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Lista de Poemas

45 - Um renque de árvores lá longe, lá para a encosta.

Um renque de árvores lá longe, lá para a encosta.
Mas o que é um renque de árvores? Há árvores apenas.
Renque e o plural árvores não são coisas, são nomes.

Tristes das almas humanas, que põem tudo em ordem,
Que traçam linhas de coisa a coisa,
Que põem letreiros com nomes nas árvores absolutamente reais,
E desenham paralelos de latitude e longitude
Sobre a própria terra inocente e mais verde e florida do que isso!

👁️ 2 511

50 - SONNET

God made my shivering nerves His human lyre,
A lyre whose curves in angels' faces end.
When God doth sing the song's invisible fire
And half-visible wings over it bend.

Fountain of incorruptible desire!
Gold-misted green isle where my bark doth tend!
My soul, rich with electedness, doth tire
My sense o) me with aches with God to blend.

But lo! to live is to be blent with God
Already. We need nought but life, all life.
Pain, evil, hale, lust, treachery, the rod
Of custom, the bypath of dreams, the knife

Grief hideth till it cut her, the delight
Of death – all these we God's willed spite.
👁️ 4 541

DOUBT

DOUBT

Tell me, tell me who dreams most –
He who sees the world aright
Or the man in dreaming lost?
What is true? What is’t that seems –
The lie that’s lie that is in dreams?

Who is unto truth less near –
He who sees all truth a shadow
Or he who sees dreams all clear?
He who is a good guest, or he?
Who feels alien at the feast?


Alexander Search, 19/06/1907
👁️ 4 321

DESOLATION

DESOLATION

Here where the rugged hills
Their gnarled loose bases grip into the earth,
And nothing save the sorrow of our birth
From seeing the seeing spirit fills,
Here where, among the grim, deserted stones,
Na hope of green for desertness atones,
Or water's sound
Make sweet the solitude around,
Here may I lay
This day
My head
Upon the ground and say
No better bed
Can he who has but himself for life have,
Nor better grave.

The sterile part
Of love, feeling, was given me.
Fom the humanness even of a broken heart
God set me free.
Out of my destiny no flower was made
To grow.
All in me fated was not even to fade
Or e'en a vain and transient glory show.

The very need
For love or joy or the human part of thought,
Pride, and the abstract greed
For truth, that lifts the heart and doth allot
A value of self and world to consciousness –
Even this bliss
My empty heart has not.

O weary born,
Faded begun.
Gone from unseen shores to seen shores forlorn,
Sent out of sun-gone unto unborn sun!
The singer of his wish
To sing no song,
The poor spendthrift rich
With knowing not fo, what to long.
The Hyperion dispossessed
Ere birth
Of that sun-mansion set out beyond rest
Above the wide-lit stretches of the earth.

The uncrowned king
That never saw the land
Of which he oft doth sing,
And whose lost path he cannot understand
Nor know to dream steps him there to bring.
The priest deferred
From the inner shrine.
The thought but never uttered word,
The fore spilt wine,
The anxiousness for hope, the cold divine
Of anguish that no anguish human is,
The solitary pine
On the cold hill of consciousness.

The hour
The lord
Returns
Back to the polluted bower,
Home to the intransitable ford,
Again to the ice-padlocked burns:
The shadow
Fixedly thrown
On the green meadow
By a tree overgrown
With leaves, but fruitless, flowerless and lone.

The last
Sight of a shore
Which the unhalting ship doth pass
And where it never shall pass more;
But where the heart-dim sailor knows
Homes are happy because not his,
Lips warm because never his lips to kiss,
Gardens fair because therein grows
The unfound rose,
Hours soft, fate fresh, life a real fair elf
Because somewhere outside himself.


16/10/1916
👁️ 4 366

APPROACHING

APPROACHING

With dragging steps severe, like creeping hate,
Through the black silence of my conscious brain
I hear madness advance, and feel with pain
The ground it treads on writhe and palpitate.
How to avoid its coming soon or late
How not to feel the mind’s grand vainly strain,
But rooted lie awaiting its dread reign
That cometh inopposable as fate?

If only madness came as lightning doth –
Suddenly – that were the least greatest ill...
But oh! to feel with consciousness’ clear sight
Reason’s day go to twilight in swift growth,
And the twilight of reason, pale and chill,
Darken towards impenetrable night.

Alexander Search, 23/03/1909
👁️ 4 208

9 - Go: thou hast nothing to forgive

THE SHINNING POOL


Go: thou hast nothing to forgive.
To dream is better than to live.

But he shall see the rising sun
Who leaveth everything undone;
Whose mind from his attention's task
Strays like the shifting of a mask.

He only shall through greener vales
Than even those that shine right through
The window-panes of children's tales
Wander, who thinks the world anew.

Only for him who sits and sings
On the stiles and forgets his road
Does the fairies' bird spread her wings
And the fairies' flowers grow more broad.

He shall not find a hand to feed
The silent sources of his need.
No one shall point the rill where he
May slake the thirst of infancy.

But greener valleys than To-Day
And dearer thoughts than Far Away
Shall tap at his window and wake
His freshness other thirsts to slake.

So, like a seamstress sitting still
At a window in the sunset
Of a village no steps have met,
He shall belong to nothing ill,

But incorporeal, like a wish,
His soul shall like a rainbow cross
The rain-green pastures of his loss
And earth shall blossom into speech.
👁️ 4 266

XXXII - When I have sense of what to sense appears,

When I have sense of what to sense appears,
Sense is sense ere 'tis mine or mine in me is.
When I hear, Hearing, ere I do hear, hears.
When I see, before me abstract Seeing sees.
I am part Soul part I in all I touch –
Soul by that part I hold in common with all,
And I the spoiled part, that doth make sense such
As I can err by it and my sense mine call.
The rest is wondering what these thoughts may mean,
That come to explain and suddenly are gone,
Like messengers that mock the message' mien,
Explaining all but the explanation;
As if we a ciphered letter's cipher hit
And find it in an unknown language writ.
👁️ 4 178

24 - EPISODE

EPISODE

No matter what we dream,
What we dream is true.
No matter what doth seem,
God doth it view
And therefore it is
Real as all this.

No matter what we wish,
We have it elsewhere,
Now, e'er now and rich
Are we here of there.
Inside our felt I
God we self-descry.

Sometimes I think hope
May make this come true,
But I stop, I grope,
And life, fear and woe
Is all that remains.
Wherefore then these pains,

This unrest that thrills
With a possible joy,
All the pain that fills
Our hope till it cloy?
Wherefore this, wherefore
If all is unsure?

O give me a breeze
On a meadow land,
And let that breeze please
Nor I understand.
For all anguish is
A vague wish for bliss.
👁️ 3 971

XXX - I do not know what truth the false untruth

I do not know what truth the false untruth
Of this sad sense of the seen world may own,
Or if this flowered plant bears also a fruit
Unto the true reality unknown.
But as the rainbow, neither earth's nor sky's,
Stands in the dripping freshness of lulled rain,
A hope, note real yet not fancy's, lies
Athwart the moment of our ceasing pain.
Somehow, since pain is felt yet felt as ill,
Hope hath a better warrant than being hoped;
Since pain is felt as aught we should not feel
Man hath a Nature's reason for having groped,
Since Time was Time and age and grief his measures
Towards a better shelter than Time's pleasures.
👁️ 4 032

28 - ISIS

In the cool pillared portico
That gives white entrance to her moods
Start-lovely stand in a mule row
The statues of her pulchritudes.

Twelve are they and the mind doth gather
Their separate seen lives to one sense;
The thirteenth, which is all together,
Means her soul and its confluence.

Five statues mean the senses five,
Seven are her mysteries of Thought.
The thirteenth seems somehow to live
Beside her life and know it not.

The summer lies outside her shades,
The breezes creep into her halls,
And from her windowed loss the glades
Are something that the soul recalls.

She built her house with heavenly types
Of building in her inner seeing.
The sun makes the long pillars stripes
On the cold hard floors of her being.

Yet she is absent and despairing,
Her statues await her New Hour,
And from the shadows of her hearing
The whisper of the drones doth flower.

This was not anyhow nor when.
All was as cool as dreams are cool
When breezes creep up to our pain
And we are laid beside a pool,

And a far larger pool arises
In our restored imagining,
And all our body's sense despises
Our innate lack of fin and wing.

Still by her portico I stopped.
The shadows there were clear and fast.
Slightly, as with a kiss, I hoped,
And Having, like a swallow passed.
👁️ 4 523

Comentários (17)

Iniciar sessão ToPostComment
Gabriel
Gabriel
2025-09-17

What?

ademir domingos zanotelli
ademir domingos zanotelli
2025-07-27

Simplesmente um pensador ( tão grande) pois todos nós temos máscaras, nossos sentimentos são todos ocultos na nossa eterna alma. fantástico este texto para sua época vivida.

rodrigl
rodrigl
2023-12-01

cmt

tomaslopes
tomaslopes
2023-06-23

O maior e mais pensador poeta para a sua antiga época. O maior e mais revolucionista da literatura portuguesa, com os seus poemas e textos que enchem a alma de pensamentos. Tem um forma única de se expressar e ditar o que vem da sua alma, como ele dizia " Quem tem alma não tem calma".

mcegonha
mcegonha
2023-04-21

O profeta dos poetas!