Phedre

Related poetry:

1. To Milton Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers; This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey, And the age changed unto a mimic play Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours: For all our pomp and pageantry and powers We are but fit […]...
2. Sonnet 11: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st In one of thine, from that which thou departest, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st, Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; Without this folly, age, and cold decay, If all were minded so, the […]...
3. The Blind Girl Kind Christians, pray list to me, And I’ll relate a sad story, Concerning a little blind girl, only nine years of age, Who lived with her father in a lonely cottage. Poor girl, she had never seen the blessed light of day, Nor the beautiful fields of corn and hay, Nor the sparrows, that lifted […]...
4. Sonnet XI As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase: Without this, folly, age and cold decay: If all were minded so, the […]...
5. NEITHER THIS NOR THAT IF thou to be a slave shouldst will, Thou’lt get no pity, but fare ill; And if a master thou wouldst be, The world will view it angrily; And if in statu quo thou stay, That thou art but a fool, they’ll say. 1815.*...
6. Beauteous Individuality Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. ‘Tis through the reason thou’rt one, art so with it through the heart. Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou....
7. Sympathy My Muse is simple, yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: ‘Quite!’ I envy not the poet’s lot; He has something I haven’t got, Alas, I know. But I have something […]...
8. Psalm 8 part 2 v. 3ff, paraphrased. L. M. Adam and Christ, lords of the old and new creation. Lord, what was man, when made at first, Adam the offspring of the dust, That thou shouldst set him and his race But just below an angel’s place? That thou shouldst raise his nature so, And make him lord of […]...
9. To Wordsworth Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return: Childhood and youth, friendship and love’s first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine Which thou too feel’st, yet I alone deplore. Thou wert as a lone star, […]...
10. To Himself Now will you rest forever, My tired heart. Dead is the last Deception, That I thought eternal. Dead. Well I Feel In us the sweet illusions, Nothing but ash, desire burned out. Rest forever. You have Trembled enough. Nothing is worth Thy beats, nor does the earth Deserve Thy sighs. Bitter and dull Is life, […]...
11. The Dove If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere, “Remain, Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me not in scorn!” With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain; Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower in coverts dark, ‘Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea, And move the mighty woods through mailed bark Till […]...
12. Impromptu, to Lady Winchelsea In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore, And cite those Sapho’s we admire no more: Fate doom’d the Fall of ev’ry Female Wit, But doom’d it then when first Ardelia writ. Of all Examples by the World confest, I knew Ardelia could not quote the best; Who, like her Mistress on Britannia’s Throne; Fights, […]...
13. BLINDMAN'S BUFF OH, my Theresa dear! Thine eyes, I greatly fear, Can through the bandage see! Although thine eyes are bound, By thee I’m quickly found, And wherefore shouldst thou catch but me? Ere long thou held’st me fast, With arms around me cast, Upon thy breast I fell; Scarce was thy bandage gone, When all my […]...
14. I prithee send me back my heart I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine? Yet now I think on’t, let it lie, To find it were in vain; For thou hast a thief in either eye Would steal it back again. Why should […]...
15. Jealousy VAIN Love, why do’st thou boast of Wings, That cannot help thee to retire! When such quick Flames Suspicion brings, As do the Heart about thee fire. Still Swift to come, but when to go Thou shou’d’st be more-Alas! how Slow. Lord of the World must surely be But thy bare Title at the most; […]...
16. No Coward Soul Is Mine No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven’s glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life-that in me has rest, As I-undying Life-have power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain; […]...
17. Last Lines NO coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven’s glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life that in me has rest, As I undying Life have power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s […]...
18. To A Friend Who prop, thou ask’st in these bad days, my mind? He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men, Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen, And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind. Much he, whose friendship I not long since won, That halting slave, who in Nicopolis Taught Arrian, when Vespasian’s brutal […]...
19. Sonnet XLIX: Thou Leaden Brain Thou leaden brain, which censur’st what I write, And say’st my lines be dull and do not move, I marvel not thou feel’st not my delight, Which never felt’st my fiery touch of love. But thou, whose pen hath like a pack-horse serv’d, Whose stomach unto gall hath turn’d thy food, Whose senses, like poor […]...
20. The Appology ‘Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule I am alone forbid to play the fool To follow through the Groves a wand’ring Muse And fain’d Idea’s for my pleasures chuse Why shou’d it in my Pen be held a fault Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought Whilst Lamia to […]...
21. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
22. Sonnet XXXI: Methinks I See To the Critic Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer, And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace, Turning my papers asks, “What have we here?” Making withal some filthy antic face. I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say, Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigor lose; Think’st thou my wit shall […]...
23. Elizabeth Elizabeth, it surely is most fit [Logic and common usage so commanding] In thy own book that first thy name be writ, Zeno and other sages notwithstanding; And I have other reasons for so doing Besides my innate love of contradiction; Each poet – if a poet – in pursuing The muses thro’ their bowers […]...
24. In a Lecture Room Away, haunt thou me not, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead, Save to perplex the head, And leave the spirit dead. Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go, While from the secret treasure-depths below, Fed by the skyey shower, And clouds that sink and rest on hilltops high, Wisdom at once, and Power, Are welling, […]...
25. The Sun Rising Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys and sour ‘prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the King will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows, nor […]...
26. Apologia Is it thy will that I should wax and wane, Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey, And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day? Is it thy will – Love that I love so well – That my Soul’s House should be a tortured […]...
27. Thou Blind Man's Mark Thou blind man’s mark, thou fool’s self chosen snare, Fond fancy’s scum, and dregs of scatter’d thought, Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care, Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought. Desire, desire I have too dearly bought, With price of mangled mind thy worthless ware, Too long, too long asleep thou […]...
28. The True Knowledge Thou knowest all; I seek in vain What lands to till or sow with seed – The land is black with briar and weed, Nor cares for falling tears or rain. Thou knowest all; I sit and wait With blinded eyes and hands that fail, Till the last lifting of the veil And the first […]...
29. Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist And falling out of heaven like soft dew. I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it And the scent […]...
30. To the President of Magdalen College, Oxford Since now from woodland mist and flooded clay I am fled beside the steep Devonian shore, Nor stand for welcome at your gothic door, ‘Neath the fair tower of Magdalen and May, Such tribute, Warren, as fond poets pay For generous esteem, I write, not more Enhearten’d than my need is, reckoning o’er My life-long […]...
31. I. THE PARIAH'S PRAYER DREADED Brama, lord of might! All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right! Dost thou none but Brahmins own? Do but Rajahs come from thee? None but those of high estate? Didst not thou the ape create, Aye, and even such as we? We are not of noble kind, For with woe […]...
32. The End of the World Here, at the end of the world, The flowers bleed As if they were hearts, The hearts ooze a darkness Like india ink, & poets dip their pens in & they write. “Here, at the end of the world,” They write, Not knowing what it means. “Here, where the sky nurses on black milk, Where […]...
33. Desolation I think that the bitterest sorrow or pain Of love unrequited, or cold death’s woe, Is sweet, compared to that hour when we know That some grand passion is on the wane. When we see that the glory, and glow, and grace Which lent a splendour to night and day, Are surely fading, and showing […]...
34. The Apparition When by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead, And that thou think’st thee free From all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, feigned vestal, in worse arms shall see; Then thy sick taper will begin to wink, And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, Will, […]...
35. Amoretti LXXV: One Day I Wrote Her Name One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. “Vain man,” said she, “that dost in vain assay, A mortal thing so to immortalize; For I myself shall like […]...
36. Fletcher McGee She took my strength by the minutes, She took my life by hours, She drained me like a fevered moon That saps the spinning world. The days went by like shadows, The minutes wheeled like stars. She took the pity from my heart, And made it into smiles. She was a hunk of sculptor’s clay, […]...
37. 364. Song-I do confess thou art sae fair I DO confess thou art sae fair, I was been o’er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art so thriftless o’ thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it […]...
38. When First I Met Thee When first I met thee, warm and young, There shone such truth about thee, And on thy lip such promise hung, I did not dare to doubt thee. I saw thee change, yet still relied, Still clung with hope the fonder, And thought, though false to all beside, From me thou couldst not wander. But […]...
39. Poems to Mulgrave and Scroope Deare Friend. I heare this Towne does soe abound, With sawcy Censurers, that faults are found, With what of late wee (in Poetique Rage) Bestowing, threw away on the dull Age; But (howsoe’re Envy, their Spleen may raise, To Robb my Brow, of the deserved Bays) Their thanks at least I merit since through me, […]...
40. My Book Before I drink myself to death, God, let me finish up my Book! At night, I fear, I fight for breath, And wake up whiter than a spook; And crawl off to a bistro near, And drink until my brain is clear. Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength To write and write; and so […]...