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Time poems

 / page 347 of 792 /

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The Monks Of Basle

© John Hay

I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil
Where it grew in the monkish time,
I trimmed it close and set it again
In a border of modern rhyme.

132. Reply to a Trimming Epistle, received from a Tailor

© Robert Burns

But, sir, this pleas’d them warst of a’,
An’ therefore, Tam, when that I saw,
I said “Gude night,” an’ cam’ awa’,
An’ left the Session;
I saw they were resolvèd a’
On my oppression.

206. Song—Clarina, Mistress of my Soul

© Robert Burns

CLARINDA, mistres of my soul,
The measur’d time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole
So marks his latest sun.

Orlando Furioso Canto 7

© Ludovico Ariosto

ARGUMENT

Rogero, as directed by the pair,

108. Song—Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary?

© Robert Burns

WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave auld Scotia’s shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across th’ Atlantic roar?

Ode IV: To The Honourable Charles Townshend In The Country

© Mark Akenside

I. 1.

How oft shall i survey

96. The Inventory

© Robert Burns

SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu’ list,
O’ gudes an’ gear, an’ a’ my graith,
To which I’m clear to gi’e my aith.

Love Declared

© Francis Thompson

I looked, she drooped, and neither spake, and cold,

We stood, how unlike all forecasted thought

Scherzo

© Giacomo Leopardi

When, as a boy, I went

  To study in the Muses' school,

Earth's Eternity

© John Clare

Man, Earth's poor shadow! talks of Earth's decay:

  But hath it nothing of eternal kin?

Ma An' Me

© Edgar Albert Guest

There’ve been times we'd disagree

Somethin' awful, Ma an' me;

56. Epistle to Davie, A Brother Poet

© Robert Burns

WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,
An’ bar the doors wi’ driving snaw,
An’ hing us owre the ingle,
I set me down to pass the time,

Breitmann’s Sleigh-Ride

© Charles Godfrey Leland

VEN de winter make oos shifer
Und de bonds is froze mit ice,
To shlide und shkate on de rifer,
Mit de poys und gals is nice.

83. The Cotter’s Saturday Night

© Robert Burns

MY lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend’s esteem and praise:

10. The Ronalds of the Bennals

© Robert Burns

IN Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men,
And proper young lasses and a’, man;
But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals,
They carry the gree frae them a’, man.

Velocity Of Money

© Allen Ginsberg

I’m delighted by the velocity of money as it whistles through the windows

of Lower East Side

The Old Professor

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

See, there he goes, a-pulling his long beard;

With frowning brow, and far and absent gaze,

209. Song—M’Pherson’s Farewell

© Robert Burns

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch’s destinie!
M’Pherson’s time will not be long
On yonder gallows-tree.

67. Epistle to John Goldie, in Kilmarnock

© Robert Burns

I’ve seen me dazed upon a time,
I scarce could wink or see a styme;
Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime,—
Ought less is little—
Then back I rattle on the rhyme,
As gleg’s a whittle.

334. Song—Fragment—Damon and Sylvia

© Robert Burns

YON wandering rill that marks the hill,
And glances o’er the brae, Sir,
Slides by a bower, where mony a flower
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir;

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