Time poems
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Music Is Time by Jill Bialosky : American Life in Poetry #263 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20
© Ted Kooser
Music lessons, well, maybe 80 out of every 100 of us had them, once, and a few of us went on to play our chosen instruments all our lives. But the rest of us? I still own a set of red John Thompson piano books that haven’t been opened since about 1950. Here Jill Bialosky, who lives in New York City, captures the atmosphere of one of those lessons.
The Thing
© William Carlos Williams
Each time it rings
I think it is for
me but it is
not for me nor for
Values
© Edith Nesbit
Did you deceive me? Did I trust
A heart of fire to a heart of dust?
What matter? Since once the world was fair,
And you gave me the rose of the world to wear.
The Ivy Crown
© William Carlos Williams
The whole process is a lie,
unless,
crowned by excess,
It break forcefully,
The Princess (part 2)
© Alfred Tennyson
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
A Patriot
© Edgar Albert Guest
It's funny when a feller wants to do his little bit,
And wants to wear a uniform and lug a soldier's kit,
And ain't afraid of submarines nor mines that fill the sea,
They will not let him go along to fight for liberty
They make him stay at home and be his mother's darling pet,
But you can bet there'll come a time when they will want me yet.
Transition
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
A little while to walk with thee, dear child;
To lean on thee my weak and weary head;
Then evening comes: the winter sky is wild,
The leafless trees are black, the leaves long dead.
Sonnet
© Sara Teasdale
I saw a ship sail forth at evening time;
Her prow was gilded by the western fire,
And all her rigging one vast golden lyre,
For winds to play on to the ocean's rhyme
The Reply to Time
© Mary Darby Robinson
O TIME, forgive the mournful song
That on thy pinions stole along,
When the rude hand of pain severe
Chas'd down my cheek the burning tear;
Love's Ebb And Flow
© Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy
Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish
I say my love for thee exists no more.
At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless;
It will return with love unto the shore.
The Mistletoe (A Christmas Tale)
© Mary Darby Robinson
This Farmer, as the tale is told--
Was somewhat cross, and somewhat old!
His, was the wintry hour of life,
While summer smiled before his wife;
A contrast, rather form'd to cloy
The zest of matrimonial joy!
Conscious
© Wilfred Owen
His fingers wake, and flutter; up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
The Deserted Cottage
© Mary Darby Robinson
Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot,
Why is it thus forsaken?
It seems, by all the world forgot,
Above its path the high grass grows,
And through its thatch the northwind blows
--Its thatch, by tempests shaken.
The Alien Boy
© Mary Darby Robinson
'Twas on a Mountain, near the Western Main
An ALIEN dwelt. A solitary Hut
Built on a jutting crag, o'erhung with weeds,
Mark'd the poor Exile's home. Full ten long years
Not Intrigued With Evening
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Night birds may think
daybreak a kind of darkness, because
that's all they know.
The Adieu to Love
© Mary Darby Robinson
Nor do I dread thy vengeful wiles,
Thy soothing voice, thy winning smiles,
Thy trick'ling tear, thy mien forlorn,
Thy pray'r, thy sighs, thy oaths I scorn;
No more on ME thy arrows show'r,
Capricious Love! I BRAVE THY POW'R.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Enough, dear Paris! We have laughed together,
'Tis time that we should part, lest tears should come.
I must fare on from winter and rough weather
And the dark tempests chained within Time's womb.
Stanzas to Time
© Mary Darby Robinson
CAPRICIOUS foe to human joy,
Still varying with the fleeting day;
With thee the purest raptures cloy,
The fairest prospects fade away;
