Time poems
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Thoughts On Jesus Christ's Descent Into Hell.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[THE remarkable Poem of which this is a literal
but faint representation, was written when Goethe was only sixteen
years old. It derives additional interest from the fact of its being
the very earliest piece of his that is preserved. The few other
pieces included by Goethe under the title of Religion and Church
are polemical, and devoid of interest to the English reader.]
Old Winters On The Farm
© James Whitcomb Riley
I have jest about decided
It 'ud keep a _town-boy_ hoppin'
Prometheus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Didst thou e'er fancy
That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,
Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
The Man Who Discovered The Use Of A Chair
© Alfred Noyes
Now he went one night to a dinner of state
_Hear! hear!
In the proud Guildhall!_
And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
But nobody heard his opinions at all;
Procemion.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHAT God would outwardly alone control,
And on his finger whirl the mighty Whole?
He loves the inner world to move, to view
Nature in Him, Himself in Nature too,
So that what in Him works, and is, and lives,
The measure of His strength, His spirit gives.
The Legend Of The Horseshoe.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHAT time our Lord still walk'd the earth,
Unknown, despised, of humble birth,
And on Him many a youth attended
(His words they seldom comprehended),
Thorkilds Song
© Rudyard Kipling
There´s no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze.
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!
Influence
© Ada Cambridge
So do our brooding thoughts and deep desires
Grow in our souls, we know not how or why;
Grope for we know not what, all blind and dumb.
So, when the time is ripe, and one aspires
To free his thought in speech, ours hear the cry,
And to full birth and instant knowledge come.
To Stella, Written On The Day Of Her Birth. March 13, 1723-4, But Not On The Subject, When I Was Sic
© Jonathan Swift
Tormented with incessant pains,
Can I devise poetic strains?
Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verse to Stella's native day:
Of Modern Poetry
© Wallace Stevens
The poem of the mind in the act of finding
What will suffice. It has not always had
To find: the scene was set; it repeated what
Was in the script.
Then the theatre was changed
To something else. Its past was a souvenir.
A Rabbit As King Of The Ghosts
© Wallace Stevens
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur
To My Worthy Friend Mr. Peter Lilly: On That Excellent Pict
© Richard Lovelace
Whilst the true eaglet this quick luster spies,
And by his SUN'S enlightens his owne eyes;
He cures his cares, his burthen feeles, then streight
Joyes that so lightly he can beare such weight;
Whilst either eithers passion doth borrow,
And both doe grieve the same victorious sorrow.
The Snow Man
© Wallace Stevens
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
Prologue To A Charade.--"Damn-Ages"
© Horace Smith
In olden time--in great Eliza's age,
When rare Ben Jonson ruled the humorous stage,
Vegetation
© Kathleen Raine
O never harm the dreaming world,
the world of green, the world of leaves,
but let its million palms unfold
the adoration of the trees.
The Toast
© Virna Sheard
A toast to thee, 0 dear old year,
While the last moments fly,
A toast to thy sweet memory--
We'll lift the glasses high,
And bid to thee a fond farewell
As thou art passing by!
Shells
© Kathleen Raine
They sleep on the ocean floor like humming-tops
Whose music is the mother-of-pearl octave of the rainbow,
Harmonious shells that whisper forever in our ears,
The world that you inhabit has not yet been created.
