To My Name-Child

Related poetry:

1. Envoy For "A Child's Garden Of Verses&quot WHETHER upon the garden seat You lounge with your uplifted feet Under the May’s whole Heaven of blue; Or whether on the sofa you, No grown up person being by, Do some soft corner occupy; Take you this volume in your hands And enter into other lands, For lo! (as children feign) suppose You, hunting […]...
2. Evening Song of the Thoughtful Child Shadow children, thin and small, Now the day is left behind, You are dancing on the wall, On the curtains, on the blind. On the ceiling, children, too, Peeping round the nursery door, Let me come and play with you, As we always played before. Let’s pretend that we have wings And can really truly […]...
3. 16-bit Intel 8088 chip with an Apple Macintosh You can’t run Radio Shack programs In its disc drive. Nor can a Commodore 64 Drive read a file You have created on an IBM Personal Computer. Both Kaypro and Osborne computers use The CP/M operating system But can’t read each other’s Handwriting For they format (write On) discs in different […]...
4. Child Lover Drunk or sober Uncle Jim Played the boy; Never glum or sour or grim, Oozin’ joy. Most folks thought he was no good, Blamin’ him; But where kiddies were, you could Bank on Jim. Sure he allus hated work, Lovin’ play. “Jest a good fer nuthin’ jerk,” Lots would say. Yet how the children fell […]...
5. To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. My pen amongst the rest I took, Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fire, and look The power they have to be obey’d. […]...
6. Introductory Verses Oh, you who read some song that I have sung – What know you of the soul from whence it sprung? Dost dream the poet ever speaks aloud His secret thought unto the listening crowd? Go take the murmuring sea-shell from the shore- You have its shape, its colour – and no more. It tells […]...
7. The Legend of St. Austin and the Child St. Austin, going in thought Along the sea-sands gray, Into another world was caught, And Carthage far away. He saw the City of God Hang in the saffron sky; And this was holy ground he trod, Where mortals come not nigh. He saw pale spires aglow, Houses of heavenly sheen; All in a world of […]...
8. The Sea-Child HE crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink Where every eye but his own would shrink; No music he hears but the billow’s noise, And shells and weeds are his only toys. No lullaby can the mother find To sing him to rest like the moaning wind; And the louder it wails and […]...
9. The Only Child Lest he miss other children, lo! His angel is his playfellow. A riotous angel two years old, With wings of rose and curls of gold. There on the nursery floor together They play when it is rainy weather, Building brick castles with much pain, Only to knock them down again. Two golden heads together look […]...
10. To Willie and Henrietta If two may read aright These rhymes of old delight And house and garden play, You too, my cousins, and you only, may. You in a garden green With me were king and queen, Were hunter, soldier, tar, And all the thousand things that children are. Now in the elders’ seat We rest with quiet […]...
11. Shells (Morecombe Bay February 2004) Grey skies, cold and bitter wind A share of a damp mattress In an unheated room. You follow orders from the brother To the man who let your cousin die In a truck approaching Dover. Your parents wait back home With nothing but pain and a photo of you Smiling through […]...
12. The Child Bearers Jean, death comes close to us all, Flapping its awful wings at us And the gluey wings crawl up our nose. Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, Whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle, Mine pushed into gnawing a stilbestrol cancer I passed on like hemophilia, Or yours in the seventh grade, with […]...
13. Katie Drummond My Louis loved me oh so well And spiered me for his wife; He would have haled me from the hell That was my bawdy life: The mother of his bairns to be, Daftlike he saw in me. But I, a hizzie of the town Just telt him we must part; Loving too well to […]...
14. Seashore On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead And the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds The children meet with shouts and dances. They build their houses with sand And they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats And smilingly float […]...
15. On the Seashore On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances. They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float […]...
16. There was a Child Once There was a child once. He came to play in my garden; He was quite pale and silent. Only when he smiled I knew everything about him, I knew what he had in his pockets, And I knew the feel of his hands in my hands And the most intimate tones of his voice. I […]...
17. An Epitaph On A Child Of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death’s self is sorry. ‘Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature. Years he numbered scarce thirteen When fates turned cruel, Yet three […]...
18. A Child in the Garden When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, […]...
19. THE PLAUDITE, OR END OF LIFE If after rude and boisterous seas My wearied pinnace here finds ease; If so it be I’ve gain’d the shore, With safety of a faithful oar; If having run my barque on ground, Ye see the aged vessel crown’d; What’s to be done? but on the sands Ye dance and sing, and now clap hands. […]...
20. Song of Karen, the Dancing Child (O little white feet of mine) Out in the storm and the rain you fly; (Red, red shoes the colour of wine) Can the children hear my cry? (O little white feet of mine) Never a child in the whole great town; (Red, red shoes the colour of wine) Lights out and the blinds pulled […]...
21. Child The young child, Christ, is straight and wise And asks questions of the old men, questions Found under running water for all children And found under shadows thrown on still waters By tall trees looking downward, old and gnarled. Found to the eyes of children alone, untold, Singing a low song in the loneliness. And […]...
22. TO A CHILD Dear child! how radiant on thy mother’s knee, With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles, Thou gazest at the painted tiles, Whose figures grace, With many a grotesque form and face. The ancient chimney of thy nursery! The lady with the gay macaw, The dancing girl, the grave bashaw With bearded lip and chin; And, leaning […]...
23. Landscapes Behind faces and gestures We remain mute And spoken words heavy With what we ignore or keep silent Betray us I dare not speak for mankind I know so little of myself But the Landscape I see as a reflection Is also a lie stealing into My words I speak without remorse Of this image […]...
24. A Sick Child The postman comes when I am still in bed. “Postman, what do you have for me today?” I say to him. (But really I’m in bed.) Then he says – what shall I have him say? “This letter says that you are president Of – this word here; it’s a republic.” Tell them I can’t […]...
25. A Bay In Anglesey The sleepy sound of a tea-time tide Slaps at the rocks the sun has dried, Too lazy, almost, to sink and lift Round low peninsulas pink with thrift. The water, enlarging shells and sand, Grows greener emerald out from land And brown over shadowy shelves below The waving forests of seaweed show. Here at my […]...
26. Child of a Day Child of a day, thou knowest not The tears that overflow thy urn, The gushing eyes that read thy lot, Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return! And why the wish! the pure and blest Watch like thy mother o’er thy sleep. O peaceful night! O envied rest! Thou wilt not ever see her weep....
27. 447. Song-A red, red Rose O MY Luve’s like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June: O my Luve’s like the melodie, That’s sweetly play’d in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry. Till a’ the seas […]...
28. The Pannikin Poet There’s nothing here sublime, But just a roving rhyme, Run off to pass the time, With nought titanic in. The theme that it supports, And, though it treats of quarts, It’s bare of golden thoughts It’s just a pannikin. I think it’s rather hard That each Australian bard Each wan, poetic card With thoughts galvanic […]...
29. The Mole Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaze; When War was rampant in the land, And poor folk cowered in the night, While ruin gaped on every hand – Of ravishing and wrath I’ll write.” Ten years […]...
30. Jangling Memory Heavens above! here’s an old tie of your Sea-green dragons stamped on a golden ground. Ha! Ha! Ha! What children we were in those days. Do you love me enough to wear it now? Have you the courage of your pristine glories? Ha! Ha! Ha! You laugh and shrug your shoulders. Those were the days […]...
31. Lover's Gifts LVIII: Things Throng and Laugh Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance And whirl like children. Man’s mind is aroused by their shouts; his Thoughts long to be the playmates of things. Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, stretch their Arms to clutch the earth, – their efforts stiffen into bricks […]...
32. 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....
33. The Final Poem A forge burns in my heart. I am redder than dawn, Deeper than seaweed, More distant than gulls, More hollow than wells. But I only give birth To seeds and to shells. My tongue becomes tangled in words: I no longer speak white, Nor utter black, Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff, Barely do […]...
34. The Child Is Father To The Man ‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild. Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man.’ No; what the poet did write ran, ‘The man is father to the child.’ ‘The child is father to the man!’ How can he be? The […]...
35. The Child and the Mariner A dear old couple my grandparents were, And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven The lamb that Jesus petted when a child; Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them Death was a rainbow in Eternity, That promised everlasting brightness soon. An old seafaring man was he; a rough Old man, […]...
36. The Burned Child Love has had his way with me. This my heart is torn and maimed Since he took his play with me. Cruel well the bow-boy aimed, Shot, and saw the feathered shaft Dripping bright and bitter red. He that shrugged his wings and laughed- Better had he left me dead. Sweet, why do you plead […]...
37. Full of Life, Now FULL of life, now, compact, visible, I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States, To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence, To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you. When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible; Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking […]...
38. Child Margaret THE CHILD Margaret begins to write numbers on a Saturday morning, the first numbers formed under her wishing child fingers. All the numbers come well-born, shaped in figures assertive for a frieze in a child’s room. Both 1 and 7 are straightforward, military, filled with lunge and attack, erect in shoulder-straps. The 6 and 9 […]...
39. The Last of the Light Brigade 1891 There were thirty million English who talked of England’s might, There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night. They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade; They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade. They felt that life was fleeting; they kuew not […]...
40. The Lesson Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, We have had no end of a lesson: it will do us no end of good. Not on a single issue, or in one direction or twain, But conclusively, comprehensively, and several times and again, Were all our most holy illusions knocked higher than Gilde- […]...