Travel poems

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I am wondering what became of all those tall abstractions
that used to pose, robed and statuesque, in paintings
and parade about on the pages of the Renaissance
displaying their capital letters like license plates.

Look At All Those Monkeys!

© Spike Milligan

Look at all those monkeys
Jumping in their cage.
Why don't they all go out to work
And earn a decent wage?

from Jubilate Agno

© Christopher Smart

let elizur rejoice with the partridge

Let Elizur rejoice with the Partridge, who is a prisoner of state and is proud of his keepers.

Prince Athanase

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,
Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;
Nor any could the restless griefs unravel

Idyll XVI. The Value of Song

© Theocritus

"Kin before kith; to prosper is my prayer;
Poets, we know, are heaven's peculiar care.
We've Homer; and what other's worth a thought?
I call him chief of bards who costs me naught."

The Bush Of Australia

© Anonymous

Now, all intent to emigrate,

Come listen to the doleful fate,

Qui Docet, Discit

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

When all the world was white with flowers,

A Prayer To Go To Paradise With The Donkeys

© Francis Jammes

When I must come to you, O my God, I pray

It be some dusty-roaded holiday,

(Tell me if this is all true...)

© Anselm Hollo

Is it true, is it true, that your love
travelled alone through ages and worlds in search of me?
that when you found me at last, your age-long desire
found utter peace in my gentle speech and my eyes and lips and flowing hair?

A Mystery Play

© Duncan Campbell Scott

There must be fire in the city
To throw that yellow glare;
And fire in the little villages
On all the hearthstones there.

from The Task, Book II: The Time-Piece

© William Cowper

(excerpt)

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still

The Words Under the Words

© Naomi Shihab Nye

for Sitti Khadra, north of Jerusalem
My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,
the damp shine of a goat’s new skin.
When I was sick they followed me,
I woke from the long fever to find them
covering my head like cool prayers.

The Song of the Banjo

With my ‘Pilly-willy-winky-winky-popp!’
[Oh, it’s any tune that comes into my head!]
So I keep ’em moving forward till they drop;
So I play ’em up to water and to bed.