Fear poems
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Dead Man's Dump
© Isaac Rosenberg
The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.
The Sending Of The Magi
© Bliss William Carman
IN a far Eastern country
It happened long of yore,
Where a lone and level sunrise
Flushes the desert floor,
Third Sunday In Lent
© John Keble
See Lucifer like lightning fall,
Dashed from his throne of pride;
While, answering Thy victorious call,
The Saints his spoils divide;
This world of Thine, by him usurped too long,
Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants' wrong.
The Worlds in this World
© Laure-Anne Bosselaar
Doors were left open in heaven again:
drafts wheeze, clouds wrap their ripped pages
around roofs and trees. Like wet flags, shutters
flap and fold. Even light is blown out of town,
Water
© Wendell Berry
I was born in a drouth year. That summer
my mother waited in the house, enclosed
in the sun and the dry ceaseless wind,
for the men to come back in the evenings,
When I Roved A Young Highlander
© George Gordon Byron
When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
And climb'd thy steep sumrnit, oh Morven of snow!
The Country Of Marriage
© Wendell Berry
I dream of you walking at night along the streams
of the country of my birth, warm blooms and the nightsongs
of birds opening around you as you walk.
You are holding in your body the dark seed of my sleep.
1991-i
© Wendell Berry
The year begins with war.
Our bombs fall day and night,
Hour after hour, by death
Abroad appeasing wrath,
Wind at Tindari
© Salvatore Quasimodo
Tindari, I know you
mild between broad hills,
overhanging the waters
of the gods sweet islands.
Today, you confront me
and break into my heart.
The peace of wild things
© Wendell Berry
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
The Woodland Grave
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WE roam, my love and I,
'Mid the rich woodland grasses,
Where, through dense clouds of greenery,
The softened sunshine passes;
But near a rivulet's lonely wave
We come half startled, on--a grave!
The Lovers Of The Wind
© Arthur Symons
Can any man be quiet in his soul
And love the wind? Men love the sea, the hills:
A Dramatic Poem
© William Butler Yeats
Second Sailor. And I had thought to make
A good round Sum upon this cruise, and turn -
For I am getting on in life - to something
That has less ups and downs than robbery.
Train Ride
© John Brooks Wheelwright
For Horace GregoryAfter rain, through afterglow, the unfolding fan
of railway landscape sidled onthe pivot
of a larger arc into the green of evening;
I remembered that noon I saw a gradual bud
Thought's Assiduity.
© Robert Crawford
Be not afraid of facts; they must be faced,
And thought must in the affairs of circumstance
Untangle many a knotty point, decide
Grave issues, and so tend life's business that
Christ On Earth
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HAD we but lived in those mysterious days,
When, a veiled God 'mid unregenerate men,
Christ calmly walked our devious mortal ways,
Crowned with grief's bitter rue in place of bays,--
Ah! had we lived but then:
Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
The bright-haired morn is glowing
O'er emerald meadows gay,
