Time poems
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Rome: At the Pyramid Of Cestius. (Near The Graves Of Shelley & Keats)
© Thomas Hardy
Who, then, was Cestius,
And what is he to me? -
Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous
One thought alone brings he.
The Spectral Horseman
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
What was the shriek that struck Fancy's ear
As it sate on the ruins of time that is past?
Hark! it floats on the fitful blast of the wind,
And breathes to the pale moon a funeral sigh.
Fidele's Grassy Tomb
© Sir Henry Newbolt
The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
His eyes were alive and clear of care,
But well he knew that the hour was come
To bid good-bye to his ancient home.
To-- Yet look on me
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Old Tunes
© Sara Teasdale
As the waves of perfume, heliotrope,rose,
Float in the garden when no wind blows,
For Thee
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What woes are there
I would not choose to bear
For thy dear sake?
Curses were blest, the ache
Storm-Fragments
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE storm had raved its furious soul away;
O'er its wild ruins Twilight, spectral, gray,
Stole like a nun, 'midst wounded men and slain,
Walking the bounds of some fierce battle-plain.
If I Had Known You
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If I had known you--oh, if I had known you!
In other days when youth and love were strong,
I would have raised a temple to enthrone you
On some fair pinnacle of cloudless song.
Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.
© Mather Byles
Had I, O had I all the tuneful Arts
Of lofty Verse; did ev'ry Muse inspire
Panthea
© Oscar Wilde
. NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire,
From passionate pain to deadlier delight,-
I am too young to live without desire,
Too young art thou to waste this summer night
Asking those idle questions which of old
Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.
The Old Manor House
© Ada Cambridge
An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,
Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,-with a grand history of its own-
Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years.
Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol
© William Lisle Bowles
The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray,
The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold,
Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way,
And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled.
Edith
© William Ellery Channing
EDITH, the silent stars are coldly gleaming,
The night wind moans, the leafless trees are still.
Edith, there is a life beyond this seeming,
So sleeps the ice-clad lake beneath thy hill.
Leedle Dutch Baby
© James Whitcomb Riley
Leedle Dutch baby haff come ter town!
Jabber und jump till der day gone down--
At The Birth Of An Age
© Robinson Jeffers
V
GUDRUN (standing this side of the closing curtains; 'with Chrysothemis.
Carling has left her, going
Sonnet I. Written at Tinemouth, Northumberland, after a Tempestuous Voyage.
© William Lisle Bowles
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past
A Sea Dream
© John Greenleaf Whittier
We saw the slow tides go and come,
The curving surf-lines lightly drawn,
The gray rocks touched with tender bloom
Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn.
You Will Forget Me
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
You will forget me. The years are so tender,
They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep,
MacDonalds Raid.A.D. 1780.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I REMEMBER it well; 'twas a morn dull and gray,
And the legion lay idle and listless that day,
A thin drizzle of rain piercing chill to the soul,
And with not a spare bumper to brighten the bowl,
