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Catharina
© William Cowper
She came--she is gone--we have met--
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Roan Stallion
© Robinson Jeffers
She rose at length, she unknotted the halter; she walked and led
the stallion; two figures, woman and stallion,
Came down the silent emptiness of the dome of the hill, under
the cataract of the moonlight.
The Legend of King Arthur
© Thomas Percy
Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
The Glimpse
© William Watson
Just for a day you crossed my life's dull track,
Put my ignobler dreams to sudden shame,
Went your bright way, and left me to fall back
On my own world of poorer deed and aim;
The Call Of The Christian
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Not always as the whirlwind's rush
On Horeb's mount of fear,
Genesis BK XIII
© Caedmon
The sleep of death and fiends' seduction; death and hell and
exile and damnation - these were the fatal fruit whereon they
feasted. And when the apple worked within him and touched his
heart, then laughed aloud the evilhearted fiend, capered about,
and gave thanks to his lord for both:
Jim the Splitter
© Henry Kendall
The bard who is singing of Wollombi Jim
Is hardly just now in the requisite trim
To sit on his Pegasus fairly;
Besides, he is bluntly informed by the Muse
That Jim is a subject no singer should choose;
For Jim is poetical rarely.
In The Hill At New Grange
© Robinson Jeffers
Great upright stones higher than the height of a man are our walls,
Huge overlapping stones are the summer clouds in our sky.
The hill of boulders is heaped over all. Each hundred years
One of the enormous stones will move an inch in the dark.
Each double century one of the oaks on the crown of the mound
Above us breaks in a wind, an oak or an ash grows.
The Cloud's Swan-Song
© Francis Thompson
There is a parable in the pathless cloud,
There's prophecy in heaven,--they did not lie,
The Chaldee shepherds; seal-ed from the proud,
To cheer the weighted heart that mates the seeing eye.
Back Home
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
Thoughts, go your way home.
Embrace,
depths of the soul and the sea.
In my view,
Where a Roman Villa Stood, Above Freiburg
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
On alien ground, breathing an alien air,
A Roman stood, far from his ancient home,
And gazing, murmured,
"Ah, the hills are fair,
But not the hills of Rome!"
How Rudeness And Kindness Were Justly Rewarded
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral of the tale is: Bah!
Nous avons change tout cela.
No clear idea I hope to strike
Of what our nicest girl is like,
But she whose best young man I am
Is not an oyster, nor a clam!
Six O'clock In Princes Street
© Wilfred Owen
In twos and threes, they have not far to roam,
Crowds that thread eastward, gay of eyes;
Those seek no further than their quiet home,
Wives, walking westward, slow and wise.
Prospect NSW (For Anita Cobby)
© Dale Harcombe
The hushed dark hugs the streets.
Somewhere a cat snaps the silence.
Dogs begin to bark, like a pack
moving in for the kill.
Home's Kid (For Glenn)
© Dale Harcombe
This time I know
I will never see him again.
For a time he played the game,
like a child experimenting with blocks,
Mollymook
© Dale Harcombe
All week, in this rented house,
sea spray and whispers of wind
weave through the eucalypts,
like a Sondheim melody.
Bruise blue
© Dale Harcombe
Frail as smoke, she drifts
through the crowded train,
bringing with her
the cold ashes of poverty.
One Of The Signers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O storied vale of Merrimac
Rejoice through all thy shade and shine,
And from his century's sleep call back
A brave and honored son of thine.
Two Centuries
© Katharine Lee Bates
Above the tall elms' green-plumed tops, etched against low-hung, gray-hued skies,
Straight as the heaven-kissing pine, the home-bound mariner descries
The goodly spire of the old first church, reverend, serene, with old-time grace,
Symbol and sign of an inner life deep-sealed by time's slow carven trace.
