Knowledge poems

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75

The Progress Of A Divine: Satire

All priests are not the same, be understood!
Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.
What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;
Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;
When good, or bad, annex we to your name,
The greater honour, or the greater shame.

The Little Left Hand - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Place
A Country Town in England.

Watching Unto God In The Night Season (2)

© William Cowper

Season of my purest pleasure,

Sealer of observing eyes!

OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)

© Alfred Tennyson

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Divisions On A Ground

© Arthur Symons

I

Beloved, there is a sorrow in the world

True Confession

© George Barker

1

Today, recovering from influenza,

The Tree Of Knowledge

© Abraham Cowley

THAT THERE IS NO KNOWLEDGE.

Against the Dogmatists.

Dauber

© John Masefield

I

Four bells were struck, the watch was called on deck,

Abode Of The Beloved

© Kabir

Nahin Tahan Gyan Dhyan
Nahin Jap Tap
Ved Kiteb Na Bani
Karni Dharni Rehni Gehni,
Yeh Sub Jahan Hirani

Song

© Samuel Johnson

Not the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

A Portrait

© Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandals school,

Who rail by precept, and detract by rule,

O'Connell

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

So let the verse in echoing accents ring,
So proudly sing,
With intermittent wail,
The nation's dead, but sceptred King,
The glory of the Gael.

Mother Bombie

© John Lyly

O Cupid ! Monarch ouer Kings,
Wherefore hast thou feete and wings?
It is to shew how swift thou art,
When thou wound'st a tender heart:
Thy wings being clip'd, and feete held still,
Thy Bow so many could not kill.

The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The First

Awake a louder and a loftier strain!

Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled

Knowledge

Oh for a life of leisure and broad hours,
To think and dream, to put away small things,
This world's perpetual leaguer of dull naughts;
To wander like the bee among the flowers
Till old age find us weary, feet and wings
Grown heavy with the gold of many thoughts.