Time poems
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The Burial Of Moliere
© Andrew Lang
Ah, Moliere, for that last time of all,
Man's hatred broke upon thee, and went by,
And did but make more fair thy funeral.
Though in the dark they hid thee stealthily,
Thy coffin had the cope of night for pall,
For torch, the stars along the windy sky!
We Are Accused Of Terrorism
© Nizar Qabbani
We are accused of terrorism
If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland
That is scattered in pieces and in decay
In decadence and disarray
About a homeland that is searching for a place
And about a nation that no longer has a face
Stella's Birthday, March 13, 1726
© Jonathan Swift
This day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall still be kept with joy by me;
A Valediction
© John Masefield
We're bound for blue water where the great winds blow,
It's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go;
The crowd's at the capstan and the tune's in the shout,
"A long pull, a strong pull, and warp the hooker out."
Salutation The Third
© Ezra Pound
Come, let us on with the new deal,
Let us be done with pandars and jobbery,
Let us spit upon those who pat the big-bellies for profit,
Let us go out in the air a bit.
La Dame Du Palais De La Reine
© Kenneth Slessor
SOPHIE, in shocks of scarlet lace,
Receives her usual embrace
Beneath a hedge, behind a curtain,
Or in the chambers of His Grace.
Idyll XXI. The Fishermen
© Theocritus
Want quickens wit: Want's pupils needs must work,
O Diophantus: for the child of toil
Is grudged his very sleep by carking cares:
Or, if he taste the blessedness of night,
Thought for the morrow soon warns slumber off.
Sculptor
© Sylvia Plath
To his house the bodiless
Come to barter endlessly
Vision, wisdom, for bodies
Palpable as his, and weighty.
The Politician
© William Wilfred Campbell
Carven in leathern mask or brazen face,
Were I time's sculptor, I would set this man.
The Idlers Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. March
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A WEEK AT PARIS
When loud March from the East begins to blow,
And earth and heaven are black, then off we hie
By the night train to Paris, where we know
The Little Fat Doctor
© James Whitcomb Riley
He seemed so strange to me, every way--
In manner, and form, and size,
From the boy I knew but yesterday,--
I could hardly believe my eyes!
O Turn Once More
© Duncan Campbell Scott
O turn once more!
The meadows where we mused and strayed together
On Hearing A Yellow Hammer Sing Near Dunedin
© Alexander Bathgate
List! to that pretty little bird,
Singing on yonder bush of thorn;
Its plaintive notes I have not heard,
Save in the land where I was born.
Villanelle
© Andrew Lang
Apollo left the golden Muse
And shepherded a mortal's sheep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
Hymn I
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O THOU, whose presence went before
Our fathers in their weary way,
As with Thy chosen moved of yore
The fire by night, the cloud by day!
Answering The Grumblers
© Edgar Albert Guest
When night time comes an' I can go
Back to the folks who love me so,
An' see 'em smile an' hear 'em sing,
An' feel their kisses, then, by jing!
I vow this world is mighty fine
An' run upon a great design.
The Bridal of Pennacook
© John Greenleaf Whittier
No bridge arched thy waters save that where the trees
Stretched their long arms above thee and kissed in the breeze:
No sound save the lapse of the waves on thy shores,
The plunging of otters, the light dip of oars.
To Catullus
© Robert Seymour Bridges
Would that you were alive today, Catullus!
Truth tis, there is a filthy skunk amongst us,
A rank musk-idiot, the filthiest skunk,
Of no least sorry use on earth, but only
Fit in fancy to justify the outlay
Of your most horrible vocabulary.
