At low tide like this how sheer the water is

like a poet hidden

what a million filaments

by shallow rivers to whose falls

set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute

to fetch new lust and give it to you

 

all suddenly around his body wound

like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe

the next, with dirges due, in sad array

when I saw my mother’s head on the cold pillow

oh, write no more the tale of Troy.

 

Lines randomly selected:

At low tide like this how sheer the water is

set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute

Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe

fame and rumor are but toys

oh, write no more the tale of Troy

by shallow rivers to whose falls

that the uncertain and adulaterate fruit

like a poet hidden

all suddenly about his body wound

Minever Cheevy, child of scorn

to fetch new lust, and give it to you

what a million filaments

when I saw my mother’s head on the cold pillow

the next, with dirges due, in sad array

 

poets whose lines are used:

William Collins

R.S. Thomas

Sylvia Plath

John Donne

E.A. Robinson

Robert Spenser

Andrew Marvell

Shakespeare

Ben Jonson

Percy Shelley

Elizabeth Bishop

John Dryden