Time poems
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Beyond
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
Love's aftermath! I think the time is now
That we must gather in, alone, apart
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Youth is all valiant. He and I together,
Conscious of strength, and unreproved of wrong,
Strained at the world's conventions as a tether
Too weak to bind us, and burst forth in song.
A Letter Sent To Mrs. Barber
© Mary Barber
Thou glorious Ruler of the beauteous Day!
Have sev'nteen Years so swiftly roll'd away?
Hast thou so oft the heav'nly Circle run,
When scarce I thought thy radiant Course begun?
An Ode - In Imitation of Horace, Book III. Ode II.
© Matthew Prior
How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose
Love's Astrology
© William Watson
I know not if they erred
Who thought to see
The tale of all the times to be,
Star-character'd;
I know not, neither care,
If fools or knaves they were.
Poems Of Joys
© Walt Whitman
O to make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments! full of grain and trees.
Beauty And Art
© Madison Julius Cawein
The gods are dead; but still for me
Lives on in wildwood brook and tree
Each myth, each old divinity.
The Lady With The Sewing-Machine
© Dame Edith Sitwell
Across the fields as green as spinach,
Cropped as close as Time to Greenwich,
Night of the Scorpion
© Nissim Ezekiel
I remember the night my mother
was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
Ode To The Confederate Dead
© Allen Tate
You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point
With troubled fingers to the silence which
Smothers you, a mummy, in time.
Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803
© William Wordsworth
THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,
Laodamia
© William Wordsworth
O terror! what hath she perceived?-O joy!
What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!
Message From Abroad
© Allen Tate
Paris, November 1929
Their faces are bony and sharp but very red, although
their ancestors nearly two hundred years have dwelt
by the miasmal banks of tidewaters where malarial fever
makes men gaunt and dosing with quinine shakes them
as with a palsy. Traveller to America (1799).
The Bride Of The Nile - Act III
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
(Enter Barix and Boïlas conversing.)
Barix. I always said it, Boïlas, it must come at last,
The day of annexation. Things have moved on fast,
Faster than we quite thought a week or two ago.
The mills of Rome grind slowly--quite absurdly slow.
It comes to the same thing.
This was a PoetIt is That
© Emily Dickinson
This was a PoetIt is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings
And Attar so immense
The Sibyls
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Out of the seas that streamed
In ghostly turbulence moving and glimmering about me
I saw the rising of vast and visionary forms.
Summer
© Conrad Aiken
Absolute zero: the locust sings:
summers caught in eternitys rings:
the rock explodes, the planet dies,
we shovel up our verities.
Carmen Triumphale
© Henry Timrod
Go forth and bid the land rejoice,
Yet not too gladly, O my song!
Breathe softly, as if mirth would wrong
The solemn rapture of thy voice.
Marmion: Introduction to Canto I
© Sir Walter Scott
November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear:
