An Ode, On The Death Of Mr. Henry Purcell

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1. Henry Purcell The poet wishes well to the divine genius of Purcell and praises him that, whereas other musicians have given utterance to the moods of man’s mind, he has, beyond that, uttered in notes the very make and species of man as created both in him and in all men generally. Have, fair fallen, O fair, […]...
2. Song For Saint Cecilia's Day, 1687 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony This universal frame began: When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead! Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry In order to their stations leap, And Music’s power obey. From […]...
3. Music's Empire First was the world as one great cymbal made, Where jarring winds to infant Nature played. All music was a solitary sound, To hollow rocks and murm’ring fountains bound. Jubal first made the wilder notes agree; And Jubal tuned music’s Jubilee; He call’d the echoes from their sullen cell, And built the organ’s city where […]...
4. Twas One of Those Dreams ‘TWAS one of those dreams, that by music are brought, Like a bright summer haze, o’er the poet’s warm thought When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. The wild notes he heard o’er the water were those He had taught to sing Erin’s […]...
5. Henry Clay's Mouth Senator, statesman, speaker of the House, Exceptional dancer, slim, Graceful, ugly. Proclaimed, before most, slavery An evil, broker Of elections (burned Jackson For Adams), took a pistol ball in the thigh In a duel, delayed, by forty years, With his compromises, the Civil War, Gambler (“I have always Paid peculiar homage to the fickle goddess”), […]...
6. To the Memory of Henry Welles Livingston A gentle spirit now above Once animated what lies here Till heav’n announc’d in tenderest love “Ascend Immortal to yon sphere.” The lambkin at the great behest Gave up its life without one groan; When lo! In robes supernal drest He found the bright abodes his own! Most glorious and delightful scenes Rush’d full upon […]...
7. A Performance Of Henry V At Stratford-Upon-Avon Nature teaches us our tongue again And the swift sentences came pat. I came Into cool night rescued from rainy dawn. And I seethed with language – Henry at Harfleur and Agincourt came apt for war In Ireland and the Middle East. Here was The riddling and right tongue, the feeling words Solid and dutiful. […]...
8. Listening ‘T is you that are the music, not your song. The song is but a door which, opening wide, Lets forth the pent-up melody inside, Your spirit’s harmony, which clear and strong Sings but of you. Throughout your whole life long Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide This perfect beauty; waves within a […]...
9. A Death-Bed 1918 This is the State above the Law. The State exists for the State alone.” [This is a gland at the back of the jaw, And an answering lump by the collar-bone.], Some die shouting in gas or fire; Some die silent, by shell and shot. Some die desperate, caught on the wire – Some […]...
10. His Meditation Upon Death BE those few hours, which I have yet to spend, Blest with the meditation of my end; Though they be few in number, I’m content; If otherwise, I stand indifferent, Nor makes it matter, Nestor’s years to tell, If man lives long, and if he live not well. A multitude of days still heaped on […]...
11. Sing Sing Music Was Given Sing sing Music was given To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; Souls here, like planets in heaven, By harmony’s laws alone are kept moving. Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, But Love from the lips his true archery wings; And she, who but feathers the dart when she speaks, At […]...
12. Henry Mary and I were twenty-two When we were wed; A well-matched pair, right smart to view The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true To nuptial bed. But oh alas! The march of time, Life’s wear and tear! Now I am in my lusty prime With pep to spare, While she looks […]...
13. Death Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize, Unbearable pain throughout this body’s fabric: As I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee: The wood that long resisted the advancing flames Which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishinig And burn in thee. My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury […]...
14. The Death and Last Confession of Wandering Peter When Peter Wanderwide was young He wandered everywhere he would: All that he approved was sung, And most of what he saw was good. When Peter Wanderwide was thrown By Death himself beyond Auxerre, He chanted in heroic tone To priests and people gathered there: “If all that I have loved and seen Be with […]...
15. Dream Song 74: Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry Did will not bear thought. Feeling no pain, Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter Explaining how bad it had been In this world. Old yellow, in a gown Might have made a difference, ‘these lower beauties’, And chartreuse could have mattered “Kyoto, Toledo, Benares—the […]...
16. Falstaff's Lament Over Prince Hal Become Henry V One that I cherished, Yea, loved as a son – Up early, up late with, My promising one: No use in good nurture, None, lads, none! Here on this settle He wore the true crown, King of good fellows, And Fat Jack was one – Now, Beadle of England In formal array – Best fellow […]...
17. Ocean of Forms I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, Hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless. No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat. The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves. And now I am eager to die into the […]...
18. On The Death Of Dr. Benjamin Franklin Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood The glory of its native wood, By storms destroyed, or length of years, Demands the tribute of our tears. The pile, that took long time to raise, To dust returns by slow decays: But, when its destined years are o’er, We must regret the loss the more. […]...
19. Let Me Die a Youngman's Death Let me die a youngman’s death Not a clean and inbetween The sheets holywater death Not a famous-last-words Peaceful out of breath death When I’m 73 And in constant good tumour May I be mown down at dawn By a bright red sports car On my way home From an allnight party Or when I’m […]...
20. Silent Steps Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes. Every moment and every age, Every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes. Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, But all their notes have always proclaimed, ‘He comes, comes, ever comes.’ In the fragrant days […]...
21. Dream Song 97: Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig, Bred when he was brittle, bred when big, How he’s sweating to support them. Which birthday of the brighter darker man, The Goya of the Globe & Blackfriars, whom— Our full earth smiled on him Squeezing his old heart with a daughter loose (hostages they áre)—the world’s produced, […]...
22. The Bell I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or hell, Which calls the sons of Time. Thy voice upon the deep The home-bound sea-boy hails, It charms his cares to sleep, It cheers him as he sails. To house of God and heavenly joys Thy summons […]...
23. Henry the Seventh Henry the Seventh of England Wasn’t out of the Royal top drawer, The only connection of which he could boast, He were King’s nephew’s brother-in-law. It were after the Wars of the Roses That he came to the front, as it were, When on strength of his having slain Richard the Third He put himself […]...
24. Italian Music in Dakota THROUGH the soft evening air enwrinding all, Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds, In dulcet streams, in flutes’ and cornets’ notes, Electric, pensive, turbulent artificial, (Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before, Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here, Not to the city’s fresco’d rooms, not to the […]...
25. The Funeral of the Late Prince Henry of Battenberg Alas! Prince Henry of Battenberg is dead! And, I hope, has gone to heaven, its streets to tread, And to sing with God’s saints above, Where all is joy and peace and love. ‘Twas in the year of 1896, and on the 5th of February, Prince Henry was buried at Whippingham – a solemn sight […]...
26. The Source There in the fringe of trees between The upper field and the edge of the one Below it that runs above the valley One time I heard in the early Days of summer the clear ringing Six notes that I knew were the opening Of the Fingal’s Cave Overture I heard them again and again […]...
27. About The Nightingale From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale: In stale blank verse a subject stale I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wordsworth, You’ll tell me what you think, my Bird’s worth. My own opinion’s briefly this His bill he opens not amiss; And when he has […]...
28. Elegy On The Death Of A Young Man Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers, Echo from the dreary house of woe; Death-notes rise from yonder minster’s towers! Bearing out a youth, they slowly go; Yes! a youth unripe yet for the bier, Gathered in the spring-time of his days, Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clear, With the flame that in his […]...
29. When Death Comes When death comes Like the hungry bear in autumn; When death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse To buy me, and snaps the purse shut; When death comes Like the measle-pox When death comes Like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, […]...
30. Thought Of Ph – a At News Of Her Death NOT a line of her writing have I, Not a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby I may picture her there; And in vain do I urge my unsight To conceive my lost prize At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming […]...
31. The Rosary Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings Shall all men praise the Master of all song. Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long; And skilled must be the laureates of kings. Silent, O lips that utter foolish things! Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong! How from your toil shall […]...
32. On Death The pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. O man! hold thee on in […]...
33. Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves Three Voices [together]. Hurry to bless the hands that play, The mouths that speak, the notes and strings, O masters of the glittering town! O! lay the shrilly trumpet down, Though drunken with the flags that sway Over the ramparts and the towers, And with the waving of your wings. First Voice. Maybe they linger […]...
34. The Death of the Rev. Dr. Wilson ‘Twas in the year of 1888 and on the 17th of January That the late Rev. Dr. Wilson’s soul fled away; The generous-hearted Dr. had been ailing for some time, But death, with his dart, did pierce the heart of the learned divine. He was a man of open countenance and of great ability, And […]...
35. Jazz Chick Music from her breast, vibrating Soundseared into burnished velvet. Silent hips deceiving fools. Rivulets of trickling ecstacy From the alabaster pools of Jazz Where music cools hot souls. Eyes more articulately silent Than Medusa’s thousand tongues. A bridge of eyes, consenting smiles Reveal her presence singing Of cool remembrance, happy balls Wrapped in swinging Jazz […]...
36. Song: Memory, hither come Memory, hither come, And tune your merry notes; And, while upon the wind Your music floats, I’ll pore upon the stream Where sighing lovers dream, And fish for fancies as they pass Within the watery glass. I’ll drink of the clear stream, And hear the linnet’s song; And there I’ll lie and dream The day […]...
37. On The Death Of Sir Tho: Peltham Meerly for man’s death to mourne Were to repine that man was borne. When weake old age doth fall asleepe Twere foule ingratitude to weepe: Those threads alone should pull out tears Whose sodayne cracke breaks off some years. Heere tis not so: full distance heere Sunders the cradle from the beere. A fellow-traveller he […]...
38. A Tribute to Henry M. Stanley Welcome, thrice welcome, to the city of Dundee, The great African explorer Henry M Stanley, Who went out to Africa its wild regions to explore, And travelled o’er wild and lonely deserts, fatigued and footsore. And what he and his little band suffered will never be forgot, Especially one in particular, Major Edmund Barttelot, Alas! […]...
39. Music The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute. From my bed I can hear him, And the round notes flutter and tap about the room, And hit against each other, Blurring to unexpected chords. It is very beautiful, With the little flute-notes all about me, In the darkness. In the daytime, The neighbour […]...
40. 421. Epitaph on a Lap-dog IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is no more. Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half your din of tuneless sound With Echo silent lies....