Time poems
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The Absent-Minded Beggar
© Rudyard Kipling
When you've shouted " Rule Britannia," when you've sung " God save the Queen,"
When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth,
Dover To Munich
© Charles Stuart Calverley
Farewell, farewell! Before our prow
Leaps in white foam the noisy channel,
A tourist's cap is on my brow,
My legs are cased in tourists' flannel:
No My Friends No!
© William Gay
Hail foes to oppression, and lovers of freedom!
Your day has arrived, and your power you know:-
The Mystic Sea
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
The smell of the sea in my nostrils,
The sound of the sea in mine ears;
The touch of the spray on my burning face,
Like the mist of reluctant tears.
The Shepheardes Calender: June
© Edmund Spenser
June: AEgloga Sexta. HOBBINOL & COLIN Cloute.
HOBBINOL.
LO! Collin, here the place, whose pleasaunt syte
From other shades hath weand my wandring mynde.
Since Then
© Madison Julius Cawein
I found myself among the trees
What time the reapers ceased to reap;
And in the sunflower-blooms the bees
Huddled brown heads and went to sleep,
Rocked by the balsam-breathing breeze.
Uncertain leasedevelops lustre
© Emily Dickinson
Uncertain leasedevelops lustre
On Time
Uncertain Grasp, appreciation
Of Sum
Sonnet 57: "Being your slave what should I do but tend..."
© William Shakespeare
Being your slave what should I do but tend,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
"Sed Nos Qui Vivimus"
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
How beautiful is life--the physical joy of sense and breathing;
The glory of the world which has found speech and speaks to us;
The robe which summer throws in June round the white bones of winter;
The new birth of each day, itself a life, a world, a sun!
Ode to My Socks
© Pablo Neruda
The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.
A Portrait
© Dorothy Parker
You do not know how heavy a heart it is
That hangs about my neck- a clumsy stone
Cut with a birth, a death, a bridal-day.
Each time I love, I find it still my own,
Who take it, now to that lad, now to this,
Seeking to give the wretched thing away.
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book II - Swayamvara (The Bride's Choice)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
The mutual jealousies of the princes increased from day to day, and
when Yudhishthir, the eldest of all the princes and the eldest son of
the late Pandu, was recognised heir-apparent, the anger of Duryodhan
and his brothers knew no bounds. And they formed a dark scheme to
kill the sons of Pandu.
Benedict Brosse
© Susie Frances Harrison
I
HALE, and though sixty, without a stoop,
What does old Benedict want with a wife?
Can he not make his own pea soup?
The True Bible
© Sam Walter Foss
What is the worlds true Bible -- tis the highest thought of man,
The thought distilled through ages since the dawn of thought began.
And each age adds a word thereto, some psalm or promise sweet --
And the canon is unfinished and forever incomplete.
Oer the chapters that are written, long and lovingly we pore --
But the best is yet unwritten, for we grow from more to more.
The Waggoner - Canto First
© William Wordsworth
'TIS spent--this burning day of June!
Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing;
The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheeling,--
That solitary bird
Psychological Warfare
© Henry Reed
Be that as it may, some time in the very near future,
We are to expect Invasion… and invasion not from the sea.
Vast numbers of troops will be dropped, probably from above,
Superbly equipped, determined and capable; and this above all,
Remember: they will be very brave men, and chosen as such.
A Lover's Confession
© Robert Fuller Murray
When people tell me they have loved
But once in youth,
I wonder, are they always moved
To speak the truth?
The Tunnel
© Hart Crane
Our tongues recant like beaten weather vanes.
This answer lives like verdigris, like hair
Beyond extinction, surcease of the bone;
And repetition freezesWhat
My Play Is Done
© Swami Vivekananda
Ever rising, ever falling with the waves of time, still rolling on I go
From fleeting scene to scene ephemeral, with life's currents' ebb and flow.
