Fear poems
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Sonnet
© Luigi Alamanni
Therefore, proud Italy, I, by Gods grace,
After six years come back to gaze on thee,
Sight
© Archibald Lampman
Ah brothers, still upon our pathway lies
The shadow of dim weariness and fear,
Yet if we could but lift our earthwood eyes
To see, and open our dull eyes to hear,
Then should the wonder of this world draw near
And life's innumerable harmonies.
A Girls Day Dream And Its Fulfilment
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child
To cherish a bird or flowret wild;
To see the moonbeams the waters kiss,
Was enough to fill her heart with bliss;
Or oer the bright woodland stream to bow,
But these things may not suffice her now.
Sir Hornbook
© Thomas Love Peacock
O'er bush and briar Childe Launcelot sprung
With ardent hopes elate,
And loudly blew the horn that hung
Before Sir Hornbook's gate.
Our Fear
© Zbigniew Herbert
Our fear
does not wear a night shirt
does not have owls eyes
does not lift a casket lid
does not extinguish a candle
Moses On The Nile
© Victor Marie Hugo
"Sisters! the wave is freshest in the ray
Of the young morning; the reapers are asleep;
When Life Is But A Round Of Crushing Care
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
When life is but a round of crushing care
And, a great heap of stones, lies heavy on us,
There suddenly, God knows how, why, upon us
A joyous mood descends… Of balmy air
A breath comes from the past and, o'er us drifting,
Invades the heart, its fearful burden lifting.
Age And Song (to Barry Cornwall)
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
In vain men tell us time can alter
Old loves or make old memories falter,
That with the old year the old year's life closes.
The old dew still falls on the old sweet flowers,
The old sun revives the new-fledged hours,
The old summer rears the new-born roses.
War And PeaceA Poem
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thou, whose lov'd presence and benignant smile
Has beam'd effulgence on this favour'd isle;
Thou! the fair seraph, in immortal state,
Thron'd on the rainbow, heaven's emblazon'd gate;
Thou! whose mild whispers in the summer-breeze
Control the storm, and undulate the seas;
The Wrongs Of Africa: Part The Second
© William Roscoe
FAIR is this fertile spot, which God assign'd
As man's terrestrial home; where every charm
The Meadow Lark
© Hamlin Garland
A BRAVE little bird that fears not God,
A voice that breaks from the snow-wet clod
Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth
© George Gordon Byron
I now mean to be serious;--it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
Imelda
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
……………….Sometimes
The young forgot the lessons they had learnt,
And lov'd when they should hate, like thee, Imelda! ~ Italy, a Poem
The Miracle Of The Corn
© Padraic Colum
SCENE: The interior of FARDORROUGHA'S house. The door at back R.; the hearth L.; the window R. is only conventionally represented.
What is actually shown is a bin for corn (corn in the sense of any kind of grain, as the word is used in Ireland the breadstuff and the symbol of fertility), shelves with vessels, benches, and a shrine. The bin projects from back C.; the shelves
with vessels are each side of the bin; the shrine is R.; it holds a small statue of the Blessed Virgin, and a rosary of large beads hangs from it; the benches are R. and L. One is at the conventional fireplace, and the other is down from the conventional door.
All the persons concerned in the action are on the scene when it opens, and they remain on the scene. They only enter the action when they go up to where the bin is. Going back to the places they had on the benches takes them out of the action.
On the bench near the hearth sit the people of FARDORROUGHA'S household FARDORROUGHA, SHEILA, PAUDEEN, AISLINN. On the bench near the door sit the strangers three women, one of whom has a child with her, and SHAUN o' THE BOG. The people are dressed in greys and browns, and brown is the colour of the interior. The three women and SHAUN o' THE BOG are poorly dressed; the women are barefooted. PAUDEEN is dressed rudely, and sandals of hide are bound across his feet. FARDORROUGHA,
SHEILA, and AISLINN are comfortably dressed.
The Tears of Old May Day
© John Logan
Led by the jocund train of vernal hours
And vernal airs, uprose the gentle May;
Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flowers
That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray.
