War poems
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The Tower
© William Butler Yeats
IWhat shall I do with this absurdity -
O heart, O troubled heart - this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
The Song Of The Happy Shepherd
© William Butler Yeats
The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
The Wild Old Wicked Man
© William Butler Yeats
Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
The Heart Of The Woman
© William Butler Yeats
O what to me the little room
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;
He bade me out into the gloom,
And my breast lies upon his breast.
The Wanderings of Oisin: Book I
© William Butler Yeats
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
The Rose Of Peace
© William Butler Yeats
If Michael, leader of God's host
When Heaven and Hell are met,
Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post
He would his deeds forget.
The Wanderings of Oisin: Book II
© William Butler Yeats
S. Patrick. Be still: the skies
Are choked with thunder, lightning, and fierce wind,
For God has heard, and speaks His angry mind;
Go cast your body on the stones and pray,
For He has wrought midnight and dawn and day.
The Stolen Child
© William Butler Yeats
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
Tombstones in the Starlight
© Dorothy Parker
His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale's was born
Within his throat; but he, too, laid his breast
Upon a thorn.
They Part
© Dorothy Parker
And if, my friend, you'd have it end,
There's naught to hear or tell.
But need you try to black my eye
In wishing me farewell.
The Red Dress
© Dorothy Parker
I always saw, I always said
If I were grown and free,
I'd have a gown of reddest red
As fine as you could see,
Requiescat
© Dorothy Parker
Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Where none may see and none shall pass.
The daisies quicken in the mold,
And richer fares the meadow grass.
Renunciation
© Dorothy Parker
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe's arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had
Fulfillment
© Dorothy Parker
For this my mother wrapped me warm,
And called me home against the storm,
And coaxed my infant nights to quiet,
And gave me roughage in my diet,
Fair Weather
© Dorothy Parker
So let a love beat over me again,
Loosing its million desperate breakers wide;
Sudden and terrible to rise and wane;
Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide
That casts upon the heart, as it recedes,
Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.
Epitaph
© Dorothy Parker
The first time I died, I walked my ways;
I followed the file of limping days.I held me tall, with my head flung up,
But I dared not look on the new moon's cup.I dared not look on the sweet young rain,
And between my ribs was a gleaming pain.The next time I died, they laid me deep.
After Spanish Proverb
© Dorothy Parker
Oh, mercifullest one of all,
Oh, generous as dear,
None lived so lowly, none so small,
Thou couldst withhold thy tear:
The Dream Called Life
© Edward Fitzgerald
From the Spanish of Pedro Calderon de la Barca
A dream it was in which I found myself.
And you that hail me now, then hailed me king,
In a brave palace that was all my own,
Tunbridge Wells
© John Wilmot
At five this morn, when Phoebus raised his head
From Thetis' lap, I raised myself from bed,
And mounting steed, I trotted to the waters
The rendesvous of fools, buffoons, and praters,
Cuckolds, whores, citizens, their wives and daughters.
An Allusion to Horace
© John Wilmot
Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes,
Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times:
What foolish Patron, is there found of his,
So blindly partial, to deny me this?
