Travel poems

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119

Upon A Snail

© John Bunyan

She goes but softly, but she goeth sure,

She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.

Far into Wartburg, through all Italy,
In every town the Pope sent messengers,
Riding in furious haste; among them, one
Who bore a branch of dry wood burst in bloom;
The pastoral rod had borne green shoots of spring,
And leaf and blossom. God is merciful.

New-Englands Crisis

© Benjamin Tompson

IN seventy five the Critick of our years

Commenc'd our war with Phillip and his peers.

The Ghost - Book III

© Charles Churchill

It was the hour, when housewife Morn

With pearl and linen hangs each thorn;

The Sundowner.

© Robert Crawford

So He will at the last, too, gather all,
As in the bush a traveller for his fire
Sticks and dry leaves, as eerie the light fades;
Till from those sticks and leaves there comes a flame,

The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society

© Oliver Goldsmith

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow

Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po,

Blind Old Milton

© William Edmondstoune Aytoun

Place me once more, my daughter, where the sun

May shine upon my old and time-worn head,

Don Juan: Canto The Sixth

© George Gordon Byron

'There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which,--taken at the flood,'--you know the rest,

The Olive Branch

© George Meredith

A dove flew with an Olive Branch;
It crossed the sea and reached the shore,
And on a ship about to launch
Dropped down the happy sign it bore.

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 251-500 (Whinfield Translation)

© Omar Khayyám

Are you depressed? Then take of bhang one grain,
Of rosy grape-juice take one pint or twain;
Sufis, you say, must not take this or that,
Then go and eat the pebbles off the plain!

Moon-Struck

IT is a moor
Barren and treeless; lying high and bare
Beneath the archèd sky. The rushing winds
Fly over it, each with his strong bow bent
And quiver full of whistling arrows keen.

The Dead

Vibrations infinite of life in death,
As a star's travelling light survives its star!
So may we hold our lives, that when we are
The fate of those who then will draw this breath,
They shall not drag us to their judgment bar,
And curse the heritage which we bequeath.