Food poems
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A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - February
© George MacDonald
1.
I TO myself have neither power nor worth,
Joys of Spring
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
The climbing sun again was wakening the world
And laughing at the wreck of frigid winter's trade.
Of Hell And The Estate of Those Who Perish
© John Bunyan
hus, having show'd you what I see
Of heaven, I now will tell
You also, after search, what be
The damned wights of hell.
Georgic 1
© Publius Vergilius Maro
What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Hay-Meaken. Nunchen Time
© William Barnes
A.
Back here, but now, the jobber John
Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on,
I thought as I come down the hill,
A Dedication To E.C.B.
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
He was, through boyhood's storm and shower,
My best, my nearest friend;
We wore one hat, smoked one cigar,
One standing at each end.
A Father Out, An Mother Hwome
© William Barnes
The snow-white clouds did float on high
In shoals avore the sheenèn sky,
To A Friend, In Answer To A Melancholy Letter
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Away, those cloudy looks, that lab'ring sigh,
The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!
Nor meanly thus complain of fortune's power,
When the blind gamester throws a luckless die.
Litany for Dictatorships
© Stephen Vincent Benet
For all those beaten, for the broken heads,
The fosterless, the simple, the oppressed,
The ghosts in the burning city of our time ...
The Farmer's Boy - Autumn
© Robert Bloomfield
Again, the year's _decline_, midst storms and floods,
The thund'ring chase, the yellow fading woods,
Invite my song; that fain would boldly tell
Of upland coverts, and the echoing dell,
By turns resounding loud, at eve and morn
The swineherd's halloo, or the huntsman's horn.
Coombe-Ellen
© William Lisle Bowles
Call the strange spirit that abides unseen
In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes,
1946-47
© Jibanananda Das
Thousands of Bengali villages, silent and powerless, sink into
hopelessness and lightlessness.
When the sun sets, a certain lovely haired darkness
Comes to fix her hair in-a bun-but by whose hands?
A Winter's Tale
© Dylan Thomas
It is a winter's tale
That the snow blind twilight ferries over the lakes
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,
Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,
The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,
The Knife
© Kenneth Slessor
THE plough that marks on Harley's field
In flying earth its print
Throws up, like death itself concealed,
A fang of rosy flint,
The Four Seasons : Winter
© James Thomson
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
Internal Migration: On Being On Tour
© Alan Dugan
As an American traveler I have
to remember not to get actionably mad
To a Little Maid - by a Politician
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Come with me, little maid,
Nay, shrink not, thus afraid -
