Life poems

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The Living Land

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

We have mourned and sighed for our buried pride,[106]

We have given what nature gives,

Music

© Henry Van Dyke

O lead me by the hand,
And let my heart have rest,
And bring me back to childhood land,
To find again the long-lost band
Of playmates blithe and blest.

The End

© David Herbert Lawrence

If I could have put you in my heart,
If but I could have wrapped you in myself,
How glad I should have been!
And now the chart

The Ship of Death

© David Herbert Lawrence

And it is time to go, to bid farewell
to one's own self, and find an exit
from the fallen self.

All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
the sea!

Tortoise Shell

© David Herbert Lawrence

Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.

The Wake Of Tim O'Hara

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

TO the Wake of OHara

Came company;

Snake

© David Herbert Lawrence

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

The Two Birth Nights

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Bright glittering lights are gleaming in yonder mansion proud,
And within its walls are gathered a gemmed and jewelled crowd;
Robes of airy gauze and satin, diamonds and rubies bright,
Rich festoons of glowing flowerstruly tis a wondrous sight.

Rhythm of Life

© Eileen Carney Hulme

The clock is silent
nowadays clocks no longer
need to make
that rhythmic sound of life.

Zoheyr

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.

Recovering Amid The Farms

© Jack Gilbert

Every morning the sad girl brings her three sheep
and two lambs laggardly to the top of the valley,
past my stone hut and onto the mountain to graze.
She turned twelve last year and it was legal

One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue Part I

© Madison Julius Cawein

Herein the dearness of her is;
The thirty perfect days of June
Made one, in maiden loveliness
Were not more sweet to clasp and kiss,
With love not more in tune.

A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers)

© Wilfred Owen

Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me,-brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.

Nomenclature

© Alan Dugan

My mother never heard of Freud
and she decided as a little girl
that she would call her husband Dick
no matter what his first name was

A Point Of Honour

``Tell me again; I did not hear: It was wailing so sadly. Nay,
Hush! little one, for mother wants to know what they have to say.
There! At my breast be good and still! What quiets you calms me too.
They say that the source is poisoned; still, it seems pure enough for you!

The Rope-Maker

I weave the strands of the grey rope,
I weave with sorrow, I weave with hope,
I weave in youth, love, and regret,
I weave life into the net.

To Beethoven

In o'er-strict calyx lingering,
Lay music's bud too long unblown,
Till thou, Beethoven, breathed the spring:
Then bloomed the perfect rose of tone.

To Baynard Taylor

To range, deep-wrapt, along a heavenly height,
O'erseeing all that man but undersees;
To loiter down lone alleys of delight,
And hear the beating of the hearts of trees,
And think the thoughts that lilies speak in white
By greenwood pools and pleasant passages;