Envy poems

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From that mark'd stage of man we now behold,
More rapid strides his coming paths unfold;
His continents are traced, his islands found,
His well-taught sails on all his billows bound,
His varying wants their new discoveries ply,
And seek in earth's whole range their sure supply.

The Voyage Of St. Brendan A.D. 545 - The Promised Land

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

As on this world the young man turns his eyes,
When forced to try the dark sea of the grave,
Thus did we gaze upon that Paradise,
Fading, as we were borne across the wave.

Clouds

© Mikhail Lermontov

Clouds in the skies above, heavenly wanderers,
Long strings of snowy pearls stretched over azure plains!
Exiles like I, you rush farther and farther on,
Leaving my dear North, go distances measureless.

Paradise Lost : Book V.

© John Milton

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime

Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,

The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements

© George Crabbe

aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on

The Poet Orders His Sepulchre

© John Jay Chapman

(After Ronsard)

YE caverns, and ye rills

Dream Song 324: An Elegy for W.C.W., the lovely man

© John Berryman

Henry in Ireland to Bill underground:
Rest well, who worked so hard, who made a good sound
constantly, for so many years:
your high-jinks delighted the continents & our ears:
you had so many girls your life was a triumph
and you loved your one wife.

My Soviet Passport

© Vladimir Mayakovsky

I'd tear
like a wolf
at bureaucracy.
For mandates

Rule, Britannia! (With Variations)

© James Thomson

When Britain first, at heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian Angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves.

A Drought Idyll

© George Essex Evans

It was the middle of the drought; the ground was hot and bare,
You might search for grass with a microscope, but nary grass was there;
The hay was done, the cornstalks gone, the trees were dying fast,
The sun o'erhead was a curse in read and the wind was a furnace blast;
The waterholes were sun-baked mud, the drays stood thick as bees
Around the well, a mile away, amid the ringbarked trees.

The Daft-days

© Robert Fergusson

Now mirk December's dowie face
Glours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,
While, thro' his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey'd sun
Wi' blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.

Ossians Grave

© Robinson Jeffers

PREHISTORIC MONUMENT NEAR CUSHENDALL

IN ANTRIM

James Simmons R.i.p.

© Barry Tebb

You were the one I wanted most to know

Poem To Be Placed In A Bottle And Cast Out To Sea

© Barry Tebb

for Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters in a bus called Further...

The Parish Register - Part II: Marriages

made.
Yet now, would Phoebe her consent afford,
Her slave alone, again he'd mount the board;
With her should years of growing love be spent,
And growing wealth;--she sigh'd and look'd consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and 'cross the