Age poems
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Fragment. "It was the harvest time: the broad, bright moon"
© Frances Anne Kemble
It was the harvest time: the broad, bright moon
Was at her full, and shone upon the fields
The Prophecy Of Famine
© Charles Churchill
Still have I known thee for a silly swain;
Of things past help, what boots it to complain?
Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite;
No sky is heavy, if the heart be light:
Patience is sorrow's salve: what can't be cured,
So Donald right areads, must be endured.
The Old Play
© Kenneth Slessor
I
IN an old play-house, in an old play,
In an old piece that has been done to death,
We dance, kind ladies, noble friends.
Faith
© Ada Cambridge
Let go the myths and creeds of groping men.
This clay knows naught - the Potter understands.
I own that Power divine beyond my ken,
And still can leave me in His shaping hands.
But, O my God, that madest me to feel,
Forgive the anguish of the turning wheel!
Unto Us A Son Is Given
© Alice Meynell
Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn-once sent -
This Infant of mankind, this One,
Is still the little welcome Son.
The Borough. Letter I
© George Crabbe
"DESCRIBE the Borough"--though our idle tribe
May love description, can we so describe,
The Little Old Woman
© Katharine Tynan
There's a Little Old Woman walks in the night,
Singing her love song like a falling keen;
The Little Old Woman is the heart's delight,
With the gold crown under her hood to tell her queen.
The Sprig of Lime
© Robert Nichols
She knelt and kneeling drank the scent of limes,
Blown round the slow blind by a vesperal gust,
Till the room swam. So the lime-incense blew
Into her life as once it had in his,
Though how and when and with what ageless charge
Of sorrow and deep joy how could she know?
The Spirit Of The Ideal
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Sweet sister spirits, ye whose starlight tresses
Stream on the night-winds as ye float along,
Missioned with hope to man-and with caresses
Aforetime
© Thomas Sturge Moore
Thou findest parables;
With fond imagination
Adorning truth
For the successive
Unpersuaded
Generations.
Tyre
© James Bayard Taylor
THE wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire;
The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre, --
Christmas Day
© Charles Kingsley
How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
A northern Christmas, such as painters love,
But For The Tears
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"The World were a place to play in," said the children,
"The playground of the present; all that is have we,
A Classical Revival
© William Schwenck Gilbert
At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention
To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best,
In The Winter Woods
© Frederick George Scott
WINTER forests mutely standing
Naked on your bed of snow,
Wide your knotted arms expanding
To the biting winds that blow,
Nought ye heed of storm or stress,
Stubborn, silent, passionless.
Aurora Leigh: Book Seventh
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I broke on Marian there. "Yet she herself,
A wife, I think, had scandals of her own,-
A lover not her husband."
The Banshee
© John Todhunter
She keens, and the strings of her wild harp shiver
On the gusts of night:
O'er the four waters she keens-over Moyle she keens,
O'er the Sea of Milith, and the Strait of Strongbow,
And the Ocean of Columbus.
The Pleasures of Memory - Part II.
© Samuel Rogers
Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours.
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
