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Waring
© Robert Browning
What's become of Waring
Since he gave us all the slip,
Chose land-travel or seafaring,
Boots and chest, or staff and scrip,
Rather than pace up and down
Any longer London-town?
Home Thoughts, From The Sea
© Robert Browning
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
Home Thoughts, From Abroad
© Robert Browning
Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
The Pied Piper Of Hamelin
© Robert Browning
"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
Being worse treated than a Cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!"
Love Among The Ruins
© Robert Browning
IWhere the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Notice
© Steve Kowit
This evening, the sturdy Levi's
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
The Hound of Heaven
© Francis Thompson
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
The Singing
© C. K. Williams
I was walking home down a hill near our house
on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here
every spring with
their burgeoning forth
In A Bed Of Baked Beans (Part Two)
© R.George
a soft wind through an LA window
a goddess of a promised life
transparent on the other side
begs me to follow her
The Swan At Edgewater Park
© Ruth L. Schwartz
Isn't one of your prissy richpeoples' swans
Wouldn't be at home on some pristine pond
Chooses the whole stinking shoreline, candy wrappers, condoms
in its tidal fringe
The Spider
© Jane Taylor
"Oh, look at that great ugly spider!" said Ann;
And screaming, she brush'd it away with her fan;
"'Tis a frightful black creature as ever can be,
I wish that it would not come crawling on me. "
In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
© Alfred Edward Housman
In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
© Alfred Edward Housman
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
When I Came Last to Ludlow
© Alfred Edward Housman
When I came last to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale,
Two friends kept step beside me,
Two honest friends and hale.
I Hoed and Trenched and Weeded
© Alfred Edward Housman
I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair:
I brought them home unheeded;
The hue was not the wear.
March
© Alfred Edward Housman
The Sun at noon to higher air,
Unharnessing the silver Pair
That late before his chariot swam,
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.
The Winds Out of the West Land Blow
© Alfred Edward Housman
The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.
Oh Stay At Home, My Lad
© Alfred Edward Housman
Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough
The land and not the sea,
And leave the soldiers at their drill,
And all about the idle hill
Shepherd your sheep with me.
Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending?
© Alfred Edward Housman
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
'Twas best to take it to the grave.
1887
© Alfred Edward Housman
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns,
The shires have seen it plain,
From north and south the sign returns
And beacons burn again.
