Epitaph In The Form Of A Ballade

Related poetry:

1. The Ballad Of The Hanged Men Men my brothers who after us live, Have your hearts against us not hardened. For-if of poor us you take pity, God of you sooner will show mercy. You see us here, attached. As for the flesh we too well have fed, Long since it’s been devoured or has rotted. And we the bones are […]...
2. 58. Epitaph on Holy Willie HERE Holy Willie’s sair worn clay Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta’en some other way, I fear, the left-hand road. Stop! there he is, as sure’s a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he’s as black’s the grun, Observe wha’s standing wi’ him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got […]...
3. La dètresse s'enroule Poem by Anne-Marie Derése. Le volcan en attente au fond de nous Ronge, creuse, tremble, Soupése ses chances. La dètresse s’enroule, Se tasse comme une bНte malade. Nous sommes mèconnaissables, Uniques, Avec la certitude de notre fèrocitè....
4. Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die; The earth can yield me […]...
5. 456. Epitaph on Captain Lascelles WHEN Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart, Some friends warmly thought of embalming his heart; A bystander whispers-“Pray don’t make so much o’t, The subject is poison, no reptile will touch it.”...
6. Ballade at Thirty-five This, no song of an ingénue, This, no ballad of innocence; This, the rhyme of a lady who Followed ever her natural bents. This, a solo of sapience, This, a chantey of sophistry, This, the sum of experiments, I loved them until they loved me. Decked in garments of sable hue, Daubed with ashes of […]...
7. Ballade De Marguerite (Normande) I am weary of lying within the chase When the knights are meeting in market-place. Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down. But I would not go where the Squires ride, I would only walk by my Lady’s side. Alack! and alack! thou art overbold, […]...
8. I Saw Thy Form in Youthful Prime I saw thy form in youthful prime, Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of Time, And waste its bloom away, Mary! Yet still thy features wore that light, Which fleets not with the breath; And life ne’er look’d more truly bright Than in thy smile of death, Mary! As streams that […]...
9. Ballade To Our Lady WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER Dame du ciel, regents terrienne, Emperiere des infemaux palus…. Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,- I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call, Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell, Albeit in nought I be commendable. But all mine undeserving […]...
10. 38. Epitaph on my Ever Honoured Father O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev’rence, and attend! Here lie the loving husband’s dear remains, The tender father, and the gen’rous friend; The pitying heart that felt for human woe, The dauntless heart that fear’d no human pride; The friend of man-to vice alone a foe; For […]...
11. Forgive Me Poem by Anne-Marie Derése, translated by Judith Skillman. Forgive me if I have laughed In your chapels, Forgive me if I have slammed The hospital door, Forgive me for the noise, For life, For the love to which I have no right. Forgive me for not resembling you....
12. L'Adieu J’ai cueilli ce brin de bruyère L’automne est morte souviens-t’en Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre Odeur du temps Brin de bruyère Et souviens-toi que je t’attends...
13. An Epitaph ENOUGH; and leave the rest to Fame! ‘Tis to commend her, but to name. Courtship which, living, she declined, When dead, to offer were unkind: Nor can the truest wit, or friend, Without detracting, her commend. To say she lived a virgin chaste In this age loose and all unlaced; Nor was, when vice is […]...
14. In Due Form I do not doubt you. I know you love me. It is a fact of your indoor face, A true fancy of your muscularity. Your step is confident. Your look is thorough. Your stay-beside-me is a pillow To roll over on And sleep as on my own upon. But make me a statement In due […]...
15. Epitaph on her Son H. P WHat on Earth deserves our trust? Youth and Beauty both are dust. Long we gathering are with pain, What one moment calls again. Seven years childless, marriage past, A Son, a son is born at last : So exactly lim’d and fair. Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Air, As a long life promised, Yet, […]...
16. The Ballade Of The Mistletoe Bough I am standing under the mistletoe, And I smile, but no answering smile replies For her haughty glance bids me plainly know That not for me is the thing I prize; Instead, from her coldly scornful eyes, Indifference looks on my barefaced guile; She knows, of course, what my act implies- But look at those […]...
17. The Little Piou-Piou (The French “Tommy”). Oh, some of us lolled in the chateau, And some of us slinked in the slum; But now we are here with a song and a cheer To serve at the sign of the drum. They put us in trousers of scarlet, In big sloppy ulsters of blue; In boots that are […]...
18. A Form Of Women I have come far enough From where I was not before To have seen the things Looking in at me from through the open door And have walked tonight By myself To see the moonlight And see it as trees And shapes more fearful Because I feared What I did not know But have wanted […]...
19. Spirit That Form'd This Scene SPIRIT that form’d this scene, These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own, I know thee, savage spirit-we have communed together, Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was’t charged against my chants they […]...
20. The Little Lives Of Earth And Form The little lives of earth and form, Of finding food, and keeping warm, Are not like ours, and yet A kinship lingers nonetheless: We hanker for the homeliness Of den, and hole, and set. And this identity we feel – Perhaps not right, perhaps not real – Will link us constantly; I see the rock, […]...
21. THE MAD MAID'S SONG Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good morning to this primrose too; Good morrow to each maid; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid. Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack […]...
22. Variant Form Of The Preceding Poem COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest; Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest. Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest, In your father’s quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome guest. But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, […]...
23. 308. The Epitaph on Captain Matthew Henderson STOP, passenger! my story’s brief, And truth I shall relate, man; I tell nae common tale o’ grief, For Matthew was a great man. If thou uncommon merit hast, Yet spurn’d at Fortune’s door, man; A look of pity hither cast, For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodger art, That passest […]...
24. My Foe A Belgian Priest-Soldier Speaks; GURR! You cochon! Stand and fight! Show your mettle! Snarl and bite! Spawn of an accursed race, Turn and meet me face to face! Here amid the wreck and rout Let us grip and have it out! Here where ruins rock and reel Let us settle, steel to steel! Look! Our […]...
25. Ballade of an Omnibus “To see my love suffices me.” Ballades in Blue China. Some men to carriages aspire; On some the costly hansoms wait; Some seek a fly, on job or hire; Some mount the trotting steed, elate. I envy not the rich and great, A wandering minstrel, poor and free, I am contented with my fate An […]...
26. Don't Cheer Don’t cheer, damn you! Don’t cheer! Silence! Your bitterest tear Is fulsomely sweet to-day. . . . Down on your knees and pray. See, they sing as they go, Marching row upon row. Who will be spared to return, Sombre and starkly stern? Chaps whom we knew – s0 strange, Distant and dark with change; […]...
27. Epitaph On An Army of Mercenaries These, in the day when heaven was falling, The hour when earth’s foundations fled, Followed their mercenary calling And took their wages and are dead. Their shoulders held the sky suspended; They stood, and earth’s foundations stay; What God abandoned, these defended, And saved the sum of things for pay....
28. Epitaph The first time I died, I walked my ways; I followed the file of limping days. I held me tall, with my head flung up, But I dared not look on the new moon’s cup. I dared not look on the sweet young rain, And between my ribs was a gleaming pain. The next time […]...
29. The Ballade Of The Automobile When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel And the wind is moist with breath of brine And our laughter tells of our perfect weal, We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But if, automobiling, my woes combine And fuel gives out in my road-machine And it’s sixteen miles to that home of mine […]...
30. An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great London Benefactor, And His Executor What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly Stretch’d in a bed of clay, whose charity Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme Thousands out of the grave: though cold hee seeme He keepes those warme that else would sue to thee, Even thee, to ease them of theyr penury. Sorrow I would, but […]...
31. Ballade Of A Great Weariness There’s little to have but the things I had, There’s little to bear but the things I bore. There’s nothing to carry and naught to add, And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. There’s little to do but I did before, There’s little to learn but the things I know; And this is the […]...
32. Ballade of Unfortunate Mammals Love is sharper than stones or sticks; Lone as the sea, and deeper blue; Loud in the night as a clock that ticks; Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew. Show me a love was done and through, Tell me a kiss escaped its debt! Son, to your death you’ll pay your due- Women and elephants never […]...
33. Au Lecteur La sottise, l’erreur, le péché, la lésine, Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps, Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords, Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine. Nos péchés sont têtus, nos repentirs sont lâches; Nous nous faisons payer grassement nos aveux, Et nous rentrons gaiement dans le chemin bourbeux, Croyant par de vils pleurs laver […]...
34. Ballade of Dead Actors Where are the passions they essayed, And where the tears they made to flow? Where the wild humours they portrayed For laughing worlds to see and know? Othello’s wrath and Juliet’s woe? Sir Peter’s whims and Timon’s gall? And Millamant and Romeo? Into the night go one and all. Where are the braveries, fresh or […]...
35. Ballade of a Special Edition He comes; I hear him up the street Bird of ill omen, flapping wide The pinion of a printed sheet, His hoarse note scares the eventide. Of slaughter, theft, and suicide He is the herald and the friend; Now he vociferates with pride A double murder in Mile End! A hanging to his soul is […]...
36. Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa I Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold And very Regent of the untroubled sky, Whom in a dream St. Hilda did behold And heard a woodland music passing by: You shall receive me when the clouds are high With evening and the sheep attain the fold. This is the faith that I have held and […]...
37. The Undying She was so wonderful I wondered If wedding me she had not blundered; She was so pure, so high above me, I marvelled how she came to love me: Or did she? Well, in her own fashion – Affection, pity, never passion. I knew I was not worth her love; Yet oh, how wistfully I […]...
38. Double Ballade on the Nothingness of Things The big teetotum twirls, And epochs wax and wane As chance subsides or swirls; But of the loss and gain The sum is always plain. Read on the mighty pall, The weed of funeral That covers praise and blame, The – isms and the – anities, Magnificence and shame: “O Vanity of Vanities!” The Fates […]...
39. Epitaph Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well: Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell? She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes....
40. Epitaph On the Lady Mary Villiers THE Lady Mary Villiers lies Under this stone; with weeping eyes The parents that first gave her birth, And their sad friends, laid her in earth. If any of them, Reader, were Known unto thee, shed a tear; Or if thyself possess a gem As dear to thee, as this to them, Though a stranger […]...