Car poems
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A Winter Piece
© William Cullen Bryant
The time has been that these wild solitudes,
Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me
Oftener than now; and when the ills of life
Had chafed my spirit--when the unsteady pulse
To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of That Noble Pair, Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison
© Benjamin Jonson
The Turn
Brave infant of Saguntum, clear
The Dole Of Jarl Thorkell
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE land was pale with famine
And racked with fever-pain;
The frozen fiords were fishless,
The earth withheld her grain.
A Monumental Column : A Funeral Elegy
© John Webster
To The Right Honourable Sir Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, and One Of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council.
The greatest of the kingly race is gone,
Impressions Of Francois-Marie Arouet (De Voltaire)
© Ezra Pound
The parks with the swards all over dew,
And grass going glassy with the light on it,
The green stretches where love is and the grapes
Hang in yellow-white and dark clusters ready for pressing.
And if now we can't fit with our time of life
There is not much but its evil left us.
The Sorcerer: Act II
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Scene-Exterior of Sir Marmaduke's mansion by moonlight. All the
peasantry are discovered asleep on the ground, as at the end
of Act I.
Breitmann As An Uhlan. I. The Vision.
© Charles Godfrey Leland
GOTTS blitz! blau Feuer, potz bomben Tod!
Vot shimmers in de mitnacht roth?
Like hell-shtrom boorst o'er heafen's plain,
Trowin dead light on eart acain:-
Sire
© William Stanley Merwin
Here comes the shadow not looking where it is going,
And the whole night will fall; it is time.
Here comes the little wind which the hour
Drags with it everywhere like an empty wagon through leaves.
Here comes my ignorance shuffling after them
Asking them what they are doing.
Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur
© Alfred Tennyson
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.
The Thirteenth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
To Xenophon of Corinth, on his Victory in the Stadic Course, and Pentathlon, at Olympia. ARGUMENT. The Poet begins his Ode, by complimenting the family of Xenophon, on their successes in the Olympic Games, and their hospitality; and then celebrates their country, Corinth, for it's good government, and for the quick genius of it's inhabitants, in the invention of many useful and ornamental Arts. He then implores Jupiter to continue his blessings on them, and to remain propitious to Xenophon; whose exploits he enumerates, together with those of Thessalus and Ptodorus, his father and grandfather. He then launches out again in praise of Corinth and her Citizens, and relates the story of Bellerophon. He then, checking himself for digressing so far, returns to his Hero, relates his various success in the inferior Games of Greece, and concludes with a Prayer to Jupiter.
STROPHE I.
Angellicas Lament
© Aphra Behn
Had I remained in innocent security,
I should have thought all men were born my slaves,
A Display of Mackerel
© Mark Doty
They lie in parallel rows,
on ice, head to tail,
each a foot of luminosity
The Tenth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
To Agesidamus, son of Archestratus, an Epizephyrian Locrian, on his Victory obtained by the Cæstus. ARGUMENT. The Poet begins the Ode by apologising to Agesidamus, for having so long delayed composing it, after promising to do it. He then compliments him upon his country, and consoles him for being worsted at the beginning of the contest, till encouraged by Ilias, by relating the same circumstance of Hercules and Patroclus. He then describes the institution of the Olympic Games, by Hercules, after the victory he obtained over Augeas, and the sons of Neptune and Molione; and enumerates those who won the first Prizes in the Athletic Exercises. He then, returning to Agesidamus, and congratulating him on having a Poet to sing his exploits, though after some delay, concludes with praising him for his strength and beauty.
STROPHE I.
Well, You Needn’t
© William Matthews
Rather than hold his hands properly
arched off the keys, like cats
with their backs up,
Monk, playing block chords,
hit the keys with his fingertips well
above his wrists,
waiting on the mayflower
© Evie Shockley
“what, to the american slave, is your 4th of july?”
—frederick douglass
The Black-Faced Sheep
© Donald Hall
My grandfather spent all day searching the valley
and edges of Ragged Mountain,
calling “Ke-day!” as if he brought you salt,
“Ke-day! Ke-day!”
