Time poems
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A fine Old English Gentleman
© Charles Dickens
I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate,
Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
The Mower
© Philip Larkin
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
At Oxford
© William Lisle Bowles
Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,
Which won my heart, or when the gay career
By The River II
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,
Oft shallow is its sluggish flood;
Coeur De Lion At The Bier Of His Father
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Torches were blazing clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Belts
© Rudyard Kipling
There was a row in Silver Street - the regiments was out,
They called us "Delhi Rebels", an' we answered "Threes about!"
That drew them like a hornet's nest - we met them good an' large,
The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge.
Then it was: - "Belts . . .
The Abbey Mason
© Thomas Hardy
(The church which, at an after date,
Acquired cathedral rank and state.)
The Crossed Apple
© Louise Bogan
I've come to give you fruit from out my orchard,
Of wide report.
I have trees there that bear me many apples.
Of every sort:
The Masque Of Pandora
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THE VOICE.
Not finished till I breathe the breath of life
Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks.
Sonnet
© Louise Bogan
My mouth, perhaps, may learn one thing too well,
My body hear no echo save its own,
Yet will the desperate mind, maddened and proud,
Seek out the storm, escape the bitter spell
That we obey, strain to the wind, be thrown
Straight to its freedom in the thunderous cloud
An Ode to Master Anthony Stafford to hasten Him into the Country
© Thomas Randolph
COME, spur away,
I have no patience for a longer stay,
Self-Criticism In February
© Robinson Jeffers
The bay is not blue but sombre yellow
With wrack from the battered valley, it is speckled with violent
Portrait
© Louise Bogan
She has no need to fear the fall
Of harvest from the laddered reach
Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing
From the steep beach.
When Love Is Lost
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
When love is lost, the day sets towards the night,
Albeit the morning sun may still be bright,
And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky.
Yet from the places where it used to lie
Gone is the lustrous glory of the light.
To The Countess Of Bedford II
© John Donne
TO have written then, when you writ, seem'd to me
Worst of spiritual vices, simony ;
Betrothed
© Louise Bogan
You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,
The Man I Like
© Edgar Albert Guest
I like the man who stands right up
And takes his share of praise or blame,
And then, unchanged by loss or gain,
Treats all his neighbors just the same!
At Times Spoony Sometimes
© Sukasah Syahdan
at times spoony sometimes
forky our concupiscence
to life is such
Turning Fifty
© Judith Wright
Having known war and peace
and loss and finding,
I drink my coffee and wait
for the sun to rise,
Camped By The Creek
© Henry Kendall
"All day a strong sun has been drinking
The ponds in the Wattletree Glen;
And now as they're puddles, I'm thinking
We were wise to head hitherwards, men!
