Truth poems
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Beowulf (modern English translation)
© Pierre Reverdy
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
Modern Love: XLVII
© George Meredith
Their sense is with their senses all mixed in,
Destroyed by subtleties these women are!
from the Last Canto of Paradiso
© Dante Alighieri
xxxiii, 46-48, 52-66
As I drew nearer to the end of all desire,
I brought my longing's ardor to a final height,
Just as I ought. My vision, becoming pure,
The Erotic Philosophers
© John Betjeman
It’s a spring morning; sun pours in the window
As I sit here drinking coffee, reading Augustine.
Passing Through
© Ai
“Earth is the birth of the blues,” sang Yellow Bertha,
as she chopped cotton beside Mama Rose.
Sonnet: I Scarcely Grieve
© Henry Timrod
I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot
That pent my life within a city’s bounds,
Lincoln, Man of the People
© Edwin Markham
When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
Jordan (I)
© George Herbert
Who says that fictions only and false hair
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?
Is all good structure in a winding stair?
May no lines pass, except they do their duty
Not to a true, but painted chair?
To J. S.
© Alfred Tennyson
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.
Writ on the Steps of Puerto Rican Harlem
© Gregory Corso
I learned life were no dream
I learned truth deceived
Man is not God
Life is a century
Death an instant
To James Fenton
© John Fuller
The poet’s duties: no need to stress
The subject’s dullness, nonetheless
Here’s an incestuous address
In Robert Burns’ style
To one whom all the Muses bless
At Great Turnstile.
Tenebrae
© Geoffrey Hill
Veni Redemptor, but not in our time.
Christus Resurgens, quite out of this world.
‘Ave’ we cry; the echoes are returned.
Amor Carnalis is our dwelling-place.
Sonnet CXXXVIII: When my love swears that she is made of truth
© William Shakespeare
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
The Afterlife: Letter to Sam Hamill
© Hayden Carruth
You may think it strange, Sam, that I'm writing
a letter in these circumstances. I thought
Satires of Circumstance in Fifteen Glimpses VIII: In the Study
© Thomas Hardy
He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair
Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,
A type of decayed gentility;
And by some small signs he well can guess
That she comes to him almost breakfastless.
Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle II: To a Lady on the Characters of Women
© Alexander Pope
Nothing so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
Sonnet XII: I did but Prompt the Age to Quit their Clogs
© Patrick Kavanagh
I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
An Hymn Of Heavenly Beauty
© Edmund Spenser
Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought,
Through contemplation of those goodly sights,
