Francis II, King of Naples

Related poetry:

1. The King “Farewell, Romance!” the Cave-men said; “With bone well carved he went away, Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead, And jasper tips the spear to-day. Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance, And he with these. Farewell, Romance!” “Farewell, Romance!” the Lake-folk sighed; “We lift the weight of flatling years; The caverns of the mountain-side Hold […]...
2. The King's Breakfast The King’s Breakfast The King asked The Queen, and The Queen asked The Dairymaid: “Could we have some butter for The Royal slice of bread?” The Queen asked the Dairymaid, The Dairymaid Said, “Certainly, I’ll go and tell the cow Now Before she goes to bed.” The Dairymaid She curtsied, And went and told The […]...
3. Seaport Green sea-tarnished copper And sea-tarnished gold Of cupolas. Sea-runnelled streets Channelled by salt air That wears the white stone. The sunlight-filled cistern Of a dry-dock. Square shadows. Sun-slatted smoke above meticulous stooping of cranes. Water pressed up by ships’ prows Going, coming. City dust turned Back by the sea-wind’s Wall....
4. Stanzas Written In Dejection Near Naples The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon’s transparent might, The breath of the moist air is light, Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight, The winds’, the birds’, the ocean floods’, The City’s voice […]...
5. The Haughty Snail-King Twelve snails went walking after night. They’d creep an inch or so, Then stop and bug their eyes And blow. Some folks. . . are. . . deadly. . . slow. Twelve snails went walking yestereve, Led by their fat old king. They were so dull their princeling had No sceptre, robe or ring- Only […]...
6. Of St. Francis and the Ass Our father, ere he went Out with his brother, Death, Smiling and well-content As a bridegroom goeth, Sweetly forgiveness prayed From man or beast whom he Had ever injured Or burdened needlessly. ‘Verily,’ then said he, ‘I crave before I pass Forgiveness full and free Of my little brother, the ass. Many a time and […]...
7. Old King Cole In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole A wise old age anticipate, Desiring, with his pipe and bowl, No Khan’s extravagant estate. No crown annoyed his honest head, No fiddlers three were called or needed; For two disastrous heirs instead Made music more than ever three did. Bereft of her with whom his life Was […]...
8. Before the Altar Before the Altar, bowed, he stands With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrificial urn. Not one of all these has he given, No flame of his has leapt to Heaven Firesouled, vermilion-hearted, Forked, and darted, Consuming what a few spare pence Have cheaply bought, to fling from hence In […]...
9. The Vain King In robes of Tyrian blue the King was drest, A jewelled collar shone upon his breast, A giant ruby glittered in his crown – Lord of rich lands and many a splendid town. In him the glories of an ancient line Of sober kings, who ruled by right divine, Were centred; and to him with […]...
10. Houses Of Dreams You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Are far too full of happiness To even hold a song. Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy […]...
11. The Ballad of the King's Jest When spring-time flushes the desert grass, Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass. Lean are the camels but fat the frails, Light are the purses but heavy the bales, As the snowbound trade of the North comes down To the market-square of Peshawur town. In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, A kafila camped at […]...
12. The Fires Men make them fires on the hearth Each under his roof-tree, And the Four Winds that rule the earth They blow the smoke to me. Across the high hills and the sea And all the changeful skies, The Four Winds blow the smoke to me Till the tears are in my eyes. Until the tears […]...
13. I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair Don’t go far off, not even for a day Don’t go far off, not even for a day, Because I don’t know how to say it – a day is long And I will be waiting for you, as in An empty station when the trains are Parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don’t leave me, […]...
14. Don't Go Far Off, Not Even For A Day Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because Because I don’t know how to say it: a day is long And I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station When the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because Then the little drops […]...
15. King Arthur's Men Have Come Again [Written while a field-worker in the Anti-Saloon League of Illinois.] King Arthur’s men have come again. They challenge everywhere The foes of Christ’s Eternal Church. Her incense crowns the air. The heathen knighthood cower and curse To hear the bugles ring, But spears are set, the charge is on, Wise Arthur shall be king! And […]...
16. St. Francis And The Sow The bud Stands for all things, Even those things that don’t flower, For everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; Though sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness, To put a hand on its brow Of the flower And retell it in words and in touch It is lovely Until it flowers again […]...
17. White-Collar Spaniard We have no heart for civil strife, Our burdens we prefer to bear; We long to live a peaceful life And claim of happiness our share. If only to be clothed and fed And see our children laugh and play – That means a lot when all is said, In this grim treadmill of today. […]...
18. Written Before Re-Reading King Lear O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute! Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute. Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay Must I burn through; once more humbly assay The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit. Chief Poet! […]...
19. On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute! Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute: Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute, Betwixt damnation and impassion’d clay Must I burn through; once more humbly assay The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit. Chief Poet! […]...
20. The King and the Shepherd Through ev’ry Age some Tyrant Passion reigns: Now Love prevails, and now Ambition gains Reason’s lost Throne, and sov’reign Rule maintains. Tho’ beyond Love’s, Ambition’s Empire goes; For who feels Love, Ambition also knows, And proudly still aspires to be possest Of Her, he thinks superior to the rest. As cou’d be prov’d, but that […]...
21. An Aquarium Streaks of green and yellow iridescence, Silver shiftings, Rings veering out of rings, Silver gold Grey-green opaqueness sliding down, With sharp white bubbles Shooting and dancing, Flinging quickly outward. Nosing the bubbles, Swallowing them, Fish. Blue shadows against silver-saffron water, The light rippling over them In steel-bright tremors. Outspread translucent fins Flute, fold, and relapse; […]...
22. St. Francis of Assisi Would I might wake St. Francis in you all, Brother of birds and trees, God’s Troubadour, Blinded with weeping for the sad and poor; Our wealth undone, all strict Franciscan men, Come, let us chant the canticle again Of mother earth and the enduring sun. God make each soul the lonely leper’s slave; God make […]...
23. St. Francis and the Birds Little sisters, the birds: We must praise God, you and I­ You, with songs that fill the sky, I, with halting words. All things tell His praise, Woods and waters thereof sing, Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, And the night and days. Yea, and cold and heat, And the sun and stars and moon, Sea with […]...
24. Francis Turner I could not run or play In boyhood. In manhood I could only sip the cup, Not drink For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased. Yet I lie here Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows: There is a garden of acacia, Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines There on that afternoon in June […]...
25. Francis Makemie (Presbyter of Christ in Americas 1683-1708) To thee, plain hero of a rugged race, We bring the meed of praise too long delayed! Thy fearless word and faithful work have made For God’s Republic firmer path and place In this New World: thou hast proclaimed the grace And power of Christ in many a forest […]...
26. The Ballad of the King's Mercy Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told. His mercy fills the Khyber hills his grace is manifold; He has taken toll of the North and the South his glory reacheth far, And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to Kandahar. Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and […]...
27. 320. Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever’st, Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nought earthly fear’st, To thee this votive offering I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The Friend thou valued’st, I, the Patron lov’d; His worth, his honour, all the world approved: We’ll mourn till we too go as he has […]...
28. 279. Epigram on Francis Grose the Antiquary THE DEVIL got notice that Grose was a-dying So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; But when he approached where poor Francis lay moaning, And saw each bed-post with its burthen a-groaning, Astonish’d, confounded, cries Satan-“By G-, I’ll want him, ere I take such a damnable load!”...
29. McGonagall's Ode to the King Oh! God, I thank Thee for restoring King Edward the Seventh’s health again, And let all his subjects throughout the Empire say Amen; May God guard him by night and day, At home and abroad, when he’s far away. May angels guard his bed at night when he lies down, And may his subjects revere […]...
30. The Robing of the King ON the bird of air blue-breasted glint the rays of gold, And its shadowy fleece above us waves the forest old, Far through rumorous leagues of midnight stirred by breezes warm. See the old ascetic yonder, ah, poor withered form, Where he crouches wrinkled over by unnumbered years Through the leaves the flakes of moon-fire […]...
31. Sonnet 22 XXII Cyriac, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heav’n’s hand or will, […]...
32. To the Same Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor […]...
33. King And No King ‘Would it were anything but merely voice!’ The No King cried who after that was King, Because he had not heard of anything That balanced with a word is more than noise; Yet Old Romance being kind, let him prevail Somewhere or somehow that I have forgot, Though he’d but cannon – Whereas we that […]...
34. Sarabande On Attaining The Age Of Seventy-Seven The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour; and behold my head. George Herbert Long gone the smoke-and-pepper childhood smell Of the smoldering immolation of the year, Leaf-strewn in scattered grandeur where it fell, Golden and poxed with frost, tarnished and sere. And I myself have whitened in the weathers Of […]...
35. The Hour of the King WHO would think this quiet breather From the world had taken flight? Yet within the form we see there Wakes the Golden King to-night. Out upon the face of faces He looked forth before his sleep: Now he knows the starry races Haunters of the ancient deep. On the Bird of Diamond Glory Floats in […]...
36. The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba WHAT various ways in which a thing is told Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold; In stories we invention may admit; But diff’rent ’tis with what historick writ; Posterity demands that truth should then Inspire relation, and direct the pen. ALACIEL’S story’s of another kind, And I’ve a little altered it, you’ll find; Faults […]...
37. An Expostulation to Lord King How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all The Peers of realm about cheapening their corn, When you know, if one hasn’t a very high rental, ‘Tis hardly worth while being very high born? Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life, On a question, my Lord, there’s so much to […]...
38. Autumn Fires In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!...
39. Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt) Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur’s Table Round, At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a wither’d leaf before the hall. And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand, And from the crown thereof a carcanet Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize […]...
40. She Didn’t Mean To Do It Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad. She didn’t mean to do it. Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs, Go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces, But no more. Certain thrills knock you flat On your sheets on your bed in your room and you fade And they […]...