Car poems
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The Fallen Elm
© Alfred Austin
The popinjay screamed from tree to tree,
Then was lost in the burnished leaves;
The sky was as blue as a southern sea,
And the swallow came back to the eaves.
To A Lady That Desired Me I Would Beare My Part With Her In
© Richard Lovelace
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th' alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
Pilate's Wife
© George MacDonald
Why came in dreams the low-born man
Between thee and thy rest?
In vain thy whispered message ran,
Though justice was its quest!
Au Salon
© Ezra Pound
Her grave, sweet haughtiness
Pleaseth me, and in like wise
Her quiet ironies.
Others are beautiful, none more, some less.
Monday Before Easter
© John Keble
"Father to me thou art and mother dear,
And brother too, kind husband of my heart -
So speaks Andromache in boding fear,
Ere from her last embrace her hero part -
So evermore, by Faith's undying glow,
We own the Crucified in weal or woe.
Christmas Eve
© Eugene Field
Oh, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul,
The evening shades are falling,--
Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not hear
The voice of the Master calling?
The Tomb of Edgar Allan Poe
© Stéphane Mallarme
Such as at last eternity transforms into Himself,
The Poet rouses with two-edged naked sword,
His century terrified at having ignored
Death triumphant in so strange a voice!
Mary in Bethlehem: A Nativity
© Arthur Symons
JOSEPH
The night is blue, with stars of gold;
The middle watch of night is past;
See now, it will be morning soon!
Yet there is time enough for sleep.
[He shuts the door, and stands near the manger. ]
Bereft.
© Arthur Henry Adams
FOR nine drear nights my darling has been dead;
And ah, dear God! I cannot dream of her!
Now I shall see her always lying white
A frozen flower beneath a snow of flowers,
The House Of Falling Leaves
© William Stanley Braithwaite
If change and fate and hapless circumstance
May baffle and perplex the moaning sea,
And day and night in alternate advance
Still hold the primal Reasoning in fee,
Cannot my Grief be strong enough to chance
My voice across the tide I cannot see?
After The Funeral (In Memory Of Ann Jones)
© Dylan Thomas
After the funeral, mule praises, brays,
Windshake of sailshaped ears, muffle-toed tap
Coomera
© Henry Lawson
THERES a pretty little story with a touch of moonlit glory
Comes from Beenleigh on the Logan, but we dont know if its true;
For we scarcely dare to credit evrything they say who edit
Those unhappy country papers twixt the ocean and Barcoo.
Sonnet X. To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent
© John Keats
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven -- to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
The Trance
© Stephen Spender
Restless, you turn to me and press
Those timid words against my ear
Which thunder at my heart like stones.
"Mercy," you plead, Then "Who can bless?"
You ask. "I am pursued by Time," you moan.
Churching Of Women
© John Keble
Is there, in bowers of endless spring,
One known from all the seraph band
By softer voice, by smile and wing
More exquisitely bland!
Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air
Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer.
Giacinta
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Giacinta sat upon the garden wall
Among the autumn lilies, and let fall
Their crimson petals on her lover's head,
And laughed because her little hands were red.
She was the fairest child of Italy,
And it was well the lilies thus should die.
"Back To The Army Again"
© Rudyard Kipling
I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at,
A-layin' on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat;
My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots,
An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!
