In Memory of F. P

Related poetry:

1. With Penne, Inke, And Paper To A Distressed Friend Here is paper, pen, and inke, That your heart and seale may sinke Into such markes as may expresse A Soule much blest in heavinesse. May your paper seeme as fayre As yourselfe when you appeare: May the Letters which you write Looke like black eye-lids on white. May your penne such fancies bring As […]...
2. Poem 95 VNto his mother straight he weeping came, And of his griefe complayned: Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game, Though sad to see him pained. Think now (quod she) my sonne how great the smart Of those whom thou dost wound: Full many thou hast pricked to the hart, That pitty neuer […]...
3. 6th April 1651 L'Amitie: To Mrs. M. Awbrey Soule of my soule! my Joy, my crown, my friend! A name which all the rest doth comprehend; How happy are we now, whose sols are grown, By an incomparable mixture, One: Whose well acquainted minds are not as neare As Love, or vows, or secrets can endeare. I have no thought but what’s to […]...
4. To Memory Strange Power, I know not what thou art, Murderer or mistress of my heart. I know I’d rather meet the blow Of my most unrelenting foe Than live – as now I live – to be Slain twenty times a day by thee. Yet, when I would command thee hence, Thou mockest at the vain […]...
5. To The Memory Of Mr Oldham Farewell, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own; For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike. To the same goal did both […]...
6. Ardelia to Melancholy At last, my old inveterate foe, No opposition shalt thou know. Since I by struggling, can obtain Nothing, but encrease of pain, I will att last, no more do soe, Tho’ I confesse, I have apply’d Sweet mirth, and musick, and have try’d A thousand other arts beside, To drive thee from my darken’d breast, […]...
7. On The Death Of Mrs. Mary Neudham As sinn makes gross the soule and thickens it To fleshy dulness, so the spotless white Of virgin pureness made thy flesh as cleere As others soules: thou couldst not tarry heere All soule in both parts: and what could it bee The Resurrection could bestow on thee, Allready glorious? thine Innocence (Thy better shroude) […]...
8. Memory Brightly the sun of summer shone, Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky of purest blue, Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, Allured the gazer’s eye. But what were all these charms to me, When one sweet breath of memory Came gently wafting by? I closed my eyes […]...
9. In San Lorenzo Is thine hour come to wake, O slumbering Night? Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear? Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear When the word falls from heaven Let there be light. Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite To wake thee while the old sorrow and […]...
10. Ave atque Vale (In memory of Charles Baudelaire) SHALL I strew on thee rose or rue or laurel, Brother, on this that was the veil of thee? Or quiet sea-flower moulded by the sea, Or simplest growth of meadow-sweet or sorrel, Such as the summer-sleepy Dryads weave, Waked up by snow-soft sudden rains at eve? Or wilt thou rather, as on earth before, […]...
11. To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. ‘Tis true, and all men’s suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance […]...
12. Sonnet XVII THe glorious portraict of that Angels face, Made to amaze weake mens confused skil: And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase, What pen, what pencill can expresse her fill? For though he colours could deuize at will, And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide: Least trembling it his wormanship should spill, Yet many wondrous […]...
13. On The Death Of Dr. Lancton President Of Maudlin College When men for injuryes unsatisfy’d, For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd, For legacies in vain expected, mourne Over theyr owne respects within the urne, Races of tears all striveing first to fall As frequent are as eye and funerall; Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong Seeme to call […]...
14. Sonnet XVIII THe rolling wheele that runneth often round, The hardest steele in tract of time doth teare: And drizling drops that often doe redound, The firmest flint doth in continuance weare. Yet cannot I with many a dropping teare, And long intreaty soften her hard hart: That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare, Or […]...
15. In Memory of Walter Savage Landor Back to the flower-town, side by side, The bright months bring, New-born, the bridegroom and the bride, Freedom and spring. The sweet land laughs from sea to sea, Filled full of sun; All things come back to her, being free; All things but one. In many a tender wheaten plot Flowers that were dead Live, […]...
16. To the Memory of Mrs. Lefroy who died Dec:r 16 my Birthday The day returns again, my natal day; What mix’d emotions with the Thought arise! Beloved friend, four years have pass’d away Since thou wert snatch’d forever from our eyes. The day, commemorative of my birth Bestowing Life and Light and Hope on me, Brings back the hour which was thy last on Earth. Oh! bitter […]...
17. 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 […]...
18. In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Mary Lloyd of Bodidrist in Denbigh-shire I CANNOT hold, for though to write were rude, Yet to be silent were Ingratitude, And Folly too; for if Posterity Should never hear of such a one as thee, And onely know this Age’s brutish fame, They would think Vertue nothing but a Name. And though far abler Pens must her define, Yet her […]...
19. The Olive Garden (Rainer Maria Rilke) He went up under the gray leaves All gray and lost in the olive lands And laid his forehead, gray with dust, Deep in the dustiness of his hot hands. After everything this. And this was the end. Now I must go, as I am going blind. And why is it Thy […]...
20. Sonnet XXXV: Some, Misbelieving To Miracle Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t’express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One […]...
21. On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, Deceased Dec. 16, 1646 When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as […]...
22. 'Tis Sunrise Little Maid Hast Thou ‘Tis Sunrise Little Maid Hast Thou No Station in the Day? ‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so Retrieve thine industry ‘Tis Noon My little Maid Alas and art thou sleeping yet? The Lily waiting to be Wed The Bee Hast thou forgot? My little Maid ‘Tis Night Alas That Night should be to thee […]...
23. On A Watch Made By A Blacksmith A Vulcan and a Venus seldom part. A blacksmith never us’d to filinge art Beyond a lock and key, for Venus’ sake Hath cut a watch soe small that sence will ake In searching every wire, and subtile sphere Which his industrious skill hath order’d theire: It scarce outswells a nut, and is soe light […]...
24. On Sir Thomas Savill Dying Of The Small Pox Take, greedy death, a body here entomd That by a thousand stroakes was made one wound, Where all thy shafts were stuck with fatall ayme Untill a quiver this thy marke became, Had Cжsar fifty wounds to let in thee Because a troop of men might seeme to bee Comprised in that great Spirit, this […]...
25. Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady What beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? ‘Tis she! but why that bleeding bosom gor’d, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in heav’n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To […]...
26. Song I SAW thee on thy bridal day – When a burning blush came o’er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee: And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see. That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame – […]...
27. Ode to the Memory of Burns Soul of the Poet! wheresoe’er, Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume Her wings of immortality ; Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, And with thine influence illume The gladness of our jubilee. And fly like fiends from secret spell, Discord and Strife, at Burn’s name, Exorcised by his memory ; For he was chief of […]...
28. To the Memory of Sarah Livingston BEYOND where billows roll or tempests vex Is gone the gentlest of the gentle sex! – Her brittle bark on life’s wild ocean tost Unequal to the conflict soon was lost. Severe her sufferings! much, alas, she bore, Then sunk beneath the storm & rose no more. But when th’ Archangel’s awful trump shall sound […]...
29. I Have Lived With Shades I I have lived with Shades so long, So long have talked to them, I sped to street and throng, That sometimes they In their dim style Will pause awhile To hear my say; II And take me by the hand, And lead me through their rooms In the To-Be, where Dooms Half-wove and shapeless […]...
30. Elegy to the Memory of Richard Boyle, Esq NEAR yon bleak mountain’s dizzy height, That hangs o’er AVON’s silent wave; By the pale Crescent’s glimm’ring light, I sought LORENZO’s lonely grave. O’er the long grass the silv’ry dew, Soft Twilight’s tears spontaneous shone; And the dank bough of baneful yew Supply’d the place of sculptured stone. Oft, as my trembling steps drew near, […]...
31. In Memory of Anyone Unknown to Me At this particular time I have no one Particular person to grieve for, though there must Be many, many unknown ones going to dust Slowly, not remembered for what they have done Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve Being impartial, unable to deceive. How they lived, or died, is quite unknown, And, […]...
32. The Fledgling So, art thou feahered, art thou flown, Thou naked thing?-and canst alone Upon the unsolid summer air Sustain thyself, and prosper there? Shall no more with anxious note Advise thee through the happy day, Thrusting the worm into thy throat, Bearing thine excrement away? Alas, I think I see thee yet, Perched on the windy […]...
33. A Song On A Sigh O tell mee, tell, thou god of wynde, In all thy cavernes canst thou finde A vapor, fume, a gale or blast Like to a sigh which love doth cast? Can any whirlwynde in thy vault Plough upp earth’s breast with like assault? Goe wynde and blowe thou where thou please, Yea breathles leave mee […]...
34. In Commendation Of Musick When whispering straynes doe softly steale With creeping passion through the hart, And when at every touch wee feele Our pulses beate and beare a part; When thredds can make A hartstring shake Philosophie Can scarce deny The soule consists of harmony. When unto heavenly joy wee feyne Whatere the soule affecteth most, Which onely […]...
35. Love (II) Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame Attract the lesser to it: let those fires Which shall consume the world, first make it tame, And kindle in our hearts such true desires, As may consume our lusts, and make thee way. Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain All her invention on […]...
36. "Heavenly Father" take to thee “Heavenly Father” take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband Though to trust us seems to us More respectful “We are Dust” We apologize to thee For thine own Duplicity...
37. A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight They mouth love’s language. Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with. Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh. Love’s breath in you is stale, worded or sung, As sour as cat’s breath, Harsh of tongue. This grey that stares Lies not, stark skin and bone. Leave greasy lips their kissing. […]...
38. On The Bible Behold this little volume here inrolde: ‘Tis the Almighty’s present to the world: Hearken earth’s earth; each sencelesse thing can heare His Maker’s thunder, though it want an eare: God’s word is senior to his works, nay rather If rightly weigh’d the world may call it father; God spake, ’twas done; this great foundation Is […]...
39. Elegy to the Memory of David Garrick, Esq DEAR SHADE OF HIM, who grac’d the mimick scene, And charm’d attention with resistless pow’r; Whose wond’rous art, whose fascinating mien, Gave glowing rapture to the short-liv’d hour! Accept the mournful verse, the ling’ring sigh, The tear that faithful Mem’ry stays to shed; The SACRED TEAR, that from Reflection’s eye, Drops on the ashes of […]...
40. My Gentle Harp My gentle Harp, once more I waken The sweetness of thy slumbering strain; In tears our last farewell was taken, And now in tears we meet again. No light of joy hath o’er thee broken, But, like those harps whose heavenly skill Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, Thou hang’st upon the willows still. […]...