All Poems
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Song For Saint Cecilia's Day, 1687
© John Dryden
The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.
Ode
© John Dryden
Now all those charms, that blooming grace,
That well-proportioned shape, and beauteous face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies!
Not wit nor piety could Fate prevent;
The Medal
© John Dryden
Thus inborn broils the factions would engage,
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age,
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast.
Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom Of Fifteen)
© John Dryden
Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed
By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:
An Ode, On The Death Of Mr. Henry Purcell
© John Dryden
Late Servant to his Majesty, and
Organist of the Chapel Royal, and
of St. Peter's Westminster
Why Should A Foolish Marriage Vow
© John Dryden
Why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now
When passion is decay'd?
Religio Laici
© John Dryden
Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote, and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.
Song From Marriage-A-La-Mode
© John Dryden
Why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now,
When passion is decayed?
Absalom And Achitophel
© John Dryden
Him staggering so when Hell's dire agent found,
While fainting virtue scarce maintain'd her ground,
He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies:
Farewell, Ungrateful Traitor!
© John Dryden
Farewell, ungrateful traitor!
Farewell, my perjur'd swain!
Let never injur'd woman
Believe a man again.
Hidden Flame
© John Dryden
Feed a flame within, which so torments me
That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me:
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
That I had rather die than once remove it.
A Song From The Italian
© John Dryden
(LIMBERHAM: OR, THE KIND KEEPER)By a dismal cypress lying,
Damon cried, all pale and dying,
Kind is death that ends my pain,
But cruel she I lov'd in vain.
To The Memory Of Mr Oldham
© John Dryden
Farewell, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own;
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
Mac Flecknoe
© John Dryden
All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long:
Happy The Man
© John Dryden
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Informational Decay
© Tiel Aisha Ansari
I heard an echo in a hollow place.
No sound of blowing wind or drifting sand,
some ancient voice was this, a captive trace
of gone-by speech, of argument, demand,
A Day At Union Station
© Tiel Aisha Ansari
Discards
Unused tickets moulder in the grass.
Shed feathers scatter before the wind.
Echoes of hurried feet crowd the roof.
Inheritance/Improvisation
© Tiel Aisha Ansari
Inheritance. I wasn't raised to call
myself Black, Indian, Chinese--
"You're human," said my parents. That was all.
For The Moment
© Pierre Reverdy
Just one beam is enough
Just one burst of laughter
My joy that shakes the house
Restrains those wanting to die
By the notes of its song
I Exceed My Limits
© Jerome Rothenberg
I have tried an altenstil
& dropped it.
My skin is blazing,
blazing too
