Great poems

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549

By Still Waters

© Bliss William Carman

MY tent stands in a garden

Of aster and goldenrod,

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.

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.

Vanitas Vanitatum

© William Makepeace Thackeray

How spake of old the Royal Seer?
(His text is one I love to treat on.)
This life of ours he said is sheer
Mataiotes Mataioteton.

A Lamentation

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

Or ever the stars were made, or skies,
Grief was born, and the kinless night,
Mother of gods without form or name.
And light is born out of heaven and dies,
And one day knows not anothers light,
But night is one, and her shape the same.

The Only Son

© Sir Henry Newbolt

O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
What of the dales tonight?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing,
What ring of festal lights?

To Henry Halloran

© Henry Kendall

YOU KNOW I left my forest home full loth,
And those weird ways I knew so well and long,
Dishevelled with their sloping sidelong growth
Of twisted thorn and kurrajong.

At The Burns Centennial

© James Russell Lowell

I

A hundred years! they're quickly fled,

Filipinos, Remember Us

© Edgar Lee Masters

You, if it fall to you to take
From us the lamp that Athens gave,
Fill it with mercy for our sake,
And light us gently to the grave.

Oh! He's Nothing But A Soldier

© Anonymous

"Oh! he's nothing but a soldier,"

But he's coming here tonight,

Great, Wide, Beautiful, Wonderful World

© William Brighty Rands

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast-
World, you are beautifully dressed

Dum Vivimus

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

Now with the marriage of the lip and beaker

Pastorals

© George Meredith

How sweet on sunny afternoons,
For those who journey light and well,
To loiter up a hilly rise
Which hides the prospect far beyond,
And fancy all the landscape lying
Beautiful and still;

"O Lord, the hope of Israel"

© Henry Vaughan

O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake

Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from

The True Born Englishman (excerpt)

© Daniel Defoe

Which medly canton'd in a heptarchy,
A rhapsody of nations to supply,
Among themselves maintain'd eternal wars,
And still the ladies lov'd the conquerors.

Fameless Graves

I WALKED the ancient graveyard's ample round,
Yet found therein not one illustrious name
Wedded by Death to Fame.

The Climber

© Virna Sheard

He stood alone on Fame's high mountain top,
His hands at rest, his forehead bound with bay;
And yet he watched with eyes unsatisfied
The downward winding way.

Brothers, And A Sermon

© Jean Ingelow

“What, chorus! are you dumb? you should have cried,
‘So good comes out of evil;’” and with that,
As if all pauses it was natural
To seize for songs, his voice broke out again: