Time poems
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Ploughing Time
© Boris Pasternak
What is the matter with the landscape?
Familiar landmarks are not there.
Ploughed fields, like squares upon a chessboard,
Today are scattered everywhere.
Boston Hymn
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
The word of the Lord by night
To the watching Pilgrims came,
As they sat by the seaside,
And filled their hearts with flame.
One By One
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Little by little and one by one,
Out of the ether, were worlds created;
Star and planet and sea and sun,
All in the nebulous Nothing waited
Till the Nameless One Who has many a name
Called them to being and forth they came.
The Trumpet-Part
© Paul Celan
The Trumpet-Part
deep in the glowing
Text-Void
at Torch-Height,
in the Time-Hole:
The Wood Carver's Wife
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
JEAN MARCHANT, the wood-carver.
DORETTE, his wife.
LOUIS DE LOTBINIERE.
SHAGONAS, an Indian lad.
Eclogue:--Two Farms In Woone
© William Barnes
You'll lose your meäster soon, then, I do vind;
He's gwaïn to leäve his farm, as I do larn,
At Miëlmas; an' I be zorry vor'n.
What, is he then a little bit behind?
A Clock Striking Midnight
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Hark to the echo of Times footsteps; gone
Thise moments are into the unseen grave
Practising The Anthem
© Ada Cambridge
A summer wind blows through the open porch,
And, 'neath the rustling eaves,
A summer light of moonrise, calm and pale,
Shines through a vale of leaves.
How Is It That I Am Now So Softly Awakened
© Conrad Aiken
How is it that I am now so softly awakened,
My leaves shaken down with music?
Macaulay's New Zealander.
© James Brunton Stephens
IT little profits that, an idle man,
On this worn arch, in sight of wasted halls,
The Crystal Palace
© William Makepeace Thackeray
With ganial foire
Thransfuse me loyre,
Ye sacred nympths of Pindus,
The whoile I sing
That wondthrous thing,
The Palace made o' windows!
Emancipation Day
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
The sixties brought a clash of arms
The mem'ry of it thrills and charms
While Negro slaves for freedom prayed,
Till Heaven bowed to give them aid.
Pennsylvania Hall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold;
No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,
The Thrush In February
© George Meredith
I know him, February's thrush,
And loud at eve he valentines
On sprays that paw the naked bush
Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
Il Janitoro
© George Ade
Mrs. T.:
What does it mean, what does it mean?
This smell of smoke may indicate
That we'll be burned oh-h-h, awful fate!
In Time Of War
© John Jay Chapman
SORROW, that watches while the body sleeps,
Parted the curtains of the cruel dawn
