Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Break, Break, Break - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

       







Break, Break, Break - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Break, break, break,
         On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
         The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
         That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
         That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
         To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
         And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break
         At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
         Will never come back to me.





Charity's Eye William Rounseville Alger
The Dark Ellen M.H. Gates
The Dove's Loneliness George Darley
The Dragon-Fly Edna St. Vincent Millay
Figure Maxwell Bodenheim
Fog Carl Sandburg
If I Should Die Emily Dickinson
I Remember, I Remember Thomas Hood
June Mary Weston Fordham
Leave-Taking Louise Bogan
The Maldive Shark Herman Melville
Marriage Mary Weston Fordham
May Christina Rossetti
Minnehaha Coates Kinney
Never Give All The Heart William Butler Yeats
Ode I Amir Khusrow
Poem 11 Abid ibn al-Abras
Poem 16 Abid ibn al-Abras
Queen-Anne’s-Lace William Carlos Williams
Rosalie Washington Allston
Shipwreck Mary Weston Fordham
Le siècle John Clark Ridpath
Sleep, Mother, Sleep Anonymous
The Sonnet Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sonnet - Silence Thomas Hood
The Sorrow of Love William Butler Yeats
Tea Time Emmy Veronica Sanders
To a Child Embracing his Mother Thomas Hood
To Mary Samuel Lover
The Young Man’s Song William Butler Yeats





A boat beneath a sunny sky - Lewis Carroll

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?









The Beginning Of The New Century - Friedrich Schiller

Where will a place of refuge, noble friend,
For peace and freedom ever open lie!
The century in tempests had its end,
The new one now begins with murder's cry.

Each land-connecting bond is torn away,
Each ancient custom hastens to decline;
Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay.
Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine.

Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power,
For undivided mastery of the world;
And, by them, each land's freedom to devour,
The trident brandished is the lightning hurled.

Each country must to them its gold afford,
And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day,
The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword,
The even scales of justice to o'erweigh.

His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily
Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side;
And the domain of Amphitrite free
As if his home it were, would fain bestride.

E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star,
His restless course moves onward, unrestrained;
Each isle he tracks, each coast, however far,
But paradise alone he ne'er has gained!

Although thine eye may every map explore,
Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place,
Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore,
And where in youth still blooms the human race.

Before thy gaze the world extended lies,
The very shipping it can scarce embrace;
And yet upon her back, of boundless size,
E'en for ten happy men there is not space!

Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells,
Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng!
Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells,
And beauty bears no blossoms but in song.







Ballad - Thomas Hood

IT was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.

That churlish season never frown’d      
On early lovers yet:
Oh, no—the world was newly crown’d
With flowers when first we met!

’T was twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;        10
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.

What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask’d the like of Love,        15
You snatch’d a damask bud;

And op’d it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.









The Arrow and the Song - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.






Alexander - Walter De la Mare

It was the Great Alexander,
Capped with a golden helm,
Sate in the ages, in his floating ship,
In a dead calm.

Voices of sea-maids singing
Wandered across the deep:
The sailors labouring on their oars
Rowed as in sleep.

All the high pomp of Asia,
Charmed by that siren lay,
Out of their weary and dreaming minds
Faded away.

Like a bold boy sate their Captain,
His glamour withered and gone,
In the souls of his brooding mariners,
While the song pined on.

Time like a falling dew,
Life like the scene of a dream
Laid between slumber and slumber
Only did seem. . . .

O Alexander, then,
In all us mortals too,
Wax not so overbold
On the wave dark-blue!

Come the calm starry night,
Who then will hear
Aught save the singing
Of the sea-maids clear?






Short Poetry Collection 167





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