowers by some brown and dew-drenched pool

Possesses me from drowsy head to feet.

by Stephen Vincent Benet

The Hemp

(A Virginia Legend.)

The Planting of the Hemp.

Captain Hawk scourged clean the seas

(Black is the gap below the plank)

From the Great North Bank to the Caribbees

(Down by the marsh the hemp grows rank).

His fear was on the seaport towns,

The weight of his hand held hard the downs.

by Stephen Vincent Benet

The White Peacock

(France — Ancient Regime.)

Go away!

Go away; I will not confess to you!

His black biretta clings like a hangman's cap; under his twitching fingers the beads shiver and click,

As he mumbles in his corner, the shadow deepens upon him;

I will not confess! . . .

Is he there or is it intenser shadow?

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Dedication: To W R B

And so, to you, who always were

Perseus, D'Artagnan, Lancelot

To me, I give these weedy rhymes

In memory of earlier times.

Now all those careless days are not.

Of all my heroes, you endure.

Words are such silly things! too rough,

Too smooth, they boil up or congeal,

by Stephen Vincent Benet

A Minor Poet

I am a shell. From me you shall not hear

The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,

The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes,

Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.

Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,

A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,

The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,

The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Going Back To School

The boat ploughed on. Now Alcatraz was past

And all the grey waves flamed to red again

At the dead sun's last glimmer. Far and vast

The Sausalito lights burned suddenly

In little dots and clumps, as if a pen

Had scrawled vague lines of gold across the hills;

The sky was like a cup some rare wine fills,

And stars came as he watched

by Stephen Vincent Benet

Robert E Lee

The man was loved, the man was idolized,

The man had every just and noble gift.

He took great burdens and he bore them well,

Believed in God but did not preach too much,

Believed and followed duty first and last

With marvellous consistency and force,

Was a great victor, in defeat as great,

No more, no less, always himself in both,

by Stephen Vincent Benet