Wednesday, May 31, 2017

The Dove's Loneliness - George Darley

       










The Dove's Loneliness - George Darley

Break not my loneliness, O Wanderer!
There's nothing sweet but Melancholy here.
'Mid these dim walks and grassy wynds are seen
No gaudy flowers, undarkening the green;
No wanton bird chirrups from tree to tree,
Not a disturber of the woods but me!
Scarce in a summer doth a wild bee come
To wake my sylvan echo with his hum,
But for my weeping lullaby I have
The everlasting cadence of the wave
That falls in little breakers on the shore,
And rather seems to strive to roar, than roar.
Light Zephyr, too, spreads out his silver wings
On each green leaf and in a whisper sings
His love to every blossom in her ear,
Too low, too soft, too sweet for me to hear!
The soul of Peace breathes a wide calm around,
And hallows for her shrine this sacred spot of ground.
Her bird am I and rule the shade for her,
A timid guard and trembling minister!
My cradling palace hung amid the leaves
Of a wide-swaying beech; a woodbine weaves,
Fine spinster of the groves, my canopy
Of purpling trellis and embroidery;
My pendant chair, lined with the velvet green
That nature clothes her russet children in,
Moss of the silkiest thread. This is my throne
Here do I sit, queen of the woods, alone!
And as the winds come swooning through the trees,
I join my murmurs to their melodies —
Murmurs of joy, for I am pleased to find
No visitors more constant than the wind.
My heart beats high at every step you come
Nearer the bosom of my woodland home,
And blame me not, if when you turn away
I wish that to some other scenes you'd stray,
Some brighter, lovelier scenes; these are too sad,
Too still, and deepen into deeper shade.
See! the gay hillocks on the neighbouring shore
Nodding their tufted crowns invite thee o'er;
The daisy winks and the pale cowslip throws
Her jealous looks ascant, — red burns the rose, —
Spare hawthorn all her glittering wealth displays,
Stars, blossoms, buds, and hangs them in the blaze
To lure thine eye, the slope as fresh and sweet
Spreads her lush carpet to entice thy feet
Here are but weeds and a few sorry gems
Scattered upon the straggling woodbine stems,
Hoar trees and withered fern. Ah! stranger, go!
I would not stay to make thee tremble so.
Were I a man and thou a little dove,
I would at thy least prayer at once remove.
Then, stranger, turn, and should'st thou hear me coo
From this deep-bosomed wood a hoarse adieu —
The secret satisfaction of my mind
That thou art gone and I am left behind —
Smile thou and say farewell! The bird of Peace,
Hope, Innocence and Love and Loveliness,
Thy sweet Egeria's bird of birds doth pray
By the name best-belov'd thou'lt wend thy way
In pity of her pain. Though I know well
Thou would'st not harm me, I must tremble still;
My heart's the home of fear; ah! turn thee then,
And leave me to my loneliness again!





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







The Dark - Ellen M.H. Gates

I am the Dark, the ancient one,
Before the days and years begun,
I hovered formless, silent, cold,
And Filled the void. No page unrolled,
Makes mention of my timeless reign;
No rock on Mountain-top or plain,
By scar or symbol, now can tell,
The secrets that I know so well.

I am the Dark, the first to be;
My own beginning baffles me.
I seemed a thing apart, forgot,
Which was – because the Light was not.
I dwelt with Chaos; place I kept
As atom unto atom crept,
Till Order stood, with sinews set,
And law with law like brothers met.

I am the Dark, for still I stay,
With half my kingdom wrenched away.
There came an hour when all the black,
A filmy screen, was folded back.
Above me, through me, everywhere,
Where scarlet streaks and golden glare;
And mighty winds began to blow
The trailing mist-wreaths to and fro.

I am the Dark. The eye that sees
The midnight moons and Pleiades,
Must wait for me. I claim the sky.
To show the splendors swinging high
In space so deep, and wide, and black,
That thought itself comes trembling back.
The Sun may show the sea and sod,
But I – the far-off fields of God!

I am the Dark. My paths I keep;
No hour too soon the light may creep
Above the hills, no moment late
The Sun may reach the western gate.
The shadows are my own; their wings
They spread above all breathing things,
Till joy and pain, and more and less,
Are one in sleep’s unconsciousness.

I am the Dark. The under-world,
With soundless rivers onward whirled,
Is mine alone; and mine the lakes,
O’er which the morning never breaks.
I dwell in caverns, vast, unknown,
Whose walls are wrought from primal stone;
There Silence, Death, and I, can wait, -
Creation’s grim triumvirate!

I am the Dark, and forth and back,
As God’s own servant, robed in black,
I go and come. His dead I keep
Within my chambers while they sleep.
Who knows my doom? Perhaps, at last,
I may be ended, outward cast
From all that is, my deepest night
Invaded by resistless light!







Charity's Eye - William Rounseville Alger

  One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace,
  Teaching the people parables of truth and grace,
  When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise,
  And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries.
  The Master and his meek disciples went to see
  What cause for this commotion and disgust could be,
  And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid--
  Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed.

  One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away,
  And all among themselves began to say:
  "Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!"
  "His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!"
  "In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left,
  No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft."
  Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him the saving wreath:
  "Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth."

  The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one
  Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own;
  And one exclaimed: "No creature so accursed can be
  But some good thing in him a loving eye will see."






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.






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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