Art poems
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Marriage
© Mathilde Blind
The Many try, but oh! how few are they
To whom that finest of the arts is given
Which shall teach Love, the rosy runaway,
To bide from bridal Morn to brooding Even.
Yet this--this only--is the narrow way
By which, while yet on earth, we enter heaven.
The Rosciad
© Charles Churchill
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Two Hours In Reservoir
© Joseph Brodsky
I am an anti-fascist... anti-Faust
Ich liebe life and I admire chaos
Ich bin to wish, Genosse Offizieren,
Dem Zeit zum Faust for a while spazieren.
2
Wholl Wear the Beaten Colours?
© Henry Lawson
WHOLL WEAR the beaten coloursand cheer the beaten men?
Wholl wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Wholl wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
The Example of Vertu : Cantos I.-VII.
© Stephen Hawes
Here begynneth the boke called the example of vertu.
The prologe.
Whan I aduert in my remembraunce
The famous draughtes of poetes eloquent
A Letter For My Son To One Of His School--Fellows, Son To Henry Rose, Esq;
© Mary Barber
Dear Rose, as I lately was writing some Verse,
Which I next Day intended in School to rehearse,
My Mother came in, and I thought she'd run wild:
``This Mr. Macmullen has ruin'd my Child:
A Legacy
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
No living atom comes at last to naught!
Active in each is still the eternal Thought:
Hold fast to Being if thou wouldst be blest.
Being is without end; for changeless laws
Bind that from which the All its glory draws
Of living treasures endlessly possessed.
Lines On A Late Hospicious Ewent, By A Gebtleman Of The Footguards (Blue)
© William Makepeace Thackeray
I paced upon my beat
With steady step and slow,
All huppandownd of Ranelagh Street:
Ran'lagh St. Pimlico.
To Love (Amanda)
© James Thomson
Sweet tyrant Love,- but hear me now!
And cure while young this pleasing smart;
Or rather aid my trembling vow,
And teach me to reveal my heart.
Cymru
© George Essex Evans
Dim in the mist of ages, seeking a resting-place,
Broke on the shores of Britain the wave of an Aryan race.
Natural Magic.
© Robert Crawford
I have put by the schoolmen,
The seeming great and sage;
Nor will I taste the vintage
Brewed in the vats of Age;
Lines Written Under The Conviction That It Is Not Wise To Read Mathematics In November After Ones F
© James Clerk Maxwell
In the sad November time,
When the leaf has left the lime,
Accolon Of Gaul: Part IV
© Madison Julius Cawein
Hate, born of Wrath and mother red of Crime,
In Hell was whelped ere the hot hands of time,
The Unhappy Lot Of Mr. Knott
© James Russell Lowell
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,
From business snug withdrawn,
Was much contented with a lot
That would contain a Tudor cot
'Twixt twelve feet square of garden-plot,
And twelve feet more of lawn.
Winstanley
© Jean Ingelow
Quoth the cedar to the reeds and rushes,
“Water-grass, you know not what I do;
Know not of my storms, nor of my hushes.
And—I know not you.”
The Courage Of Shutting-Up
© Sylvia Plath
The courage of the shut mouth, in spite of artillery!
The line pink and quiet, a worm, basking.
There are black disks behind it, the disks of outrage,
And the outrage of a sky, the lined brain of it.
The disks revolve, they ask to be heard
A Message Of Jeff Davis In Secret Session
© James Russell Lowell
I sent you a messige, my friens, t'other day,
To tell you I'd nothin' pertickler to say:
