Classic and Contemporary Poetry
STYX RIVER ANTHOLOGY, by CAROLYN WELLS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I couldn't help weeping with delight Last Line: I did. Subject(s): Death; Masters, Edgar Lee (1869-1950); Rivers; Tears; Women; Dead, The | ||||||||
ALICE BEN BOLT I COULDN'T help weeping with delight When the boys kissed me and called me sweet. It was foolish, I know, To weep when I was glad; But I was young and I wasn't very well. I was nervous, weak, anemic, A sort of human mimosa; and I hadn't much brains, And my mind wouldn't jell, anyhow. That's why I trembled with fear when they frowned. But they didn't frown often, For I was sweetly pretty and most pliable. But, oh, the grim joke of asking Ben Bolt if he remembered me! Me! Why, it was Ben Bolt who -- Well, never mind. He paid for this granite slab, And it's as stylish as any in the church yard. But I wish I had a more becoming shroud. THE BLESSED DAMOZEL I was one of those long, lanky, loose-jointed girls Who fool people into believing They are willowy and psychic and mysterious. I was always hungry; I never ate enough to satisfy me, For fear I'd get fat. Oh, how little the world knows of the bitterness of life To a woman who tries to keep thin! Many thought I died of a broken heart, But it was an empty stomach. Then Mr. Rossetti wrote about me. He described me all dolled up in some ladies' wearing apparel That I wore at a fancy ball. I had fasted all day, and had had my hair marcelled And my face corrected. And I was a dream. But he seemed to think he really saw me, Seemed to think I appeared to him after my death. Oh, fudge! Those spiritualists are always seeing things! ENOCH ARDEN Yes, it was the eternal triangle, Only they didn't call it that then. Of course everybody thought I was all broken up When I found Annie wed to Philip, But, as a matter of fact, I didn't care so much; For she was one of those self-starting weepers, And a man can't stand blubbering all the time. And, then, of course, When I was off on that long sea trip -- Oh, well, you know what sailors are. LITTLE EVA To be honest, I didn't mind dying, For I had One of these here now Dressy deaths. It was staged, you know, And, like Samson, My death brought down the house. I was a smarty kid, And they were less frequent then than later. Oh, I was the Mary Pickford of my time, And I rest content With my notoriety. LUCY Yes, I am in my grave, And you bet it makes a difference to him! For we were to be married, -- at least, I think we were, And he'd made me promise to deed him the house. But I had to go and get appendicitis, And they took me to the hospital. It was a nice hospital, clean, And Tables Reserved For Ladies. Well, my heart gave out. He came and stood over my grave, And registered deep concern. And now, he's going round with that Hen-minded Hetty What's-her-name! Her with her Whistler's Mother and her Baby Stuart On her best-room wall! And I hate her, and I'm glad she squints. Well, I suppose I lived my life, But it was Life in name only. And I'm mad at the whole world! OPHELIA No, it wasn't suicide, But I had heard so much of those mud baths, I thought I'd try one. Ugh! it was a mess! Weeds, slime, and tangled vines! Oh, me! Had I been Annette Kellerman Or even a real mermaid, I had lived to tell the tale. But I slid down and under, And so Will Shaxpur told it for me. Just as well. But I think my death scene is unexcelled By any in cold print. It beats that scrawny, red-headed old thing of Tom Hood's All hollow! CASABIANCA I played to the Grand Stand! Sure I did, And I made good. Ain't I in McGuffey's Third Reader? Don't they speak pieces about me Friday afternoons? Don't everybody know the first two lines of my story, -- And no more? Say, I was there with the goods, Wasn't I? And it paid. But I wish Movin' Pitchers had been invented then! ANNABEL LEE They may say all they like About germs and micro-crocuses, -- Or whatever they are! But my set opinion is, -- If you want to get a good, old-fashioned chills and fever, Just poke around In a damp, messy place by the sea, Without rubbers on. A good cold wind, Blowing out of a cloud, by night, Will give you a harder shaking ague Than all the bacilli in the Basilica. It did me. ANGUS MC PHAIRSON Oh, of course, It's always some dratted petticoat! Just because that little flibbertigibbet, Annie Laurie Had a white throat and a blue e'e, She played the very devil with my peace of mind. She'd dimple at me Till I was aboot crazy; And then laugh at me through her dimples! She was my bespoke. And I'd beg her to have the banns called, -- But there was no pinning her down. Well, she was so bonny That like a fool, I said I'd lay me doon And dee for her. And, -- like a fool, -- I did. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY |
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