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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Epigram, by Sir William Jones
ON parent knees, a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:
So live, that sinking to thy life's last sleep,
Calm thou may'st smile, whilst all around thee weep.
My Cimmerian Closet, by William August Kobs
There's a place I go to
When the world isn't right,
When the black hounds of day
Start to put up a fight.
A place that's well hidden
The Blessed Damozel, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THE blessed Damozel lean'd out
From the gold bar of Heaven:
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much
Than a deep water, even.
She had three lilies in her hand,
Good-bye, by Ada Cambridge
Good-bye! -- 'tis like a churchyard bell -- good-bye!
Poor weeping eyes! Poor head, bowed down with woe!
Kiss me again, dear love, before you go.
Ah, me, how fast the precious moments fly!
Good-bye! Good-bye!
Laudabunt Alii, by Ernest Currie
There are some that long for a limpid lake by a blue Italian shore,
Or a palm-grove out where the rollers break and the coral beaches roar;
There are some for the land of the Japanee, and the tea-girls' twinkling feet;
And some for the isles of the summer sea, afloat in the dancing heat;
And others are exiles all their days, midst black or white or brown,
Airly Beacon, by Charles Kingsley
AIRLY Beacon, Airly Beacon;
O the pleasant sight to see
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,
While my love climb'd up to me!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Spring Bereaved 2, by William Drummond, of Hawthornden
SWEET Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs:
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show'rs.
Thou turn'st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hours
That Holy Thing, by George MacDonald
THEY all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high:
Thou cam'st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.
O Son of Man, to right my lot
The Sea, by Arthur Albert Dawson Bayldon
Ere Greece soared, showering sovranties of light,
Ere Rome shook earth with her tremendous tread,
Ere yon blue-feasting sun-god burst blood-red,
Beneath thee slept thy prodigy, O Night!
Aeons have ta'en like dreams their strange, slow flight,
In London, by Dora Wilcox
When I look out on London's teeming streets,
On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies,
My courage fails me, and my heart grows sick,
And I remember that fair heritage
Barter'd by me for what your London gives.
My Lady's Grave, by Emily Bronte
THE linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor-lark in the air,
The bee among the heather bells
That hide my lady fair:
The wild deer browse above her breast;
Shattered Memories, by T.J. Daniels
From a long forgotten past
the shadows on the wall
are lost in the darkness
as memories dance on the ceiling.
Memories from someone elses past
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