Pet poems

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LI SPIRITI III (Ghosts 3)

© Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli

Tu conoschi la moje de Fichetto:
Bè, lei giura e spergiura ch'er zu' nonno,
Stanno una notte tra la vej'e 'r zonno,
Se sentì ffà un zospiro accapalletto.

A Mother Showing The Portrait Of Her Child

© Jean Ingelow

(F.M.L.)

Living child or pictured cherub,

Peter Sinning And Repenting

© John Newton

When Peter boasted, soon he fell,
Yet was by grace restored;
His case should be regarded well
By all who fear the Lord.

Request to a Year

© Judith Wright

If the year is meditating a suitable gift,
I should like it to be the attitude
of my great- great- grandmother,
legendary devotee of the arts,

The Drunken Fisherman

© Robert Lowell

Wallowing in this bloody sty,
I cast for fish that pleased my eye
(Truly Jehovah's bow suspends
No pots of gold to weight its ends);

In between the limits of day,
hours and hours go by under the crew haircuts
and slightly too little nonsensical bachelor twinkle
of the Roman Catholic attendants.
(There are no Mayflower
screwballs in the Catholic Church.)

Man And Wife

© Robert Lowell

Now twelve years later, you turn your back.
Sleepless, you hold
your pillow to your hollows like a child;
your old-fashioned tirade--
loving, rapid, merciless--
breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my head.

Idem Latine Redditum

© William Cowper

Heu inimicitias quoties parit æmula forma,
Quam raro pulchrae, pulchra placere potest!
Sed fines ultrà solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

The Dancer Of The Daughters Of Herodias

© Arthur Symons

Is it the petals falling from the rose?

For in the silence I can hear a sound

Flower of Love

© Claude McKay

The perfume of your body dulls my sense.
I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone
Suffices. In this moment rare and tense
I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,

Noonday Grace

© John Crowe Ransom

MY good old father tucked his head,
(His face the color of gingerbread)
Over the table my mother had spread,
And folded his leathery hands and said:

The Dance To Death. Act I

© Emma Lazarus

This play is dedicated, in profound veneration and respect, to the
memory of George Eliot, the illustrious writer, who did most among
the artists of our day towards elevating and ennobling the spirit
of Jewish nationality.

Italy : 43. The Bag Of Gold

© Samuel Rogers

I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * and, I
should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table,
and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming
countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see

In Praise of Mandragora

© Muriel Stuart

O, MANDRAGORA, many sing in praise
Of life, and death, and immortality,-
Of passion, that goes famished all her days,-
Of Faith, or fantasy;
Thou, all unpraised, unsung, I make this rhyme to thee.

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLVI

THE SAME CONTINUED
Thrice happy fools! What wisdom shall we learn
In this world or the next, if next there be,
More deep, more full, more worthy our concern

Answer To A Beautiful Poem, Entitled 'The Common Lot'

MONTGOMERY! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,
Some shall exist beyond the grave.

The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements

aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on

The Ring And The Book - Chapter VII - Pompilia

There,
Strength comes already with the utterance!
I will remember once more for his sake
The sorrow: for he lives and is belied.
Could he be here, how he would speak for me!