Pet poems
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Lenten Flowers
© Kathleen Raine
Primrose, anemone, bluebell, moss
Grow in the Kingdom of the CrossAnd the ash-tree's purple bud
Dresses the spear that sheds his blood.With the thorns that pierce his brow
Soft encircling petals growFor in each flower the secret lies
Beneath Thy Cross
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss,
And yet not weep?
St. Jeanne Rides Out (for Amy Lowell)
© Margaret Widdemer
St. Jeanne she sat with Michaël,
With Marguerite and Raphaël,
Monna Innominata: A Sonnet of Sonnets
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda. - Dante
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore. - Petrarca
At Even-Tide
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
What spirit is it that doth pervade
The silence of this empty room?
And as I lift my eyes, what shade
Glides off and vanishes in gloom?
Reynard the Fox - Part 1
© John Masefield
Poor Polly's dying struck him queer,
He was a darkened man thereafter,
Cowed, silent, he would wince at laughter
And be so gentle it was strange
Even to see. Life loves to change.
Whisperings in Wattle-Boughs
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Oh, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirr'd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are thronging!
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering!
The Cambaroora Star
© Henry Lawson
Then he stood up on a sudden, with a face as pale as death,
And he gripped my hand a moment, while he seemed to fight for breath:
`Tom, old friend,' he said, `I'm going, and I'm ready to -- to start,
For I know that there is something -- something crooked with my heart.
Tom, my first child died. I loved her even better than the pen --
Tom -- and while the STAR was dying, why, I felt like I did THEN.
Peter Anderson And Co.
© Henry Lawson
They tried everything and nothing 'twixt the shovel and the press,
And were more or less successful in their ventures -- mostly less.
Once they ran a country paper till the plant was seized for debt,
And the local sinners chuckle over dingy copies yet.
Tommy Atkins' Way
© Edgar Albert Guest
He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell,
And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,
So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,
And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."
The Fight at Eureka Stockade
© Henry Lawson
"Was I at Eureka?" His figure was drawn to a youthful height,
And a flood of proud recollections made the fire in his grey eyes bright;
With pleasure they lighted and glisten'd, tho' the digger was grizzled and old,
And we gathered about him and listen'd while the tale of Eureka he told.
The Four Bridges
© Jean Ingelow
I love this gray old church, the low, long nave,
The ivied chancel and the slender spire;
No less its shadow on each heaving grave,
With growing osier bound, or living brier;
I love those yew-tree trunks, where stand arrayed
So many deep-cut names of youth and maid.
Jack Dunn of Nevertire
© Henry Lawson
It chanced upon the very day we'd got the shearing done,
A buggy brought a stranger to the West-o'-Sunday Run;
He had a round and jolly face, and he was sleek and stout,
He drove right up between the huts and called the super out.
May-Day
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
The world rolls round,--mistrust it not,--
Befalls again what once befell;
All things return, both sphere and mote,
And I shall hear my bluebird's note,
And dream the dream of Auburn dell.
"An upper chamber in a darkened house"
© Frederick Goddard Tuckerman
An upper chamber in a darkened house,
Where, ere his footsteps reached ripe manhood's brink,
Granta: A Medley
© George Gordon Byron
Oh! could Le Sage's demon's gift
Be realized at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift
To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Solar
© Philip Larkin
Suspended lion face
Spilling at the centre
Of an unfurnished sky
How still you stand,
