The Knights Of St. John

Related poetry:

1. The Late Sir John Ogilvy Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven, But I hope his soul is now in heaven; For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure, And, in particular, very kind unto the poor. He was a Christian gentleman in every degree, And, for many years, was an M. P. for Bonnie Dundee, And, while […]...
2. 227. Verses on Friars' Carse Hermitage (First Version) THOU whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these maxims on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, in darkness lost: Hope not sunshine every hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. Happiness is but a name, Make content […]...
3. John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank- Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of […]...
4. Sunt Leones The lions who ate the Christians on the sands of the arena By indulging native appetites played was now been seen a Not entirely negligible part In consolidating at the very start The position of the Early Christian Church. Initiatory rights are always bloody In the lions, it appears From contemporary art, made a study […]...
5. 70. Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math WHILE at the stook the shearers cow’r To shun the bitter blaudin’ show’r, Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My musie, tir’d wi’ mony a sonnet On gown, an’ ban’, an’ douse black bonnet, Is grown right eerie now she’s done it, Lest […]...
6. An Epitaph On Sr John Walter, Lord Cheife Baron Farewell Example, Living Rule farewell; Whose practise shew’d goodness was possible, Who reach’d the full outstretch’d perfection Of Man, of Lawyer, and of Christian. Suppose a Man more streight than Reason is, Whose grounded Habit could not tread amisse Though Reason slepd; a Man who still esteem’d His wife his Bone; who still his children […]...
7. 77. Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper HERE lies Johnie Pigeon; What was his religion? Whae’er desires to ken, To some other warl’ Maun follow the carl, For here Johnie Pigeon had nane! Strong ale was ablution, Small beer persecution, A dram was memento mori; But a full-flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial glory....
8. An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John Can we not force from widow’d poetry, Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, Though with unkneaded dough-bak’d prose, thy dust, Such as th’ unscissor’d churchman from the flower Of fading rhetoric, short-liv’d as his hour, Dry as the sand that measures it, should […]...
9. Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill And thou wert sad-yet I was not with thee! And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near; Methought that joy and health alone could be Where I was not-and pain and sorrow here. And is it thus?-it is as I foretold, And shall be more so; for the mind recoils Upon itself, and […]...
10. On John Dawson, Butler Of C. C Dawson the Butler’s dead: Although I think Poets were ne’er infusde with single drinke Ile spend a farthing muse; some watry verse Will serve the turne to cast upon his hearse; If any cannot weepe amongst us here Take off his pott, and so squeeze out a tear: Weepe, O his cheeses, weepe till yee […]...
11. The Challenge of Thor I am the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer! Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress, Reign I forever! Here amid icebergs Rule I the nations; This is my hammer, Miцlner the mighty; Giants and sorcerers Cannot withstand it! These are the gauntlets Wherewith I wield it, And hurl […]...
12. My Pretty Rose Tree A flower was offered to me; Such a flower as May never bore. But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree. And I passed the sweet flower o’er. Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree: To tend her by day and by night. But my Rose turnd away with jealousy: And her thorns were my only […]...
13. TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savoury bit, Paying but common thanks for it. Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see An over-leaven look in thee, […]...
14. 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 […]...
15. No, Thank You John I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always “do” and “pray”? You Know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an […]...
16. John Ballard In the lust of my strength I cursed God, but he paid no attention to me: I might as well have cursed the stars. In my last sickness I was in agony, but I was resolute And I cursed God for my suffering; Still He paid no attention to me; He left me alone, as […]...
17. TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD;A PRESENT, BY A CHILD Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon his bib or stomacher; And tell him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of […]...
18. HERODIAS Daughter presenting to her Mother St. JOHN's Head in a Charger, also Painted by her self BEhold, dear Mother, who was late our Fear, Disarm’d and Harmless, I present you here; The Tongue ty’d up, that made all Jury quake, And which so often did our Greatness shake; No Terror sits upon his Awful Brow, Where Fierceness reign’d, there Calmness triumphs now; As Lovers use, he gazes on my Face, With […]...
19. UPON CUPID Love, like a gipsy, lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune. He saw my palm; and then, said he, I tell thee, by this score here, That thou, within few months, shalt be The youthful Prince D’Amour here. I smiled, and bade […]...
20. Nature can do no more Nature can do no more She has fulfilled her Dyes Whatever Flower fail to come Of other Summer days Her crescent reimburse If other Summers be Nature’s imposing negative Nulls opportunity...
21. Dream Song 133: As he grew famousâ€"ah, but what is fame? As he grew famous—ah, but what is fame? — He lost his old obsession with his name, Things seemed to matter less, Including the fame—a television team came From another country to make a film of him Which did not him distress: He enjoyed the hard work & he was good at that, So they […]...
22. ON FIRST READING JOHN GOODBY'S 'IRISH POETRY SINCE 1950&#039 Barbarous insult to Yeats’ memory and Claudel’s Allen, thank God you are dead, you who breathed the air of Apollinaire, Ghost of Reverdy bear witness to the mendacity of his clamour, Hart Crane, rise from the estuary of the great river you drowned in, John Clare, rise from your country churchyard grave, Gray, from your […]...
23. The Rhodora On being asked, Whence is the flower? In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might […]...
24. Poetry And Religion Religions are poems. They concert Our daylight and dreaming mind, our Emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture Into the only whole thinking: poetry. Nothing’s said till it’s dreamed out in words And nothing’s true that figures in words only. A poem, compared with an arrayed religion, May be like a soldier’s one short marriage night […]...
25. HIS AGE:DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME OFPOSTUMUS Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow; But we must on, As fate does lead or draw us; none, None, Posthumus, could e’er decline The doom of cruel Proserpine. The pleasing wife, the house, the ground Must all be […]...
26. Religion XXVI And an old priest said, “Speak to us of Religion.” And he said: Have I spoken this day of aught else? Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone […]...
27. It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon The Flower distinct and Red I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead Will equal glow, and thought no More But came another Day To find the Species disappeared The Same Locality The Sun in place no other fraud On Nature’s perfect Sum Had I but lingered […]...
28. Epitaph Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C. That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death […]...
29. Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats I weep for Adonais he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say: “With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares […]...
30. AN EVENING WITH JOHN HEATH-STUBBS Alone in Sutton with Fynbos my orange cat A long weekend of wind and rain drowning The tumultuous flurry of mid-February blossom A surfeit of letters to work through, a mountain Of files to sort, some irritation at the thought Of travelling to Kentish Town alone when My mind was flooded with the mellifluous voice […]...
31. A Hymn To Christ At The Author's Last Going Into Germany In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark; What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away […]...
32. Flag of the Southern Cross Sons of Australia, be loyal and true to her – Fling out the flag of the Southern Cross! Sing a loud song to be joyous and new to her – Fling out the flag of the Southern Cross! Stain’d with the blood of the diggers who died by it, Fling out the flag to the […]...
33. 19. A Prayer in the Prospect of Death O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear! If I have wander’d in those paths Of life I ought to shun, As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done; Thou know’st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild […]...
34. The Bird did prance the Bee did play The Bird did prance the Bee did play The Sun ran miles away So blind with joy he could not choose Between his Holiday The morn was up the meadows out The Fences all but ran, Republic of Delight, I thought Where each is Citizen From Heavy laden Lands to thee Were seas to cross […]...
35. An Irish Airman Forsees His Death I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My county is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty […]...
36. To George Sand: A Desire THOU large-brained woman and large-hearted man, Self-called George Sand! whose soul, amid the lions Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance And answers roar for roar, as spirits can: I would some mild miraculous thunder ran Above the applauded circus, in appliance Of thine own nobler nature’s strength and science, Drawing two pinions, white as wings […]...
37. 176. On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella’s arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning rose may blow; But cold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low. Fair on Isabella’s morn The sun propitious smil’d; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Succeeding […]...
38. 41. Epistle to John Rankine O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drinkin! There’s mony godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin Straught to auld Nick’s. Ye hae saw mony cracks an’ cants, And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye mak a devil o’ the saunts, An’ fill them […]...
39. Psalm 5 For the Lord’s Day Morning. Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear My voice ascending high; To thee will I direct my prayer, To thee lift up mine eye; Up to the hills where Christ is gone To plead for all his saints, Presenting at his Father’s throne Our songs and our complaints. Thou art […]...
40. Mine Own John Poynz Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know The cause why that homeward I me draw, And flee the press of courts, whereso they go, Rather than to live thrall under the awe Of lordly looks, wrappèd within my cloak, To will and lust learning to set a law: It is not for because […]...