All Poems
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Scorflufus
© Spike Milligan
There are many diseases,
That strike people's kneeses,
Scorflufus! is one by name
It comes from the East
Packed in bladders of yeast
So the Chinese must take half the blame.
Song.Yes, I had hope
© Louisa Stuart Costello
Yes! I had hope when first we met,
For hope and joy were in thine eye;
'Twas long before I could forget,
I trusted thee so tenderly.
Songs Set To Music: 15. Set By Mr. De Fesch
© Matthew Prior
Farewell, Amynta, we must part;
The charm has lost its power
Which held so fast my captived heart
Until this fatal hour.
The Voices Of The Death Chamber
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The night lamp is faintly gleaming
Within my chamber still,
The Wonder Night
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Now danced are all the dances,
And all the games are done,
The merry noise, the laughter,
Feasting and lights and fun;
The gifts unwrapt and given,
The forfeits paid and won.
Meditation Before Sacrament
© Thomas Parnell
Arise my soul & hast away
Thy god doth call & canst thou stay
The Clear Vision
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I did but dream. I never knew
What charms our sternest season wore.
Queen-Anne's-Lace
© William Carlos Williams
Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth-nor
The Surgeon's Warning
© Robert Southey
The Doctor whispered to the Nurse
And the Surgeon knew what he said,
And he grew pale at the Doctor's tale
And trembled in his sick bed.
Thoughts On Death (From The Swedish Of C. Lohman)
© George Borrow
Perhaps t is folly, but still I feel
My heart-strings quiver, my senses reel,
Thinking how like a fast stream we range
Nearer and nearer to yon dread change,
When soul and spirit filter away,
And leave nothing better than senseless clay.
A Lament
© Charles Harpur
Ah! what can be flowers in their gladness to me,
Or the voices that people the green forest tree,
Or the full joy of streamssince my soul sighs, ah me!
Oer the grave of my Mary.
In The Carolinas
© Wallace Stevens
The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.
The Customs Men
© Arthur Rimbaud
Those who say Gord Struth; those who say Swelp Me -
pensioned soldiers and sailors, the wreckage of Empire -
Notes To "Descent To The Dead"
© Robinson Jeffers
It seems hardly necessary to stipulate that the elegiac tone of
these verses reflects the writer's mood, and is not meant for economic
Song Of Despair
© Pablo Neruda
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
A Letter Written From London To Mrs. Strangeways Hornet
© Mary Barber
O Pow'r supreme! yet, yet, Hortensia spare;
The Stranger, and the Wretched, are her Care:
Snatch her not hence; we cannot let her go;
Still let her be thy Substitute below,
To raise the sinking Heart, to heal Distress;
To Her was giv'n the Will and Pow'r to bless.
Hand
© Edouard Roditi
Clouds darken the plain.
From all sides, the mountains of the horizon move forward; the plain shrinks, crumpled into valleys that grow deeper. The three rivers become torrents that flow swiftly in their cavernous beds towards those dark spots where they meet: the cities.
Then the sun again.
The mountains move back to the distant circular horizon; the valleys disappear, and the three rivers flow placidly in their scarcely perceptible beds of luminous sands. The cities glisten with their crystal walls and the hard light is reflected from house to house along the glass streets. Men no longer drag their dark-blue shadows like long chains that rattled on the opaque cobble stones. Silence of light: frozen wines of sound. No wind stirs, sleepily coiled around the towers that are transparent stems bearing the white flowers of clouds which float, vehicles for our pure thoughts, like water-lilies on the surface of a stream until they fade into the blue depth of space.
The Stealing Of The Mare - II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Said the Narrator:
And when Abu Zeyd had made an end of speaking, and the Kadi Diab and the Sultan and Rih, and all had happened as hath been said, then the Emir Abu Zeyd mounted his running camel and bade farewell to the Arabs and was gone; and all they who remained behind were in fear thinking of his journey. But Abu Zeyd went on alone, nor stayed he before he came to the pastures of the Agheylat. And behold, in the first of their vallies as he journeyed onward the slaves of the Agheylat saw him and came upon him, threatening him with their spears, and they said to him, ``O Sheykh, who and what art thou, and what is thy story, and the reason of thy coming?'' And he said to them, ``O worthy men of the Arabs, I am a poet, of them that sing the praise of the generous and the blame of the niggardly.'' And they answered him, ``A thousand welcomes, O poet.'' And they made him alight and treated him with honour until night came upon their feasting, nor did he depart from among them until the night had advanced to a third, but remained with them, singing songs of praise, and reciting lettered phrases, until they were stirred by his words and astonished at his eloquence. And at the end of all he arrived at the praise of the Agheyli Jaber. Then stopped they him and said: ``He of whom thou speakest is the chieftain of our people, and he is a prince of the generous. Go thou, therefore, to him, and he shall give thee all, even thy heart's desire.'' And he answered them, ``Take ye care of my camel and keep her for me while I go forward to recite his praises, and on my return we will divide the gifts.'' And he left them. And as he went he set himself to devise a plan by which he might enter into the camp and entrap the Agheyli Jaber.
And the Narrator singeth of Abu Zeyd and of the herdsmen thus:
