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Gunnar's Howe Above The House At Lithend

© William Morris

Ye who have come oer the sea

to behold this grey minster of lands,

A Relapse

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I thought that I had done with fleshly things,
That in the azure of high thought my soul
Had learned to fly on less substantial wings
To a new Heaven, a sublimer goal.

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 Change-Worker

© Edgar Albert Guest

A feller don't start in to think of himself, an'

the part that he's playin' down here,

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.

The Philosopher

© Emily Jane Brontë

Enough of thought, philosopher!
Too long hast thou been dreaming
Unlightened, in this chamber drear,
While summer's sun is beaming!
Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain
Concludes thy musings once again?

The Lady of the Lake: Canto III. - The Gathering

© Sir Walter Scott

I.
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store

Lilith

© Madison Julius Cawein

Yea, there are some who always seek
The love that lasts an hour;
And some who in love's language speak,
Yet never know his power.

So Cruel Prison

© Henry Howard

So cruel prison how could betide, alas,

As proud Windsor? Where I in lust and joy

Dreams

© Emma Lazarus

A DREAM of lilies: all the blooming earth,
A garden full of fairies and of flowers;
Its only music the glad cry of mirth,
While the warm sun weaves golden-tissued hours;

Coogee

© Henry Kendall

Sing the song of wave-worn Coogee, Coogee in the distance white,

With its jags and points disrupted, gaps and fractures fringed with light;

To Kasbek

© Mikhail Lermontov

With winged footsteps now I hasten
Unto the far cold North away,
Kasbek,--thou watchman of the East,
To thee, my farewell greetings say!

Report From The Besieged City

I am supposed to be exact but I don't know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time

Marmion: Canto IV. - The Camp

I.

Eustace, I said, did blithely mark

Evening: Barents Sea

Great lucid streamers bar the sky ahead
(bifurcated banners at a tourney)
light alchemizes the brass on the bridge
into sallow gold
now the short northern
autumn day closes quickly

From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;