God poems

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Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abeän an' agoän;
Says that I moänt 'a naw moor aäle; but I beänt a fool;
Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a-gawin' to breäk my rule.

Homage To Sextus Propertius - XII

© Ezra Pound

Upon the Actian marshes Virgil is Phoebus' chief of police,
He can tabulate Caesar's great ships.
He thrills to Ilian arms,
He shakes the Trojan weapons of Aeneas,
And casts stores on Lavinian beaches.

from The Faerie Queene: Book I, Canto I

© Edmund Spenser

Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske,

As time her taught in lowly Shepheards weeds,

The Resolution

© Mary Barber

The Favours of Fortune I once hop'd to gain,
And often invok'd her, but ever in vain.
She despis'd my Addresses, which gave me such Grief,
I flew to the Muses, in Hopes of Relief.

The Idols

© Robert Laurence Binyon

I.2
The Forests of the Night awaken blind in heat
Of black stupor; and stirring in its deep retreat,
I hear the heart of Darkness slowly beat and beat.

Stanzas

© Aldous Huxley

Thought is an unseen net wherein our mind

Is taken and vainly struggles to be free:

Palestine: 1917

© Katharine Tynan

How strange if it should fall to you,
To me, our boys should do the deed
The great Crusaders failed to do!
To win Christ's Sepulchre: to bleed,
So the immortal dream come true.

London, 1802

© André Breton

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:

Eros

© John Hall Wheelock

Surely thy body is thy mind,
For in thy face is nought to find,
Only thy soft unchristen’d smile,
That shadows neither love nor guile,
But shameless will and power immense,
In secret sensuous innocence.

OEnone

© Alfred Tennyson

"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,
That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd
And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech
Came down upon my heart.

On Stella's Birth-day

© Jonathan Swift

Stella this Day is thirty four,

(We won't dispute a Year or more)

Washing Day

© Bliss William Carman

The Muses are turned gossips; they have lost

The buskined step, and clear high-sounding phrase,

Canto IV

© Ezra Pound

Palace in smoky light,

Troy but a heap of smouldering boundary stones,

Voyages

© Hart Crane

Above the fresh ruffles of the surf
Bright striped urchins flay each other with sand.
They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks,
And their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed
Gaily digging and scattering.

Five Visions of Captain Cook

Two chronometers the captain had,
One by Arnold that ran like mad,
One by Kendal in a walnut case,
Poor devoted creature with a hangdog face.

Epistle to Miss Blount, On Her Leaving the Town, After the Coronation

As some fond virgin, whom her mothers care

Drags from the town to wholesome country air,

Vermeer

Every seaworthy vessel a woman
whose mate, eloquent of how she handled
under the worst of weathers, hailed his goddess
of wet fire, handmaid and dockside whore.