Anger poems
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Rime 43
© Gaspara Stampa
Harsh is my fortune, but harsher still is the fate
dealt me by my count: he flees from me,
I follow him; others long for me,
I cannot look at another man's face.
Pharsalia - Book III: Massilia
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Phoenicians first (if story be believed)
Dared to record in characters; for yet
Papyrus was not fashioned, and the priests
Of Memphis, carving symbols upon walls
Of mystic sense (in shape of beast or fowl)
Preserved the secrets of their magic art.
Worship
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken,
And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan
Round fane and altar overthrown and broken,
O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone.
Channel Crossing
© Sylvia Plath
On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul;
With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship
Cleaves forward into fury; dark as anger,
Waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull.
Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up,
Grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer
The Grandmother
© Alfred Tennyson
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.
The Mercury's Plaint
© Carolyn Wells
I don't know why I'm slandered so,
If I go high,--if I go low,--
The Emperor's Bird's-Nest. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
With his swarthy, grave commanders,
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged, in mud and rain,
Some old frontier town of Flanders.
Sweet Marie
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
You were very fair to meet once, Marie,
With your eyes like some blue hiding flower,
To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias
© Alfred Tennyson
. OLD FITZ, who from your suburb grange,
Where once I tarried for a while,
An Essay on Man: Epistle II
© Alexander Pope
Superior beings, when of late they saw
A mortal Man unfold all Nature's law,
Admir'd such wisdom in an earthly shape,
And showed a Newton as we shew an Ape.
A Masque Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634. (Comus)
© John Milton
The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of
deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus
appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an enchanted chair;
to
whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to
rise.
The Epistle Of Grace Sent To The Seek Man
© Thomas Hoccleve
I' Gracë quen, and heuenly princesse, As depute be the souereyn kyng eterne,In erthe a-lowe to be the gyderesseThat liste the redy wey[ë]s for to lerne,In pilgrymagë him selff to gouerne Gretyng, with yerde & lore of disciplyne,To the that hast, and must be, one of myn.
It is me don to knowe & vnderstonde, Þat, this dethës seruaunt, malady,The hath arrest, and holdith now in hande,And the oppressith, nought knowyng the forwhi.I wil therfore, as for thi remedy, Ordeyne[n] in my best[ë] manere wise;I rede þe that thi self þou wel aduyse.
An Allegory On Man
© Thomas Parnell
A thoughfull Being, long and spare,
Our race of Mortals call him Care,
(Were Homer living well he knew
What Name the Gods woud call him too)
With fine Mechanick Genius wrought,
And lovd to work tho no one bought.
The Borough. Letter II: The Church
© George Crabbe
"WHAT is a Church?"--Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure, and meek;
The Fan : A Poem. Book III.
© John Gay
Learn hence, ye wives; bid vain suspicion cease,
Lose not in sulien discontent your peace.
For when fierce love to jealousy ferments,
A thousand doubts and fears the soul invents,
No more the days in pleasing converse flow,
And nights no more their soft endearments know.
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book X - Karna-Badha - (Fall Of Karna)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
After the death of Karna, Salya led the Kuru troops on the eighteenth
and last day of the war, and fell. A midnight slaughter in the Pandav
camp, perpetrated by the vengeful son of Drona, concludes the war.
Duryodhan, left wounded by Bhima, heard of the slaughter and died
happy.
Shakespeare
© Charles Harpur
How oft, in Austral woods, the parting day
Has gone through western golden gates away
While sweetest Shakespeare, fancys darling child,
Warbled for me his native woodnotes wild.
