Knowledge poems
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
The Princes Quest - Part the Sixth
© William Watson
Even as one voice the great sea sang. From out
The green heart of the waters round about,
The House Of Dust: {Complete}
© Conrad Aiken
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
Sonnet XI
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Like to a ship that storms urge on its course,
By its own trials our soul is surer made.
ElegyXI: The Bracelet
© John Donne
NOT that in colour it was like thy hair,
For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear ;
To The Lord Falkland
© Abraham Cowley
FOR HIS SAFE RETURN FROM THE NORTHERN
EXPEDITION AGAINST THE SCOTS.
The First Lord's Song
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an Attorney's firm;
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so successfullee,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
The Golden Age
© Alfred Austin
Nor this the worst! When ripened Shame would hide
Fruits of that hour when Passion conquered Pride,
There are not wanting in this Christian land
The breast remorseless and the Thuggish hand,
To advertise the dens where Death is sold,
And quench the breath of baby-life for gold!
Gotham - Book I
© Charles Churchill
Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
The City of Golf
© Robert Fuller Murray
Would you like to see a city given over,
Soul and body, to a tyrannising game?
If you would, there's little need to be a rover,
For St. Andrews is the abject city's name.
An Urban Convalescence
© James Merrill
As usual in New York, everything is torn down
Before you have had time to care for it.
Head bowed, at the shrine of noise, let me try to recall
What building stood here. Was there a building at all?
I have lived on this same street for a decade.
Intimations
© Madison Julius Cawein
Is it uneasy moonlight,
On the restless field, that stirs?
Or wild white meadow-blossoms
The night-wind bends and blurs?
Her Eyes
© Madison Julius Cawein
In her dark eyes dreams poetize;
The soul sits lost in love:
There is no thing in all the skies,
To gladden all the world I prize,
Like the deep love in her dark eyes,
Or one sweet dream thereof.
The Borough. Letter XV: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Clelia
© George Crabbe
Another term is past; ten other years
In various trials, troubles, views, and fears:
Of these some pass'd in small attempts at trade;
Houses she kept for widowers lately made;
For now she said, "They'll miss th' endearing
Lepanto
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade. . .
The Rosciad
© Charles Churchill
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The First =Fifth Dialogue.=
© Giordano Bruno
CIC. Now show me how I may be able for myself to consider the conditions
of these enthusiasts, through that which appears in the order of the
warfare here described.
Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Then burned their souls
At these his words, indignant at the thought,
And Rome rose up within them, and to die
Was welcome.
Sonnet III
© George Santayana
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine.
Cymru
© George Essex Evans
Dim in the mist of ages, seeking a resting-place,
Broke on the shores of Britain the wave of an Aryan race.
