Poems begining by S
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Song VII: Dawn Talks to Day
© William Morris
Dawn talks to Day
Over dew-gleaming flowers,
Night flies away
Till the resting of hours:
Song VI: Cherish Life that Abideth
© William Morris
Love is enough: cherish life that abideth,
Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him;
For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth,
On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth?
And what is the joy of man's life that ye blame him
For his bliss grown a sword, and his rest grown a fire?
Song V: Through the Trouble and Tangle
© William Morris
Love is enough: through the trouble and tangle
From yesterday's dawning to yesterday's night
I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle,
Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light
I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.
Song IX: Ho Ye Who Seek Saving
© William Morris
Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,
Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,
And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it:
Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us home!'
Song IV: Draw Near and Behold Me
© William Morris
Love is enough: draw near and behold me
Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,
And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after;
For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me
And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!
Song III: It Grew Up Without Heeding
© William Morris
Love is enough: it grew up without heeding
In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure,
And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure
Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding,
As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.
Song II: Have No Thought for Tomorrow
© William Morris
Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow:
For as it was once so it shall be again.
Ye shall cry out for death as ye stretch forth in vain
Song I: Though the World Be A-Waning
© William Morris
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Sir Giles' War-Song
© William Morris
The clink of arms is good to hear,
The flap of pennons fair to see;
Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery
© William Morris
It is the longest night in all the year,
Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;
Six hours ago I came and sat down here,
And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn.
Sad-Eyed and Soft and Grey
© William Morris
O many-voiced strange morn, why must thou break
With vain desire the softness of my dream
Where she and I alone on earth did seem?
How hadst thou heart from me that land to take
Wherein she wandered softly for my sake
And I and she no harm of love might deem?
Sunset on the Spire
© Elinor Wylie
All that I dream
By day or night
Lives in that stream
Of lovely light.
Spring Pastoral
© Elinor Wylie
Liza, go steep your long white hands
In the cool waters of that spring
Which bubbles up through shiny sands
The colour of a wild-dove's wing.
Silver Filigree
© Elinor Wylie
The icicles wreathing
On trees in festoon
Swing, swayed to our breathing:
They're made of the moon.
Sea Lullaby
© Elinor Wylie
The old moon is tarnished
With smoke of the flood,
The dead leaves are varnished
With colour like blood.
Sanctuary
© Elinor Wylie
This is the bricklayer; hear the thud
Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.
His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood,
His smoking mortar whiter than bone.
Stella's Birthday March 13, 1719
© Jonathan Swift
Stella this day is thirty-four,
(We shan't dispute a year or more:)
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled,
Summons To Love
© William Henry Drummond
Phoebus, arise!
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red:
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed
Spenser's Ireland
© Marianne Clarke Moore
has not altered;--
a place as kind as it is green,
the greenest place I've never seen.
Every name is a tune.
Silence
© Marianne Clarke Moore
My father used to say,
"Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
