Time poems
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The Bridge of Change
© John Logan
The bridge barely curved that connects the terrible with the tender.
—Rilke
The Switzer's Wife
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Nor look nor tone revealeth aught
Save woman's quietness of thought;
And yet around her is a light
Of inward majesty and might. ~ M.J.J.
A West Country Ballad
© Anonymous
This is the tale of Norton
Who vowed a vow, by zounds,
To catch the varlet Gardiner
And win a thousand pounds.
In Memory of the Utah Stars
© William Matthews
Each of them must have terrified
his parents by being so big, obsessive
and exact so young, already gone
and leaving, like a big tipper,
that huge changeling’s body in his place.
The prince of bone spurs and bad knees.
History
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Time has stored all, but keeps his chronicle
In secret, beyond all our probe or gauge.
There flows the human story, vast and full;
And here a muddy trickle smears the page.
Medea in Athens
© Augusta Davies Webster
Dimly I recall
some prophecy a god breathed by my mouth.
It could not err. What was it? For I think;-
it told his death¹.
The Mountain Cemetery
© Edgar Bowers
With their harsh leaves old rhododendrons fill
The crevices in grave plots’ broken stones.
The bees renew the blossoms they destroy,
While in the burning air the pines rise still,
Commemorating long forgotten biers.
Their roots replace the semblance of these bones.
Strange
© Edgar Albert Guest
He thought that he'd be happy if a fortune he could make,
If he were rich he thought that he'd be gay,
He often thought it would be nice an ocean trip to take
Whenever he desired to go away.
Early Occult Memory Systems of the Lower Midwest
© Boris Pasternak
In his fifth year the son, deep in the backseat
of his father’s Ford and the mysterium
Up And Down Old Brandywine
© James Whitcomb Riley
Up and down old Brandywine,
In the days 'at's past and gone--
Parting: 1940
© Daniel Nester
Not knowing in what season this again
Not knowing when again the arms outyearning
Nor the flung smile in eyes not knowing when
Madmen
© Billy Collins
They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.
The Cottager
© John Clare
True as the church clock hand the hour pursues
He plods about his toils and reads the news,
