All Poems
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The Palace-Burner
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
She has been burning palaces. ."To see The sparks look pretty in the wind?." Well, yes .-And something more. But women brave as she Leave much for cowards such as I to guess.
Out of Tune
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
Someone has told you that the moon is old?(Do you not see to-night that it is new?)It just pretends that it is made of gold;It's made of .- matter? (Matter means what's true.)
A New Thanksgiving
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
For war, plague, pestilence, flood, famine, fire, For Christ discrowned, for false gods set on high;For fools, whose hands must have their hearts' desire, We thank Thee
The House below the Hill
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
You ask me of the farthest star, Whither your thought can climb at will,Forever-questioning child of mine
Engaged Too Long
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
Why do I grieve with summer here?I want the flower that died last year;I want the old drops of the dew,And my old love, sir, .- and not you.
The Coming of Eve
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
God gave the world to Man in the Beginning. Alone in Eden there and lord of allHe mused: "There may be one thing worth the winning. (All else is mine.) When will that Apple fall?
The Christening
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
In vain we broider cap and cloak, and fold The long robe, white and rare;In vain we serve on dishes of red gold, Perhaps, the rich man's fare;In vain we bid the fabled folk who bring All gifts the world holds sweet:This one, forsooth, shall give the child to sing; To move like music this shall charm its feet; This help the cheek to blush, the heart to beat
The Black Princess
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
I knew a Princess: she was old, Crisp-haired, flat-featured, with a lookSuch as no dainty pen of gold Would write of in a fairy book.
An After-Poem
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
You will read, or you will not read, That the lilies are whitest after they wither;That the fairest buds stay shut in the seed, Though the bee in the dew say ."Come you up hither.."
Requiem
© Phillimore John Swinnerton
Brother, we do not lay you down so deep But we ourselves shall overtake you soon:We dream a little longer, while you sleep; And sleep than dreaming, yours the better boon.
The Motor-Lorries
© Phillimore John Swinnerton
They're coming -- twenty or thirty, an outspun throng Of grey machines, none hard on the other's heels
Exspes
© Phillimore John Swinnerton
Why sing of suns you cannot see, in vain? -- Here where dull day from night scarce diff'rent pales, And fog as grisly as a dead man's nailsFreezes opaquely at the window pane;
The Splendid Shilling
© Philips John
-- -- Sing, Heavenly Muse,Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime,A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimera's Dire.
Bleinheim, a Poem
© Philips John
From low and abject themes the grov'ling museNow mounts aërial, to sing of armsTriumphant, and emblaze the martial actsOf Britain's hero; may the verse not sinkBeneath his merits, but detain a whileThy ear, O Harley, (though thy country's wealDepends on thee, though mighty Anne requiresThy hourly counsels) since with ev'ry artThy self adorn'd, the mean essays of youthThou wilt not damp, but guide, wherever found,The willing genius to the muses' seat:Therefore thee first, and last, the muse shall sing
A Farewell Entitled to the Famous and Fortunate Generals of our English Forces
© George Peele
Have done with care, my hearts, abord amain,With stretching sail to plow the swelling waves
The Vow
© Peacock Molly
Every time you suffer disappointmentit makes me fall in love with you againbecause I almost cannot bear to seethe dumbstruck purity in your face benton figuring how or why you couldn't seeit coming
