Apology

Related poetry:

1. A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature The Lives and Times of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron Byron and Shelley and Keats Were a trio of Lyrical treats. The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls, And Keats never was a descendant of earls, And Byron walked out with a number of girls, But it didn’t […]...
2. The O'Rahilly Sing of the O’Rahilly, Do not deny his right; Sing a ‘the’ before his name; Allow that he, despite All those learned historians, Established it for good; He wrote out that word himself, He christened himself with blood. How goes the weather? Sing of the O’Rahilly That had such little sense He told Pearse and […]...
3. The Proud Poet (For Shaemas O Sheel) One winter night a Devil came and sat upon my bed, His eyes were full of laughter for his heart was full of crime. “Why don’t you take up fancy work, or embroidery?” he said, “For a needle is as manly a tool as a pen that makes a rhyme!” “You […]...
4. Very Like a Whale One thing that literature would be greatly the better for Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and Metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts, Can’t seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to Go out of their way to […]...
5. The Earthly Paradise: Apology Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of […]...
6. Easter Week (In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett) (“Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave.”) William Butler Yeats. “Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave.” Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn A hue so radiantly brave? There was a rain of blood that day, Red rain in gay […]...
7. The Leaning Tower Having an aged hate of height I forced myself to climb the Tower, Yet paused at every second flight Because my heart is scant of power; Then when I gained the sloping summit Earthward I stared, straight as a plummet. When like a phantom by my side I saw a man cadaverous; At first I […]...
8. Old Poets (For Robert Cortez Holliday) If I should live in a forest And sleep underneath a tree, No grove of impudent saplings Would make a home for me. I’d go where the old oaks gather, Serene and good and strong, And they would not sigh and tremble And vex me with a song. The pleasantest sort […]...
9. A Verseman's Apology Alas! I am only a rhymer, I don’t know the meaning of Art; But I learned in my little school primer To love Eugene Field and Bret Harte. I hailed Hoosier Ryley with pleasure, To John Hay I took off my hat; These fellows were right to my measure, And I’ve never gone higher than […]...
10. Apology Be not angry with me that I bear Your colours everywhere, All through each crowded street, And meet The wonder-light in every eye, As I go by. Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze, Blinded by rainbow haze, The stuff of happiness, No less, Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds Of peacock golds. Before […]...
11. Lionel Johnson (For the Rev. John J. Burke, C. S. P.) There was a murkier tinge in London’s air As if the honest fog blushed black for shame. Fools sang of sin, for other fools’ acclaim, And Milton’s wreath was tossed to Baudelaire. The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere, But in their midst a radiant lily came […]...
12. The General Public “Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?” Browning. “Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,” The old man said. A dry smile creased his face With many wrinkles. “That’s a great poem, now! That one of Browning’s! Shelley? Shelley plain? The time that I remember best is this A thin mire crept along the […]...
13. Why Do Birds Sing? Let poets piece prismatic words, Give me the jewelled joy of birds! What ecstasy moves them to sing? Is it the lyric glee of Spring, The dewy rapture of the rose? Is it the worship born in those Who are of Nature’s self a part, The adoration of the heart? Is it the mating mood […]...
14. The Rose Tree ‘O words are lightly spoken,’ Said Pearse to Connolly, ‘Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows Across the bitter sea.’ ‘It needs to be but watered,’ James Connolly replied, ‘To make the green come out again And spread on every side, And shake the […]...
15. The Seraph and the Poet THE seraph sings before the manifest God-One, and in the burning of the Seven, And with the full life of consummate Heaving beneath him like a mother’s Warm with her first-born’s slumber in that The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven, Before the naughty world, soon self-forgiven For wronging him, and in the darkness prest […]...
16. An Apology for the Bottle Volcanic Sometimes I dip my pen and find the bottle full of fire, The salamanders flying forth I cannot but admire. It’s Etna, or Vesuvius, if those big things were small, And then ’tis but itself again, and does not smoke at all. And so my blood grows cold. I say, “The bottle held but ink, […]...
17. Bishop Blougram's Apology NO more wine? then we’ll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i’ faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It’s different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin’s, bless his heart! I doubt if they’re half baked, those chalk […]...
18. The Singing Girl (For the Rev. Edward F. Garesche, S. J.) There was a little maiden In blue and silver drest, She sang to God in Heaven And God within her breast. It flooded me with pleasure, It pierced me like a sword, When this young maiden sang: “My soul Doth magnify the Lord.” The stars sing all […]...
19. Lord Let Me Live Lord, let me live, that more and more Your wonder world I may adore; With every dawn to grow and grow Alive to graciousness aglow; And every eve in beauty see Reason for rhapsody. Lord, let me bide, that I may prove The buoyant brightness of my love For sapphire sea and lyric sky And […]...
20. An Apology for my fearfull temper Tis true of courage I’m no mistress No Boadicia nor Thalestriss Nor shall I e’er be famed hereafter For such a Soul as Cato’s Daughter Nor active valour nor enduring Nor leading troops nor forts securing Like Teckley’s wife or Pucell valiant Will e’er be reckonded for my talent Who all things fear whilst day […]...
21. To My Enemy Let those who will of friendship sing, And to its guerdon grateful be, But I a lyric garland bring To crown thee, O, mine enemy! Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe For that my lifelong journey through Thine honest hate has done for me What love perchance had failed to do. I had not […]...
22. An Exhortation Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever change their hue As the light chameleons do, Suiting it to every ray Twenty times a day? Poets are on this […]...
23. Wealth (For Aline) From what old ballad, or from what rich frame Did you descend to glorify the earth? Was it from Chaucer’s singing book you came? Or did Watteau’s small brushes give you birth? Nothing so exquisite as that slight hand Could Raphael or Leonardo trace. Nor could the poets know in Fairyland The changing […]...
24. A Poet's Wooing I woo’d a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. Tennyson “What may I do to make you glad, To make you glad and free, Till your light smiles glance And your bright eyes dance Like sunbeams on the sea? Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay Of a bright May […]...
25. Robert Browning How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning’s lineage! What if men have found Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul? Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned Through all the world, the poets laurel-crowned With wreaths from […]...
26. AN HYMN TO THE MUSES Honour to you who sit Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it! Glory and worship be To you, sweet Maids, thrice three, Who still inspire me; And teach me how to sing Unto the lyric string, My measures ravishing! Then, while I sing your praise, My priest-hood crown with bays […]...
27. Psalm 118 v.22-27 S. M. An hosanna for the Lord’s day; or, A new song of salvation by Christ. See what a living stone The builders did refuse; Yet God hath built his church thereon, In spite of envious Jews. The scribe and angry priest Reject thine only Son; Yet on this Rock shall Zion rest, As […]...
28. The Interpreter Mother of Light, and the Gods! Mother of Music, awake! Silence and speech are at odds; Heaven and Hell are at Stake. By the Rose and the Cross I conjure; I constrain by the Snake and the Sword; I am he that is sworn to endure – Bring us the word of the Lord! By […]...
29. Salvage GUNS on the battle lines have pounded now a year Between Brussels and Paris. And, William Morris, when I read your old chapter on The great arches and naves and little whimsical Corners of the Churches of Northern France Brr-rr! I’m glad you’re a dead man, William Morris, I’m glad You’re down in the damp […]...
30. The Apology Think me not unkind and rude, That I walk alone in grove and glen; I go to the god of the wood To fetch his word to men. Tax not my sloth that I Fold my arms beside the brook; Each cloud that floated in the sky Writes a letter in my book. Chide me […]...
31. Profane Poet Oh how it would enable me To titillate my vanity If you should choose to label me A Poet of Profanity! For I’ve been known with vulgar slang To stoke the Sacred Fire, And even used a word like ‘hang’, Suggesting ire. Yea, I’ve been slyly told, although It savours of inanity, In print the […]...
32. Agnostic Apology I am a stout materialist; With abstract terms I can’t agree, And so I’ve made a little list Of words that don’t make sense to me. To fool my reason I refuse, For honest thinking is my goal; And that is why I rarely use Vague words like Soul. In terms of matter I am […]...
33. 442. Remorseful Apology THE FRIEND whom, wild from Wisdom’s way, The fumes of wine infuriate send, (Not moony madness more astray) Who but deplores that hapless friend? Mine was th’ insensate frenzied part, Ah! why should I such scenes outlive? Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!- ‘Tis thine to pity and forgive....
34. Momus “Where’s the need of singing now?” Smooth your brow, Momus, and be reconciled. For king Kronos is a child Child and father, Or god rather, And all gods are wild. “Who reads Byron any more?” Shut the door Momus, for I feel a draught; Shut it quick, for some one laughed. What’s become of Browning? […]...
35. Sonnet (II) Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of Ink ; for, as the Deluge did Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty : Each Cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and Lillies speak thee ; and to make A pair of Cheeks of […]...
36. Sixteen Dead Men O but we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering there To stir the boiling pot? You say that we should still the land Till Germany’s overcome; But who is there to argue […]...
37. 504. Apology to Mr. Syme for not dining with him NO more of your guests, be they titled or not, And cookery the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation....
38. A Lyric Day I deem that there are lyric days So ripe with radiance and cheer, So rich with gratitude and praise That they enrapture all the year. And if there is a God babove, (As they would tell me in the Kirk,) How he must look with pride and love Upon his perfect handiwork! To-day has been […]...
39. Apology To Delia: For Desiring A Lock Of Her Hair Delia, the unkindest girl on earth, When I besought the fair, That favour of intrinsic worth A ringlet of her hair, Refused that instant to comply With my absurd request, For reasons she could specify, Some twenty score at least. Trust me, my dear, however odd It may appear to say, I sought it merely […]...
40. To A Poet That Died Young Minstrel, what have you to do With this man that, after you, Sharing not your happy fate, Sat as England’s Laureate? Vainly, in these iron days, Strives the poet in your praise, Minstrel, by whose singing side Beauty walked, until you died. Still, though none should hark again, Drones the blue-fly in the pane, Thickly […]...