Fear poems
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The Touchstone
© Edith Nesbit
There was a garden, very strange and fair
With all the roses summer never brings.
The snowy blossom of immortal Springs
Lighted its boughs, and I, even I, was there.
There were new heavens, and the earth was new,
And still I told my heart the dream was true.
Argentile and Curan. - extracted from Albion's England
© William Warner
The Brutons thus departed hence, seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyls the Saxons lost and wonne.
The Homes Of England
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The stately homes of England
How beautiful they stand!
For the restoration of my dear Husband from a burning Ague, June, 1661.
© Anne Bradstreet
When feares and sorrowes me besett,
Then did'st thou rid me out;
To A Lady
© George Gordon Byron
O! had my Fate been join'd with thine,
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.
Dream Song 12: Sabbath
© John Berryman
There is an eye, there was a slit.
Nights walk, and confer on him fear.
The strangler tree, the dancing mouse
confound his vision; then they loosen it.
Henry widens. How did Henry House
himself ever come here?
Dream Song 49: Blind
© John Berryman
Old Pussy-cat if he won't eat, he don't
feel good into his tum', old Pussy-cat.
He wants to have eaten.
Tremor, heaves, he sweaterings. He can't.
A dizzy swims of where is Henry at;
. . . somewhere streng verboten.
Dream Song 61: Full moon. Our Narragansett gales subside
© John Berryman
Full moon. Our Narragansett gales subside
and the land is celebrating men of war
more or less, less or more.
In valleys, thin on headlands, narrow & wide
our targets rest. In us we trust. Far, near,
the bivouacs of fear
Dream Song 130: When I saw my friend covered with blood, I thought
© John Berryman
When I saw my friend covered with blood, I thought
This is the end of the dream, now I'll wake up.
That was more years ago
than I care to reckon, and my friend is not
dying but adhering to an élite group
in California O.
The Conquerors
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Round the wide earth, from the red field your valour has won,
Blown with the breath of the far-speaking gun,
Goes the word.
Bravely you spoke through the battle cloud heavy and dun.
Tossed though the speech toward the mist-hidden sun,
The world heard.
Catharina
© William Cowper
She came--she is gone--we have met--
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Roan Stallion
© Robinson Jeffers
She rose at length, she unknotted the halter; she walked and led
the stallion; two figures, woman and stallion,
Came down the silent emptiness of the dome of the hill, under
the cataract of the moonlight.
The Legend of King Arthur
© Thomas Percy
Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
Dream Song 38: The Russian grin bellows his condolence
© John Berryman
The Russian grin bellows his condolence
tó the family: ah but it's Kay,
& Ted, & Chris & Anne,
Henry thinks of: who eased his fearful way
from here, in here, to there. This wants thought.
I won't make it out.
The Call Of The Christian
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Not always as the whirlwind's rush
On Horeb's mount of fear,
Genesis BK XIII
© Caedmon
The sleep of death and fiends' seduction; death and hell and
exile and damnation - these were the fatal fruit whereon they
feasted. And when the apple worked within him and touched his
heart, then laughed aloud the evilhearted fiend, capered about,
and gave thanks to his lord for both:
Love's Enchantment
© Marian Osborne
AS when two children, hand clasped fast in hand,
Explore the dimness of a fairy bower
XIII: Epistle: To Katherine, Lady Aubigny
© Benjamin Jonson
'Tis growne almost a danger to speake true
Of any good minde, now: There are so few.
Two Centuries
© Katharine Lee Bates
Above the tall elms' green-plumed tops, etched against low-hung, gray-hued skies,
Straight as the heaven-kissing pine, the home-bound mariner descries
The goodly spire of the old first church, reverend, serene, with old-time grace,
Symbol and sign of an inner life deep-sealed by time's slow carven trace.
Seed-Time And Harvest
© Ada Cambridge
Fret not thyself so sorely, heart of mine,
For that the pain hath roughly broke thy rest,-
That thy wild flowers lie dead upon thy breast,
Whereon the cloud-veiled sun hath ceased to shine.
