Time poems
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Sed Non Satiata (Unslakeable Lust)
© Charles Baudelaire
Bizarre déité, brune comme les nuits,
Au parfum mélangé de musc et de havane,
Oeuvre de quelque obi, le Faust de la savane,
Sorcière au flanc d'ébène, enfant des noirs minuits,
The Progress Of The Rose
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
The days of old, the good old days,
Whose misty memories haunt us still,
Demand alike our blame and praise,
And claim their shares of good and ill.
An Apology For My Son To His Master, For Not Bringing An Exercise On The Coronation Day.
© Mary Barber
Why are we Scholars plagu'd to write,
On Days devoted to Delight?
In Honour of the King, I'd play
Upon his Coronation Day:
But as for Loyalty in Rhyme,
Defer that to another Time.
A Wold Friend
© William Barnes
Oh! when the friends we us'd to know,
'V a-been a-lost vor years; an' when
To An Old Friend
© Edgar Albert Guest
When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through,
When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do,
When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends,
I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends.
Old Cambridge
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
AND can it be you've found a place
Within this consecrated space,
Satyr XII. The Test Of Poetry
© Thomas Parnell
Much have I writt, says Bavius, Mankind knows
By my quick printing how my fancy flows:
The Station Master
© Arun Kolatkar
the booking clerk believes in the doctrine
of the next train
when conversations turns to time
he talks his tongue
hands it to you across the counter
and directs you to the superior
The Lady And The Dame
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
So thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest,
To keep Time's perishing touch at bay
Who is at my door?
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
He said, "Who is at my door?"
I said, "Your humble servant."
He said, "What business do you have?"
I said, "To greet you, 0 Lord."
My Army, O, My Army!
© Henry Lawson
My Queens dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queens Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
(For blood will flow where milk will nother sisters knew the rest).
Epistle (Upon his arrival at his estate in Geneva)
© Voltaire
Now hostile Crowds Geneva's Tow'rs assail,
They march in secret, and by Night they scale;
The Goddess comes--they vanish from the Wall,
Their Launces shiver, and their Heros fall,
For Fraud can ne'er elude, nor Force withstand
The Stroke of Liberty's victorious Hand.
Pharsalia - Book X: Caesar In Egypt
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Caesar's ears in vain
Had she implored, but aided by her charms
The wanton's prayers prevailed, and by a night
Of shame ineffable, passed with her judge,
She won his favour.
The Truant Dove, From Pilpay
© Charlotte Turner Smith
A MOUNTAIN stream, its channel deep
Beneath a rock's rough base had torn;
Problems Of A Journalist
© Weldon Kees
I want to get away somewhere and re-read Proust,
Said an editor of Newsweek to a man on Look.
Dachaus with telephones, Siberias with bonuses.
One reads, as winter settles on the town,
The evening paper, in an Irving Place café.
Ode On The Sailing Of Our Troops For France
© John Jay Chapman
Go fight for Freedom, Warriors of the West!
At last the word is spoken: Go!
Lay on for Liberty. 'Twas at her breast
The tyrant aimed his blow;
And ye were wounded with the rest
In Belgium's overthrow.
September, 1819
© William Wordsworth
Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:-
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!
