Music poems
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Radiolatry
© Guiterman Arthur
The worst of all idolators Are zealous radiolatersWho wreck the peace of erstwhile happy homes With drool of variometers, Detectors, galvanometers,Antennae, switches, batteries and ohms.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content
© Robert Greene
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown;Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss
Pachelbel’s Canon
© Greene Richard
Is there a word or the fading of a noteas it leaves the string and nothing follows
Seagulls
© Gerald Gould
Two seagulls flying Alone and away,Gold in the dying Gold of the day,Soon will turn silver, soon Pass out of sight:Silvered they'll be in the moon, And sped in the night.
Sistrum
© Fuller Margaret
Triune, shaping, restless power,Life-flow from life's natal hour,No music chords are in thy sound;By some thou'rt but a rattle found;Yet, without thy ceaseless motion,To ice would turn their dead devotion
Tenebris Interlucentem
© Flecker James Elroy
A linnet who had lost her waySang on a blackened bough in Hell,Till all the ghosts remembered wellThe trees, the wind, the golden day.
Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
© Edward Fitzgerald
IHas flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caughtThe Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
The Tree
© Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade'Tis just that some return be made;Sure some return is due from meTo thy cool shadows, and to thee
"O May I Join the Choir Invisible"
© George Eliot
Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet, quam hoc exigium.
The Young Captive
© Toru Dutt
The budding shoot ripens unharmed by the scythe,Without fear of the press, on vine branches lithe, Through spring-tide the green clusters bloom
The Broken Bell
© Toru Dutt
'Tis bitter-sweet on winter nights to note,Beside the palpitating fire reclined,The chimes, across the fogs, upon the wind
An Evening Contemplation in a College
© Duncombe John
The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates,With jarring sound the porter turns the key,Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits,And slowly, sternly quits it -- tho' for me.
Alexander's Feast
© John Dryden
I By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were plac'd around;Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd
Endimion and Phoebe
© 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,Whence Archelaus, whom times historify,First unto Athens brought philosophy:In this fair region on a goodly plain,Stretching her bounds unto the bord'ring main,The mountain Latmus overlooks the sea,Smiling to see the ocean billows play:Latmus, where young Endymion used to keepHis fairest flock of silver-fleeced sheep,To whom Silvanus often would resort,At barley-brake to see the Satyrs sport;And when rude Pan his tabret list to sound,To see the fair Nymphs foot it in a round,Under the trees which on this mountain grew,As yet the like Arabia never knew;For all the pleasures Nature could deviseWithin this plot she did imparadise;And great Diana of her special graceWith vestal rites had hallowed all the place
Jealousy
© John Donne
Fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die,And yet complain'st of his great jealousy;If, swollen with poison, he lay in his last bed,His body with a sere bark covered,Drawing his breath as thick and short as canThe nimblest crocheting musician,Ready with loathsome vomiting to spewHis soul out of one hell into a new,Made deaf with his poor kindred's howling cries,Begging with few feign'd tears great legacies,Thou wouldst not weep, but jolly, and frolic be,As a slave, which to-morrow should be free
The Anagram
© John Donne
Marry, and love thy Flavia, for sheHath all things, whereby others beauteous be;For, though her eyes be small, her mouth is great;Though they be ivory, yet her teeth be jet;Though they be dim, yet she is light enough;And though her harsh hair fall, her skin is tough;What though her cheeks be yellow, her hair's red,Give her thine, and she hath a maidenhead
Imbiancato
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
A note of thanks to you whenall is said and done, for the little cowboy,for the sonata, for the now and againshimmer of sun that reinstitutes, reinvests
A Ballad of a Nun
© John Davidson
From Eastertide to Eastertide For ten long years her patient kneesEngraved the stones--the fittest bride Of Christ in all the diocese.
The Civil Wars between the Two Houses of Lancaster and York
© Samuel Daniel
The swift approach and unexpected speedThe king had made upon this new-rais'd force,In the unconfirmed troops, much fear did breed,Untimely hind'ring their intended course
