Work poems

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An Octopus

© Marianne Clarke Moore

of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat,

it lies "in grandeur and in mass"

Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse

© William Shakespeare

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use,
And under thee their poesy disperse.

Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

© William Shakespeare

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.

After Arguing Against The Contention That Art Must Come From Discontent

© William Stafford

Whispering to each handhold, I'll be back,

I go up the cliff in the dark. One place

The Destiny Of Nations. A Vision.

Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured
To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!
To the Will Absolute, the One, the Good!
The I AM, the Word, the Life, the Living God!

Strumpet Song

© Sylvia Plath

With white frost gone

And all green dreams not worth much,

Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

© William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expirèd.

Santa Christina

© Robert Laurence Binyon

At Tiro, in her father's tower,
The young Cristina had her bower,
Over blue Bolsena's lake,
Where small frolic ripples break

The Century Of Garibaldi

© George Meredith

That aim, albeit they were of minds diverse,
Conjoined them, not to strive without surcease;
For them could be no babblement of peace
While lay their country under Slavery's curse.

Power Of Music

© William Wordsworth

AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;--
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.

A Vision of Poesy - Part 01

© Henry Timrod

In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame -
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.

The Culprit Fay

His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.