The Old Man
An old man sat beneath a tree
Alone;
So still was he
That, if he had been carved in stone,
He could not be
More quiet or more cold:
He was an ancient man
More than
A thousand ages old.
poem by James Stephens
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The Secret
I was frightened, for a wind
Crept along the grass to say
Something that was in my mind
Yesterday—
Something that I did not know
Could be found out by the wind,
I had buried it so low
In my mind.
poem by James Stephens
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The Wind
The wind stood up and gave a shout.
He whistled on his fingers and
Kicked the withered leaves about
And thumped the branches with his hand
And said that he'd kill and kill,
And so he will and so he will.
poem by James Stephens
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Breakfast Time
The sun is always in the sky
Whenever I get out of bed,
And I often wonder why
It's never late.—My sister said
She did not know who did the trick,
And that she did not care a bit,
And I should eat my porridge quick.
... I think it's mother wakens it.
poem by James Stephens
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The Wood of Flowers
I went to the Wood of Flowers
(No one was with me):
I was there alone for hours.
I was happy as could be
In the Wood of Flowers.
There was grass on the ground,
There were buds on the tree,
And the wind had a sound
Of such gaiety,
That I was as happy
As happy could be,
In the Wood of Flowers.
poem by James Stephens
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The White Wido
The moon comes every night to peep
Through the window where I lie,
And I pretend to be asleep;
But I watch the moon as it goes by,
And it never makes a sound.
It stands and stares, and then it goes
To the house that's next to me,
Stealing on its tippy-toes,
To peep at folk asleep maybe;
And it never makes a sound.
poem by James Stephens
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The Cow
Cow, Cow!
I and thou
Are looking at each other's eyes
You are lying on the grass
Eating every time I pass,
And you do not seem to be
Ever in perplexity:
You are good I'm sure, and not
Fit for nothing but the pot:
For your bearing is so kind,
And your quietness so wise:
Cow, Cow!
I and thou
Are looking at each other's eyes.
poem by James Stephens
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April Showers
The leaves are fresh after the rain,
The air is cool and clear,
The sun is shining warm again,
The sparrows hopping in the lane
Are brisk and full of cheer.
And that is why we dance and play,
And that is why we sing,
Calling out in voices gay,
We will not go to school to-day
Or learn anything:
It is a happy thing, I say,
To be alive on such a day.
poem by James Stephens
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The Ancient Elf
I am the maker,
The builder, the breaker,
The eagle-winged helper,
The speedy forsaker!
The lance and the lyre,
The water, the fire,
The tooth of oppression,
The lip of desire!
The snare and the wing,
They honey, the sting!
When you seek for me--look
For a different thing!
I, careless and gay,
Never mean what I say,
For my thoughts and my eyes
Look the opposite way!
poem by James Stephens
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White Fields
I
In the winter time we go
Walking in the fields of snow;
Where there is no grass at all;
Where the top of every wall,
Every fence, and every tree,
Is as white as white can be.
II
Pointing out the way we came,
-Every one of them the same-
All across the fields there be
Prints in silver filigree;
And our mothers always know,
[...] Read more
poem by James Stephens
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