Twelfth Night

POETRY: Twelfth Night by Elinor Wylie

January 5, 2019

It has always been King Herod that I feared; King Herod and his kinsmen, ever since… I do not like the color of your beard; I think that you are wicked, and a prince. I keep no stable…how your horses stamp!… If you are wise men, you will leave me soon; I have been frightened by a thievish tramp Who counted bloody silver in the moon. You get no lodging underneath these roofs, No, though you pay in frankincense and myrrh; Your harness jangles with your horses’ hooves; Be quiet; you will wake him if you stir. This is no church for Zoroastrians, Nor resting-place for governors from Rome; Oh, I have knowledge of your secret plans; Your faces are familiar; go home. And you, young captain of the lion stare, Subdue your arrogance to [...]

POETRY: Twelfth Night by Phyllis McGinley

January 6, 2018

Down from the window take the withered holly. Feed the torn tissue to the literal blaze. Now, now at last are come the melancholy Anticlimactic days. Here in the light of morning, hard, unvarnished, Let us with haste dismantle the tired tree Of ornaments, a trifle chipped and tarnished, Pretend we do not see How all the rooms seem shabbier and meaner And the tired house a little less than snug. Fold up the tinsel. Run the vacuum cleaner Over the littered rug. Nothing is left. The postman passes by, now, Bearing no gifts, no kind or seasonal word. The icebox yields no wing, no nibbled thigh, now, From any holiday bird. Sharp in the streets the north wind plagues its betters While Christmas snow to gutters is consigned. Nothing remains [...]

POETRY: Twelfth Night by Philip Booth

January 5, 2016

At Twelfth Night twilight now the greens burn bright: the dry-spined wreath and bittersweet returned to frozen earth, Canada fir become the fire that wreathes a ritual circle in the snow. The decorations are first to flame: old mistletoe and holly go up in a burst of charred berry, their holy roots tossed on, a burnt seed sown, long after the symbol and song are lost. Uprooted meanings flare like watchfires in this cold backyard. A single star outshines the ice. Unheard, the Magi raise their prayer; a blaze of balsam climbs the still and brittle air. At Twelfth Night twilight now the tree must be the final torch, a coronal to melt the dark; the branch that angels swung on, Christ hung on, quick tinder lit to ebb the tidal snow. From slow [...]