The Owl

Related poetry:

1. At Burgos Miraculous silver-work in stone Against the blue miraculous skies, The belfry towers and turrets rise Out of the arches that enthrone That airy wonder of the skies. Softly against the burning sun The great cathedral spreads its wings; High up, the lyric belfry sings. Behold Ascension Day begun Under the shadow of those wings!...
2. Sonnet LIIII OF this worlds Theatre in which we stay, My loue lyke the Spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diuersly my troubled wits. Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion sits, And mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy: Soone after when my ioy to sorrow flits, I waile and make my […]...
3. Doctor of Billiards Of all among the fallen from on high, We count you last and leave you to regain Your born dominion of a life made vain By three spheres of insidious ivory. You dwindle to the lesser tragedy- Content, you say. We call, but you remain. Nothing alive gone wrong could be so plain, Or quite […]...
4. Couplets on Wit I But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne. II Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest. III Some who grow dull religious strait commence And gain in morals what they lose in […]...
5. Merry-Go-Round COLORED CHILD AT CARNIVAL Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry-go-round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored Can’t sit side by side. Down South on the train There’s a Jim Crow car. On the bus we’re put in the back But there ain’t no […]...
6. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
7. My Vision Wherever my feet may wander Wherever I chance to be, There comes, with the coming of even’ time A vision sweet to me. I see my mother sitting In the old familiar place, And she rocks to the tune her needles sing, And thinks of an absent face. I can hear the roar of the […]...
8. The Death of Grandfather We waited commonly for sleep or even death. The instances were wearisome as ages. But suddenly the wind’s refreshing breath Touched through the window the Holy Bible’s pages: An old man goes there – who’s now all white-haired – With rapid steps and merry eyes, alone, He smiles to us, and often calls with hand, […]...
9. Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks I am the blossom pressed in a book, Found again after two hundred years. . . . I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . . When the young girl who starves Sits down to a table She will sit beside me. . . . I am food on the prisoner’s plate. […]...
10. A Ninth Birthday Three times thrice hath winter’s rough white wing Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice Since his birth whose praises love would sing Three times thrice. Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price Fit to crown the forehead of my king, Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice. Love can think […]...
11. Down from the Mountain As down Mount Emerald at eve I came, The mountain moon went all the way with me. Backward I looked, to see the heights aflame With a pale light that glimmered eerily. A little lad undid the rustic latch As hand in hand your cottage we did gain, Where green limp tendrils at our cloaks […]...
12. Laughing Song When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy And the dimpling stream runs laughing by, When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it. When the meadows laugh with lively green And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene. When Mary and Susan […]...
13. THE BELFRY OF BRUGES In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o’er the Town. As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of Widowhood. Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams […]...
14. Twelve Years The line That remained, that Became true: . . . your House in Paris become The alterpiece of your hands. Breathed through thrice, Shone through thrice. ………………. It’s turning dumb, turning deaf Behind our eyes. I see the poison flower In all manner of words and shapes. Go. Come. Love blots out its name: to […]...
15. Rite of Spring So winter closed its fist And got it stuck in the pump. The plunger froze up a lump In its throat, ice founding itself Upon iron. The handle Paralysed at an angle. Then the twisting of wheat straw Into ropes, lapping them tight Round stem and snout, then a light That sent the pump up […]...
16. The Old Gumbie Cat I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots. All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat; She sits and sits and sits and sits and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat! But […]...
17. A Song Of The Future Sail fast, sail fast, Ark of my hopes, Ark of my dreams; Sweep lordly o’er the drowned Past, Fly glittering through the sun’s strange beams; Sail fast, sail fast. Breaths of new buds from off some drying lea With news about the Future scent the sea: My brain is beating like the heart of Haste: […]...
18. Sonnet 54 Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love like the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy: Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits, I waile and make my […]...
19. Sail On, Sail On Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark Where’er blows the welcome wind, It cannot lead to scenes more dark, More sad than those we leave behind. Each wave that passes seems to say, “Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less false than they, Whose smiling wreck’d thy hopes and thee.” […]...
20. Under The Balcony O beautiful star with the crimson mouth! O moon with the brows of gold! Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south! And light for my love her way, Lest her little feet should stray On the windy hill and the wold! O beautiful star with the crimson mouth! O moon with the brows of […]...
21. Irish Love Song Well, if the thing is over, better it is for me, The lad was ever a rover, loving and laughing free, Far too clever a lover not to be having still A lass in the town and a lass by the road and a lass by the farther hill Love on the field and love […]...
22. Lover's Gifts XXII: I Shall Gladly Suffer I shall gladly suffer the pride of culture to die out in my house, If only in some happy future I am born a herd-boy in the Brinda Forest. The herd-boy who grazes his cattle sitting under the banyan Tree, and idly weaves gunja flowers into garlands, who loves to Splash and plunge in the […]...
23. Over The Alley Here in my office I sit and write Hour on hour, and day on day, With no one to speak to from morn till night, Though I have a neighbour just over the way. Across the alley that yawns between A maiden sits sewing the whole day long; A face more lovely is seldom seen […]...
24. The Empty Quatrain A flawless cup: how delicate and fine The flowing curve of every jewelled line! Look, turn it up or down, ‘t is perfect still, But holds no drop of life’s heart-warming wine....
25. Lines Written by the Side of a River FLOW soft RIVER, gently stray, Still a silent waving tide O’er thy glitt’ring carpet glide, While I chaunt my ROUNDELAY, As I gather from thy bank, Shelter’d by the poplar dank, King-cups, deck’d in golden pride, Harebells sweet, and daisies pied; While beneath the evening sky, Soft the western breezes fly. Gentle RIVER, should’st thou […]...
26. Harrow-on-the-Hill When melancholy Autumn comes to Wembley And electric trains are lighted after tea The poplars near the stadium are trembly With their tap and tap and whispering to me, Like the sound of little breakers Spreading out along the surf-line When the estuary’s filling With the sea. Then Harrow-on-the-Hill’s a rocky island And Harrow churchyard […]...
27. After the rain Resurgent greens and stronger hues Combined within the colours in-between Will spring again, the reddish brown Has nearly gone and all the silver Greys erased in darker shades That shine with slickly natured stains After the gentle, gentle rain. Clouded skies unite and demonize The dry and dusty plight of days of brutal Beating sun […]...
28. The Vine THE wine of Love is music, And the feast of Love is song: And when Love sits down to the banquet, Love sits long: Sits long and arises drunken, But not with the feast and the wine; He reeleth with his own heart, That great, rich Vine....
29. Farewell FAREWELL, and when forth I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, Isle upon island, sea upon sea, Why should I sail, why should the breeze? I have been young, and I have counted friends. A hopeless sail […]...
30. Cherry-Time Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry, Take a cherry; Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter For the eater Under the moon. And you’ll be fairies soon. In the cherry pluckt at night, With […]...
31. Companions Leave not your bough, my slender song-bird sweet, But pipe me now your roundelay complete. Come, gentle breeze, and tarrying on your way, Whisper my trees what you have seen to-day. Stand, golden cloud, until my song be done, (For he’s too proud) before the face of the sun. So one did sing, and the […]...
32. My Friends My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave What they love Grief moves among them as a fire among Its bells My friends without clocks turn On the dial they turn They part My friends with names like gloves set out Bare handed […]...
33. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
34. The Manor Farm THE rock-like mud unfroze a little, and rills Ran and sparkled down each side of the road Under the catkins wagging in the hedge. But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun; Nor did I value that thin gliding beam More than a pretty February thing Till I came down to the […]...
35. The Soul's distinct connection The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity As Lightning on a Landscape Exhibits Sheets of Place Not yet suspected but for Flash And Click and Suddenness....
36. Poetry it Takes A lot of Desperation Dissatisfaction And Disillusion To Write A Few Good Poems. It’s not For Everybody Either to Write It Or even to Read It....
37. Sail on sail on, When the sun is gone When the wind rises Off a river slow When you hear no more Just silence Waves upon wood Slow motion A picture in my hand Carved into The sand in my eyes. Cry the tears of rain, A young boy Dreams again Sail on… – jude...
38. Love & Fame & Death it sits outside my window now Like and old woman going to market; It sits and watches me, It sweats nevously Through wire and fog and dog-bark Until suddenly I slam the screen with a newspaper Like slapping at a fly And you could hear the scream Over this plain city, And then it left. […]...
39. The Echoing Green The Sun does arise, And make happy the skies. The merry bells ring, To welcome the Spring. The sky-lark and thrush, The birds of the bush, Sing louder around, To the bells cheerful sound. While our sports shall be seen On the Echoing Green. Old John, with white hair Does laugh away care, Sitting under […]...
40. Some Like Poetry Write it. Write. In ordinary ink On ordinary paper: they were given no food, They all died of hunger. “All. How many? It’s a big meadow. How much grass For each one?” Write: I don’t know. History counts its skeletons in round numbers. A thousand and one remains a thousand, As though the one had […]...