Music poems

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Home Is So Sad

© Philip Larkin

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped in the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft.

Reply to Mr. Liu Yazi 1950

© Mao Zedong

The night was long and dawn came slow to the Crimson Land.
For a century demons and monsters whirled in a wild dance,
And the five hundred million people were disunited.

A Corn-Song

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

ON the wide veranda white,

In the purple failing light,

An Old-Year Song

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

As through the forest, disarrayed

By chill November, late I strayed,

The Venetian Gondolier

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Here rest the weary oar! -- soft airs
Breathe out in the o'erarching sky;
And Night!-- sweet Night -- serenely wears
A smile of peace; her noon is nigh.

Drouth

© Madison Julius Cawein

I

The hot sunflowers by the glaring pike

All the Hills and Vales Along

© Charles Hamilton Sorley

All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.

Sonnet XLV: Muses, Which Sadly Sit

© Michael Drayton

Muses, which sadly sit about my chair,
Drown'd in the tears extorted by my lines,
With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,
Painting my passions in these sad designs,

Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard,
Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song, -
Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred,
Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long!

Andromeda Unfettered

© Muriel Stuart

Nay, what do you seek?
If of men we be chained,
Our chains be of gold,
If the fetters we break
What conquest is gained?
Shall a hill-top out-spread a pavilion more safe than our palace hold?

Carol Of Occupations

© Walt Whitman

COME closer to me;
Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;
Yield closer and closer, and give me the best you possess.

Endimion and Phoebe (excerpts)

© Michael Drayton

In Ionia whence sprang old poets' fame,
From whom that sea did first derive her name,
The blessed bed whereon the Muses lay,
Beauty of Greece, the pride of Asia,

Sirena

NEAR to the silver Trent
SIRENA dwelleth;
She to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth;

Seashore

I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea

Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?

Tones

A woman, fair to look upon,
Where waters whiten with the moon;
While down the glimmer of the lawn
The white moths swoon.

Wordsworth's Grave

The old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here;
Beneath its shadow high-born Rotha flows;
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near,
And with cool murmur lulling his repose