Fear poems

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Faringdon Hill. Book I

© Henry James Pye

What various objects scatter'd round us lie,
And charm on every side the curious eye!
Amidst such ample stores, how shall the Muse
Know where to turn her sight, and which to choose?

Ecologue IX

© Virgil

Lycidas.
Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,
Or on what errand bent?

Dreams Old

© David Herbert Lawrence

I have opened the window to warm my hands on the sill
Where the sunlight soaks in the stone: the afternoon
Is full of dreams, my love, the boys are all still
In a wistful dream of Lorna Doone.

Craving for Spring

© David Herbert Lawrence

I trample on the snowdrops, it gives me pleasure to tread down the jonquils,
to destroy the chill Lent lilies;
for I am sick of them, their faint-bloodedness,
slow-blooded, icy-fleshed, portentous.

The Revolutionary

© David Herbert Lawrence

Look at them standing there in authority
The pale-faces,
As if it could have any effect any more.

This is the last of all, this is the last!
I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire,
I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross,
Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past
Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire
Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss.

When I Was Small

© Jens Baggesen

There was a time when I was very small
A mere two feet was all I measured then;
And, when I think of this, tears sweetly fall,
So of it I think time and time again.

The Mother's Question

© Edgar Albert Guest

When I was a boy, and it chanced to rain,

Mother would always watch for me;

Cruelty and Love

© David Herbert Lawrence

What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?

They Shall Be Mine, Saith The Lord

© John Newton

When sinners utter boasting words,
And glory in their shame;
The Lord, well-pleased, an ear affords
To those who fear his name.

Autobiography At An Air-Station

© Philip Larkin

Six hours pass: if I'd gone by boat last night
I'd be there now. Well, it's too late for that.
The kiosk girl is yawning. I fell stale,
Stupified, by inaction - and, as light
Begins to ebb outside, by fear, I set
So much on this Assumption. Now it's failed.

Brother and Sister

© David Herbert Lawrence

The shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path,
Frail as a scar upon the pale blue sky,
Draws towards the downward slope: some sorrow hath
Worn her down to the quick, so she faintly fares
Along her foot-searched way without knowing why
She creeps persistent down the skys long stairs.

The Witch's Frolic

Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned,
Though thy mother thine idlesse blames,
In Doctor Goldsmith's history book,
Of a gentleman called King James,
In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches,
Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches.

The Me Within Thee Blind!

Since God is lost, then all is lost indeed.
You did not know the comfort or the need
Of God for me, who am so frail and weak.
Blown by all winds, I know not where to seek.

Time to Be Wise

YES; I write verses now and then,
But blunt and flaccid is my pen,
No longer talkd of by young men
As rather clever;

A Spiritual Woman

Close your eyes, my love, let me make you blind;
They have taught you to see
Only a mean arithmetic on the face of things,
A cunning algebra in the faces of men,

Music

O lead me by the hand,
And let my heart have rest,
And bring me back to childhood land,
To find again the long-lost band
Of playmates blithe and blest.