All Poems
/ page 40 of 3210 /Twilight Harmony
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
Behold the hour is come when stems are thrilled, And like swung censers flowers shed their fume;Now thro' the air are sounds and odours spilled; O wistful waltz within the dizzy gloom!
To Cassandra
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
O Mayde more tender yet Than shy sweet buds that wakeOn rose-trees dewy wet When first the daye doth break,That from the thorny speareHalf green, half red doe peere;
A Thresher of Wheat to the Winds
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
To you light troupe that rydeOn movynge wings and glyde Above the world and slake it,And with your murmur softMove the green shade and oft With gentle tremors shake it --
Sensation
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
On sunny summer evenings I shall wander down a bridle-path,The tall corn-blades will fondle me the while I tramp the turf;And dreaming, I shall feel the chilly sweetness on my idle path
Postscript
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
I am a careless weaver Who works with dazzled eye:Amid the fields I wander, And I leave my threads awry For God alone to ply.
On a Dead Girl
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
Lovely she was, if so be Night That slumbers in the sombre shrine.There laid by sculptor Michael's might Unmoving in her marble line.
The Lake
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
Thus ever drawn toward far shores uncharted, Into eternal darkness borne away,May we not ever on Time's sea, unthwarted, Cast anchor for a day?
Happie is he that from a faire voyáge
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
Happie is he that from a faire voyáge Comes home as came the travell'd Ulysses Or him that raped the fleece, wayworn, in easeWith his owne kindred to live out hys age
Epitaph in Ballade Form which Villon Made for Himself
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
O brother men that live when we have end, Let not your hearts 'gainst us be hardenynge;For if on us your pitie ye doe spend, Likewyse to you shall Godde be pityinge
El Desdichado
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
I am the dark inheritor of woe, The Prince of Aquitaine whose palace spire Lies low in dust
The Ballade of Lovely Ladyes of Long Agoe
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
O tell me where and in what lande Is Flora and the Roman lass?Where's Thaïs or the Ladye grande That was her equal in all grace? Saye where doth Echo hyde her faceWhose voice bye streame and pool doth straye, Whose beauty more than mortal was? --But where are the white snowes borne awaye?
Where nowe is learnéd Heloïse For whom poor Abelard lost allQuick fuel of love's agonies
Ballade Made for his Mother that She mighte Praye toe our Ladye
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
Ladye of heaven that o'er earth hath swaye And of Hell's marshes art most Royal Reeve,Grant toe thy humble Christian that doth praye
As you maye see upon the stem in Maye
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
As you maye see upon the stem in Maye The younglynge rose's lovely bud new-burst Make heaven jealous of its hue when firstDawn sprinkles dew upon the new-born daye:Grace and sweet love within its leaves alwaye Make gardens redolent, till it doth thirst Too ardent for the rayne, and soon immerstDies, leaf by leaf, upon the witherynge spraye
Art
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
All finest art is seen In forms that foil the bladeUnkeen -- Verse, marble, gem inlaid.
April
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
April, pryde of all the yeareWhen appeare Leaves, and sap in fleecy budGently stirs with hope to yieldFruit fulfilled From the younglynges of the wood;
The City of Dreadful Night
© James Thomson
As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: All was black,In heaven no single star, on earth no track;A brooding hush without a stir or note,The air so thick it clotted in my throat;And thus for hours; then some enormous thingsSwooped past with savage cries and clanking wings: But I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear
The Seasons: Summer
© James Thomson
From brightening fields of ether fair-disclos'd,Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes,In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth:He comes, attended by the sultry HoursAnd ever-fanning Breezes, on his way;While, from his ardent look, the turning SpringAverts her blushful face; and earth and skies,All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves