Good poems

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24. Song-No Churchman am I

© Robert Burns

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-belly’d bottle’s the whole of my care.

They flee from me that Sometime did me Seek

© Sir Thomas Wyatt

They flee from me that sometime did me seekWith naked foot, stalking in my chamber

The Long Love that in my Thought doth Harbour

© Sir Thomas Wyatt

The longë love that in my thought doth harbourAnd in mine hert doth keep his residence,Into my face presseth with bold pretenceAnd therein campeth, spreading his banner

The Wolf and the Lamb

© Wright Elizur

That innocence is not a shield, A story teaches, not the longest. The strongest reasons always yield To reasons of the strongest.

The Two Doves

© Wright Elizur

Two doves once cherish'd for each other The love that brother hath for brother

Perch'd on a lofty oak, Sir Raven held a lunch of cheese; Sir Fox, who smelt it in the breeze, Thus to the holder spoke:-- Ha! how do you do, Sir Raven? Well, your coat, sir, is a brave one! So black and glossy, on my word, sir,With voice to match, you were a bird, sir,Well fit to be the Phœnix of these days

136. Prayer-O Thou Dread Power

© Robert Burns

O THOU dread Power, who reign’st above,
I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love,
I make this prayer sincere.

Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle upon the Restoration of Lord Clifford, the Shepherd, to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors

© William Wordsworth

High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,And Emont's murmur mingled with the Song.--The words of ancient time I thus translate,A festal strain that hath been silent long:--

The Prelude: Book 2: School-time (Continued)

© William Wordsworth

Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving muchUnvisited, endeavour'd to retraceMy life through its first years, and measured backThe way I travell'd when I first beganTo love the woods and fields; the passion yetWas in its birth, sustain'd, as might befal,By nourishment that came unsought, for still,From week to week, from month to month, we liv'dA round of tumult: duly were our gamesProlong'd in summer till the day-light fail'd;No chair remain'd before the doors, the benchAnd threshold steps were empty; fast asleepThe Labourer, and the old Man who had sate,A later lingerer, yet the revelryContinued, and the loud uproar: at last,When all the ground was dark, and the huge cloudsWere edged with twinkling stars, to bed we went,With weary joints, and with a beating mind

On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford, for Naples

© William Wordsworth

A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,Nor of the setting sun's pathetic lightEngendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:Spirits of Power, assembled there, complainFor kindred Power departing from their sight;While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,Saddens his voice again, and yet again

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798

© William Wordsworth

Five years have past; five summers, with the lengthOf five long winters! and again I hearThese waters, rolling from their mountain-springsWith a soft inland murmur

It is not to be Thought of

© William Wordsworth

It is not to be thought of that the FloodOf British freedom, which, to the open seaOf the world's praise, from dark antiquityHath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"Roused though it be full often to a moodWhich spurns the check of salutary bands,That this most famous Stream in bogs and sandsShould perish; and to evil and to goodBe lost for ever

Dion

© William Wordsworth

See Plutarch.

Hero

© Williams Ian

the hero winsbecause that's what heros do when you spendthe money to buy the DVD of a movie you alreadyknow the ending to, not because you’ve seen it beforebut because you heard from a colleague in HRthat it would make you feel real good after,it was the best thing she’s seen lately, and that’swith her being married and every morning pushing spoonsinto the faces of her two children

so you watch itknowing the only thing that will make you feel goodthis evening is seeing a bare-chested man wail on anotherin a ring and another in a street and another in a ringin slow-mo and the dff dff sounds of the gloves strikingbodies in movies, which don’t sound like bodies for real,not that you’d admit to knowing that,

and the herodoesn’t even look like heroes in the real worldwhich are not the heroes in grade four essays eitherbut like (stay with me) this one time you dropped by a woman’s placeand you were sitting at her kitchen table and she asked youif you wanted anything to drink and she opened the fridgeand you saw through the crack between her bodyand the door only a pitcher of water on the wire shelfin the yellow light—

you want to call her a herobecause she’s surviving with her mouth shutor yourself because you’re so affected must meanyou’re noble

Will and Testament

The Aucthour (though loth to leave the Citie)vpon her Friendes procurement, is constrainedto departe: wherfore (she fayneth as she would die)and maketh her WYLL and Testæment, as foloweth:With large Legacies of such Goods and richeswhich she moste aboundantly hath left behind her:and therof maketh LONDON sole executor to seher Legacies performed

To her Sister Mistress A. B.

Because I to my brethern wrote and to my sisters two:Good sister Anne, you this might wote, if so I should not doTo you, or ere I parted hence,You vainly had bestowed expence.