Life poems
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Sonnets from the Portuguese: XLI
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,With thanks and love from mine
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XIII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And wilt thou have me fashion into speechThe love I bear thee, finding words enough,And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,Between our faces, to cast light on each?-I drop it at thy feet
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XI
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And therefore if to love can be desert,I am not all unworthy
Sonnets from the Portuguese: VIII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What can I give thee back, O liberalAnd princely giver, who hast brought the goldAnd purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,And laid them on the outside of the wallFor such as I to take or leave withal,In unexpected largesse? am I cold,Ungrateful, that for these most manifoldHigh gifts, I render nothing back at all?Not so; not cold,-but very poor instead
Sonnets from the Portuguese: VII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The face of all the world is changed, I think,Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soulMove still, oh, still, beside me, as they stoleBetwixt me and the dreadful outer brinkOf obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,Was caught up into love, and taught the wholeOf life in a new rhythm
Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I Love thee?
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
Opifex
© Brown Thomas Edward
As I was carving images from clouds, And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:--"Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds.
Six Years Later
© Joseph Brodsky
So long had life together been that nowthe second of January fell againon Tuesday, making her astonished browlift like a windshield wiper in the rain, so that her misty sadness cleared, and showed a cloudless distance waiting up the road
To the Gentleman who offer'd 50 Pounds to any Person who should write the best POEM by May next on five Subjects, viz. Life, Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell
© Brereton Jane
But fifty Pounds! -- A sorry Sum!You'd more need offer half a Plumb:Five weighty Subjects well to handle?Sir, you forget the Price of Candle;And Leather too; when late and soon,I shall be paceing o'er my Room,Bite close my Nails, and scratch my Head,When other People are in Bed
We sat entwined an hour or two together
© Christopher John Brennan
We sat entwined an hour or two together(how long I know not) underneath pine-treesthat rustled ever in the soft spring weatherstirr'd by the sole suggestion of the breeze:
1908
© Christopher John Brennan
The droning tram swings westward: shrillthe wire sings overhead, and chillmidwinter draughts rattle the glassthat shows the dusking way I passto yon four-turreted square towerthat still exalts the golden hourwhere youth, initiate once, endearsa treasure richer with the years
A Vision out West
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Far reaching down's a solid sea sunk everlastingly to rest,And yet whose billows seem to be for ever heaving toward the westThe tiny fieldmice make their nests, the summer insects buzz and humAmong the hollows and the crests of this wide ocean stricken dumb,Whose rollers move for ever on, though sullenly, with fettered wills,To break in voiceless wrath upon the crumbled bases of far hills,Where rugged outposts meet the shock, stand fast, and hurl them back again,An avalanche of earth and rock, in tumbled fragments on the plain;But, never heeding the rebuff, to right and left they kiss the feetOf hanging cliff and bouldered bluff till on the farther side they meet,And once again resume their march to where the afternoon sun dipsToward the west, and Heaven's arch salutes the Earth with ruddy lips
A Song from a Sandhill
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly--The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip--First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip
Kelly's Conversion
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Kelly the Rager half opened an eyeTo wink at the Army passing by,While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer,Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer
Fogarty's Gin
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
A sweat-dripping horse and a half-naked myall,And a message: "Come out to the back of the run--Be out at the stake-yards by rising of sun!Ride hard and fail not! there's the devil to pay:For the men from Monkyra have mustered the run--Cows and calves, calves of ours, without ever a brand,Fifty head, if there's one, on the camp there they stand
