Women poems
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Gitanjali
© Rabindranath Tagore
1.
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
The Stealing Of The Mare - II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Said the Narrator:
And when Abu Zeyd had made an end of speaking, and the Kadi Diab and the Sultan and Rih, and all had happened as hath been said, then the Emir Abu Zeyd mounted his running camel and bade farewell to the Arabs and was gone; and all they who remained behind were in fear thinking of his journey. But Abu Zeyd went on alone, nor stayed he before he came to the pastures of the Agheylat. And behold, in the first of their vallies as he journeyed onward the slaves of the Agheylat saw him and came upon him, threatening him with their spears, and they said to him, ``O Sheykh, who and what art thou, and what is thy story, and the reason of thy coming?'' And he said to them, ``O worthy men of the Arabs, I am a poet, of them that sing the praise of the generous and the blame of the niggardly.'' And they answered him, ``A thousand welcomes, O poet.'' And they made him alight and treated him with honour until night came upon their feasting, nor did he depart from among them until the night had advanced to a third, but remained with them, singing songs of praise, and reciting lettered phrases, until they were stirred by his words and astonished at his eloquence. And at the end of all he arrived at the praise of the Agheyli Jaber. Then stopped they him and said: ``He of whom thou speakest is the chieftain of our people, and he is a prince of the generous. Go thou, therefore, to him, and he shall give thee all, even thy heart's desire.'' And he answered them, ``Take ye care of my camel and keep her for me while I go forward to recite his praises, and on my return we will divide the gifts.'' And he left them. And as he went he set himself to devise a plan by which he might enter into the camp and entrap the Agheyli Jaber.
And the Narrator singeth of Abu Zeyd and of the herdsmen thus:
The Loves of the Angels
© Thomas Moore
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
Sonnet 32: The Children of the Night
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Oh for a poetfor a beacon bright
To rift this changless glimmer of dead gray;
The Princess (part 6)
© Alfred Tennyson
My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.
The Widow Of Glencoe
© William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Do not lift him from the bracken,
Leave him lying where he fell-
The Poem Speaks
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Poet, ere you write me,
Stem the flowing ink;
Or that you indite me
Pause upon the brink.
April Treason
© John Crowe Ransom
So he took her as anointed
In the part he had appointed,
She was lips for smiling faintly,
Eyes to look and level quaintly,
Length of limb and splendors of the bust
Which he honored as he must.
Death Alone
© Pablo Neruda
Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree.
Mary in Bethlehem: A Nativity
© Arthur Symons
JOSEPH
The night is blue, with stars of gold;
The middle watch of night is past;
See now, it will be morning soon!
Yet there is time enough for sleep.
[He shuts the door, and stands near the manger. ]
Churching Of Women
© John Keble
Is there, in bowers of endless spring,
One known from all the seraph band
By softer voice, by smile and wing
More exquisitely bland!
Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air
Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer.
Giacinta
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Giacinta sat upon the garden wall
Among the autumn lilies, and let fall
Their crimson petals on her lover's head,
And laughed because her little hands were red.
She was the fairest child of Italy,
And it was well the lilies thus should die.
Young Kings and Old
© Henry Lawson
The young man strives to determine which are the truths or lies,
And the old man preaches his sermonand he takes to his bed and dies;
And the parson is there, and the nurse is (or the bread is there and the wine)
And the son of the minister curses as he dies in the firing line.
Elegy I
© Rainer Maria Rilke
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
Progress
© George Meredith
In Progress you have little faith, say you:
Men will maintain dear interests, wreak base hates,
The Captains
© Henry Lawson
The Captains sailed in rotten ships, with often rotten crews,
Because their lands were ignorant and meaner than the ooze;
With money furnished them by Greed, or by ambition mean,
When they had crawled to some pig-faced, pig-hearted king or queen.
God's World
© Boris Pasternak
Thin as hair are the shadows of sunset
When they follow drawn-out every tree.
On the road through the forest the post-girl
Hands a parcel and letters to me.
The Dance To Death. Act V
© Emma Lazarus
LIEBHAID.
The air hangs sultry as in mid-July.
Look forth, Claire; moves not some big thundercloud
Athwart the sky? My heart is sick.
