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Elegy for an Old Boxer by James McKean: American Life in Poetry #80 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2

© Ted Kooser

One of poetry's traditional public services is the presentation of elegies in honor of the dead. Here James McKean remembers a colorful friend and neighbor.

A Preface

© Rudyard Kipling

Nothing on earth-no Arts, no Gifts, no Graces-
No Fame, no Wealth-outweighs the wont of it.
This is the Law which every law embraces-
Be fit-be fit! In mind and body be fit!

After Defeat (extract from Saul)

© Charles Heavysege

All's over here;--let us withdraw and weep

Down in the red recesses of our hearts,

Down by the Sydney Side

© Anonymous

Over near a chock-and-log hut,
Down by the river-side,
A bronzed young bushman sat,
Telling his blushing bride
The time had come when he must rove
Down by the Sydney side.

Sunset: St. Louis

© Sara Teasdale

HUSHED in the smoky haze of summer sunset,
When I came home again from far-off places,
How many times I saw my western city
Dream by her river.

The Dunciad: Book I.

© Alexander Pope

The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings

The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings,

An heroic address to [Oxford], concerning the combined utility and dignity of military affairs and o

In thy breast is noble blood, Courage animates thy brow, Mars lives in thy tongue,
Minerva strengthen thy right hand, Bellona reigns in thy body, within thee burns the fire of Mars.
Thine eyes flash fire, thy countenance shakes a spear;
who would not swear that Achilles had come to life again?

I Know No Better World

© Ingeborg Bachmann

Who knows of a better world should step forward.

Grey Wolves Grey

© Henry Lawson

As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun thats five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.

What Would It Be?

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Now what were the words of Jesus,

And what would He pause and say,

A Paraphrase On The Latter Part Of The Sixth Chapter Of St Matthew

© James Thomson

When my breast labours with oppressive care,

And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear:

Harry (Engaged To Be Married) To Charley (Who Is Not)

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,

You have wearily listened, I fear;

In Memory Of The Late G. C. Of Montreal

The earth was flooded in the amber haze
That renders so lovely our autumn days,
The dying leaves softly fluttered down,
Bright crimson and orange and golden brown,
And the hush of autumn, solemn and still,
Brooded oer valley, plain and hill.

To Laura At The Harpsichord

When o'er the chords thy fingers stray,
My spirit leaves its mortal clay,
A statue there I stand;
Thy spell controls e'en life and death,
As when the nerves a living breath
Receive by Love's command! [1]