Great poems
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90 North
© Randall Jarrell
At home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe,
I clambered to bed; up the globe's impossible sides
I sailed all nighttill at last, with my black beard,
My furs and my dogs, I stood at the northern pole.
The Woman At The Washington Zoo
© Randall Jarrell
The saris go by me from the embassies.Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet.
They look back at the leopard like the leopard.And I. . . .
this print of mine, that has kept its color
Alive through so many cleanings; this dull null
The Olive Garden
© Randall Jarrell
(Rainer Maria Rilke)He went up under the gray leaves
All gray and lost in the olive lands
And laid his forehead, gray with dust,
Deep in the dustiness of his hot hands.
The Hideous Chair
© Erin Belieu
This hideous,
upholstered in gift-wrap fabric, chromed
in places, design possibility
Lincoln, The Man Of The People
© Edwin Markham
WHEN the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down
To make a man to meet the mortal need.
The Last Meeting
© Siegfried Sassoon
Because the night was falling warm and still
Upon a golden day at Aprils end,
I thought; I will go up the hill once more
To find the face of him that I have lost,
And speak with him before his ghost has flown
Far from the earth that might not keep him long.
Noah
© Siegfried Sassoon
When old Noah stared across the floods,
Sky and water melted into one
Looking-glass of shifting tides and sun.
Miracles
© Siegfried Sassoon
I dreamt I saw a huge grey boat in silence steaming
Down a canal; it drew the dizzy landscape after;
The solemn world was sucked along with ita streaming
Land-slide of loveliness. O, but I rocked with laughter,
Staring, and clinging to my tree-top. For a lake
Of gleaming peace swept on behind. (I mustnt wake.)
The Old Huntsman
© Siegfried Sassoon
Id have been prosperous if Id took a farm
Of fifty acres, drove my gig and haggled
At Monday markets; now Ive squandered all
My savings; nigh three hundred pound I got
As testimonial when Id grown too stiff
And slow to press a beaten fox.
Dead Musicians
© Siegfried Sassoon
. . . .
And so the song breaks off; and Im alone.
Theyre dead ... For Gods sake stop that gramophone.
Memorial Tablet
© Siegfried Sassoon
Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight,
(Under Lord Derbys Scheme). I died in hell
(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight,
And I was hobbling back; and then a shell
Burst slick upon the duck-boards: so I fell
Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light.
Dreamers
© Siegfried Sassoon
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
Waves
© Katherine Mansfield
I saw a tiny God
Sitting
Under a bright blue umbrella
That had white tassels
The Secret
© Katherine Mansfield
In the profoundest ocean
There is a rainbow shell,
It is always there, shining most stilly
Under the greatest storm waves
The Black Monkey
© Katherine Mansfield
My Babbles has a nasty knack
Of keeping monkeys on her back.
A great big black one comes and swings
Right on her sash or pinny strings.
It is a horrid thing and wild
And makes her such a naughty child.
The Awakening River
© Katherine Mansfield
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river,
And the river unveils her face and smiles.
In her sleep-brooding eyes they mirror their shining wings.
She lies on silver pillows: the sun leans over her.
Song of Karen, the Dancing Child
© Katherine Mansfield
(O little white feet of mine)
Out in the storm and the rain you fly;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Can the children hear my cry?
Sleeping Together
© Katherine Mansfield
Was it a thousand years ago?
I woke in your arms--you were sound asleep--
And heard the pattering sound of sheep.
Softly I slipped to the floor and crept
To the curtained window, then, while you slept,
I watched the sheep pass by in the snow.
Valenciennes
© Thomas Hardy
WE trenched, we trumpeted and drummed,
And from our mortars tons of iron hummed
Ath'art the ditch, the month we bombed
The Town o' Valencie?n.
