Sep 15, 2026 · 1 hr 19 min · 29 segments
For Eager Lovers by Genevieve Taggard invites listeners into a world of passionate connections and heartfelt expressions of love. This evocative work captures the essence of romantic longing and the…
The Futile by Genevieve Taggart.
the stone falls the bird flies the arrow goes home but we have no motion we scatter like foam oh give me a song to sing for your sorrow a song that will lift like a wave from the reef you and myself that will fling like an arrow my poor scattered words to the target of grief i want to forget to remember no morrow to go with the petrel to go with the leaf we would fly with all things to the goal of their flying we would turn with all things to the magnetic star but we never can live because of our dying and we never can be for the things that we are we alone of all creatures the stones more than we have no end no motion no destiny End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
wishes are birds you have been circled round with them invisible i sent you in distress flown from my heart that long had held them bound surpassing winds and their sharp eagerness you have not seen their dim shades on the ground nor heard them never felt their pinions press beating the air but never making sound and hanging over you in breathlessness so with you here the trembling little words lie down like frightened children in the dark lie down and weep and wishes winged like birds fly crowding back With this the only mark that I have almost told you breathless things.
You hear the weary folding down of wings.
there was a time when mother nature made my soul's sun and my soul's shade a cloud in the sky could take away the song in my heart for all day and a little lark in a willow tree would mean happiness to me my moods would mirror all her whims trees were my strength their limbs my limbs but oh my mother tortured me blowing with wind and sighing with sea i flamed i withered i blossomed i sang with her i suffered pang for pang until i said i will grow my own tree where no natural wind will bother me and i grew me a willow of my own heart's strength with my will for its width and my wish for its length and i made me a bird of my own heart's fire to sing my own son and my own desire and a vast white circle came in the air and the winds around said don't blow there i said blow on blow blow blow blow fill all the sky above below with tempest and sleet and silence and snow wherever i go no matter where my bird and my willow-tree are there however you frown no matter how i will sing as i am singing now End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
Tropical Girl to Her Garden by Genevieve Taggart Read for LibriVox.org Renewgate Novelist withhold your breath heavy in noon and sleepy as slow death garden of sweets and sours the cluster of my body hangs odorous with flowers stamen serpent fangs sultry in showers withhold your hand my boughs are bent with gold my face is fanned with wings of bees that thirsting curve and kiss under green leaves green tendrils coil and hiss sun spills on me gloom bears me down too much my heavy fruit will fall without a touch from hanging long in sultriness like this End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
Only a few hours.
We danced like wind.
Our faces like noon flowers on one slim stem were lifted, turned aside.
You flew.
I followed, matched your stride, and held your paws and swung and parted wide.
Only a few hours.
We danced like wind, thirsty as blown flowers, heavy-lidded, fearful-eyed.
End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
First, by Genevieve Taggart.
There is a bird that hangs head down and cries Between the mango leaves and passion vines.
Below a spotted serpent twines, And blunts its head against the yellowing skies.
Along the warping ground a turtle scrapes, And tortured lie glazed fishes in marsh grass.
Across the sky that burnishes like brass, A bat veers, stupid with the yeast of grapes.
The Futile by Genevieve Taggart.
the stone falls the bird flies the arrow goes home but we have no motion we scatter like foam oh give me a song to sing for your sorrow a song that will lift like a wave from the reef you and myself that will fling like an arrow my poor scattered words to the target of grief i want to forget to remember no morrow to go with the petrel to go with the leaf we would fly with all things to the goal of their flying we would turn with all things to the magnetic star but we never can live because of our dying and we never can be for the things that we are we alone of all creatures the stones more than we have no end no motion no destiny End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
wishes are birds you have been circled round with them invisible i sent you in distress flown from my heart that long had held them bound surpassing winds and their sharp eagerness you have not seen their dim shades on the ground nor heard them never felt their pinions press beating the air but never making sound and hanging over you in breathlessness so with you here the trembling little words lie down like frightened children in the dark lie down and weep and wishes winged like birds fly crowding back With this the only mark that I have almost told you breathless things.
You hear the weary folding down of wings.
there was a time when mother nature made my soul's sun and my soul's shade a cloud in the sky could take away the song in my heart for all day and a little lark in a willow tree would mean happiness to me my moods would mirror all her whims trees were my strength their limbs my limbs but oh my mother tortured me blowing with wind and sighing with sea i flamed i withered i blossomed i sang with her i suffered pang for pang until i said i will grow my own tree where no natural wind will bother me and i grew me a willow of my own heart's strength with my will for its width and my wish for its length and i made me a bird of my own heart's fire to sing my own son and my own desire and a vast white circle came in the air and the winds around said don't blow there i said blow on blow blow blow blow fill all the sky above below with tempest and sleet and silence and snow wherever i go no matter where my bird and my willow-tree are there however you frown no matter how i will sing as i am singing now End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
Tropical Girl to Her Garden by Genevieve Taggart Read for LibriVox.org Renewgate Novelist withhold your breath heavy in noon and sleepy as slow death garden of sweets and sours the cluster of my body hangs odorous with flowers stamen serpent fangs sultry in showers withhold your hand my boughs are bent with gold my face is fanned with wings of bees that thirsting curve and kiss under green leaves green tendrils coil and hiss sun spills on me gloom bears me down too much my heavy fruit will fall without a touch from hanging long in sultriness like this End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
Only a few hours.
We danced like wind.
Our faces like noon flowers on one slim stem were lifted, turned aside.
You flew.
I followed, matched your stride, and held your paws and swung and parted wide.
Only a few hours.
We danced like wind, thirsty as blown flowers, heavy-lidded, fearful-eyed.
End of poem.
This recording is in the public domain.
First, by Genevieve Taggart.
There is a bird that hangs head down and cries Between the mango leaves and passion vines.
Below a spotted serpent twines, And blunts its head against the yellowing skies.
Along the warping ground a turtle scrapes, And tortured lie glazed fishes in marsh grass.
Across the sky that burnishes like brass, A bat veers, stupid with the yeast of grapes.
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