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Your email will not be shared or sold. First Name. Last Name. Eliot T. H Fanon Frantz Fanthorpe U. Scott Fitzgerald Scott F. Housman A. Vincent" Millay Edna St.

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Milne A. Rouseau Jean Jacques Rowling J. John of the Cross St. Patrick St. Tolkien J. Habitually chaining themselves to the wall. The dancers astound us, blossoms in their hair.

Delirium surrounds us, the Abyssinian air. The broken are endowed with will; the vile are made fair, The empty of heart are filled, and the thieves offer their share. My father and mother were holy and wild.

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They slept beside the fire, and on the ground they bore this child. I was nursed on the Legends, the mandolin and horn — Never kneeled to nothing save the Inconceivable Form.

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Who stole this heart? Who tore it from its home? We cannot turn away. We have to do the Labor. LC: Which of the songs do you feel closest to, are you most eager for audiences to hear? The song shows itself and my role is to receive and distribute and get out of the way.

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In fact, quite a few of these songs are very tender. I tend to live on the tip of the tongue, in the vapor on the edge of a whisper… But, you know, all my songs are Love songs. I feel akin to that creed — all my songs are Love songs. The wise, at every turn, will beg the energy of that Mystery to consume us. The tone and tempo of that song is almost jarring.

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JT: Hmm, it needs to be. Grace could still arise in the nick of time, but only if we start paying concise attention. JT: Once more, it is astonishingly cruel that we should even have to still be saying this, but war does not serve Humanity, especially now that it has become big business.

People are dying and killing so that a few billionaires can further fatten their coffers. There is no other reason. Any other justification is a lie. The US is involved in seven wars right now. So, what do I want people to garner from this song? I want people to consciously think about what it means to be alive. LC: Much is happening in Plague in the City. Teach this Poem. Poetry Near You. Academy of American Poets.

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National Poetry Month. American Poets Magazine.

Poems (Coates )/Volume I/Deathless Death - Wikisource, the free online library

Poems Find and share the perfect poems. Song of the Deathless Voice. I was dreaming in my room, 'Mid the shadows, still as they; Night, in veil of woven gloom, Wept and trailed her tresses gray O'er her fair, dead sister — Day. To me from some far-away Crept a voice — or seemed to creep — As a wave-child of the deep, Frightened by the wild storm's roar Creeps low-sighing to the shore Very low and very lone Came the voice with song of moan, This, weak-sung in weaker word, Is the song that night I heard: How long!

Alas, how long! How long shall the Celt chant the sad song of hope, That a sunrise may break on the long starless night of our past? How long shall we wander and wait on the desolate slope Of Thabors that promise our Transfiguration at last? How long, O Lord! How long! How long, O Fate! How long shall our sunburst reflect but the sunset of Right, When gloaming still lights the dim immemorial years?

How long shall our harp's strings, like winds that are wearied of night, Sound sadder than moanings in tones all a-trembling with tears? How long, O Right!