Time poems
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This Man Jones
© James Whitcomb Riley
This man Jones was what you'd call
A feller 'at had no sand at all;
Starlings On The Roof
© Thomas Hardy
'No smoke spreads out of this chimney-pot,
The people who lived here have left the spot,
And others are coming who knew them not.
L'envoi from Balladeadro
© George Gordon McCrae
See where the allied armies camped,
Where plumed and painted dancers tramped-
"I swear to you, Love, by your arrows"
© Gaspara Stampa
For theres a virtue born from suffering,
That dims and conquers the sense of pain,
So that its barely felt, seems scarcely hurting.
No! This, that torments soul and body again,
This is the real fear presaging my dying:
What if my fire be only straw and flame?
A Child-Savior
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
(A True Story)
SHE stood beside the iron road,
A little child of ten years old.
She heard two meeting thunders rolled
A Banjo Song
© James Weldon Johnson
W'en de banjos wuz a-ringin',
An' de darkies wuz a-singin',
Oh, wuzen dem de good times sho!
All de ole folks would be chattin',
An' de pickaninnies pattin',
As dey heah'd de feet a-shufflin' 'cross de flo'.
Lookin For Myself
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
You may be lookin' for me but I ain't lookin' for you
I'm still lookin' for myself and I ain't got time to look for nobody else
When I found who I am and where I am
And if you come round again maybe then baby maybe then
Sympathy
© George MacDonald
Grief held me silent in my seat;
I neither moved nor smiled:
Joy held her silent at my feet,
My shining lily-child.
Amours De Voyage, Canto III
© Arthur Hugh Clough
- domus Albuneae resonantis,
Et praeceps Anio, et Tibuni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis
The Night Of Trafalgar
© Thomas Hardy
In the wild October night-time, when the wind raved round the
land,
Contrasted Songs: Song Of The Going Away
© Jean Ingelow
“Old man, upon the green hillside,
With yellow flowers besprinkled o’er,
How long in silence wilt thou bide
At this low stone door?
A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence
© Confucius
So full am I of anxious thought,
Though all the morn king-grass I've sought,
To fill my arms I fail.
Like wisp all-tangled is my hair!
To wash it let me home repair.
My lord soon may I hail!
The Library
© George Crabbe
When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,
Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;
From 'The Cupboard' (Le buffet)
© Arthur Rimbaud
A large carved cupboard of white oak
emanates that relaxed gentle air
Old people have; open, it's kindly
shadows give off fragrances like fine
Speaking Of Hunting
© Franklin Pierce Adams
My paste pot escapes almost daily;
My scissors I never can find;
And I am the rotter who loses a blotter
More often than if he were blind.
The Everlasting Return
© Lola Ridge
Ten times we had watched the moon
Rise like a thin white virgin out of the waters
And round into a full maternity…
For thrice ten moons we had touched no flesh
Save the man flesh on either hand
That was black and bitter and salt and scaled by the sea.
Greek Religion
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Thou art become, oh Echo! a voice, an inanimate image;
Where is the palest of maids, dark--tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half--opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
Quickly repeated the words that burst on her lonely recesses,
Low in a love--lorn tone, too deep--distracted to answer?
