tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34517925928853032022024-02-20T08:58:41.309+00:00As Long As It Rhymes . . . If you think poetry should rhyme, this blog is for you. Welcome! Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-4947135596278031652015-12-03T19:42:00.003+00:002015-12-03T19:42:43.218+00:00<div style="text-align: center;">
A new Poetry blog</div>
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THE SONGS AND SONNETS OF JOHN DONNE</div>
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begins on Sunday 6th December at</div>
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<i><a href="http://thesongsandsonnetsofjohndonne.blogspot.com/">http://thesongsandsonnetsofjohndonne.blogspot.com</a></i></div>
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-o=0=o-</div>
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-47535932920202579922015-07-16T15:00:00.000+01:002015-07-16T15:00:09.573+01:00<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
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A New Blog begins on Saturday 25th July 2015</div>
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POETRY - A PERSONAL CHOICE</div>
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<i><a href="http://poetry-apersonalchoice.blogspot.com/">http://poetry-apersonalchoice.blogspot.com</a></i></div>
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-o=0=o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-44249603746796013922013-11-18T08:30:00.000+00:002013-11-18T08:30:04.643+00:00No.30<div style="text-align: center;">
BE CAREFUL, IT'S MY HEART<br />
<i>Irving Berlin 1888-19</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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Be careful, it's my heart,</div>
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It's not my watch you're holding, it's my heart.</div>
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It's not the note that I sent you that you quickly burned,</div>
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It's not the book I lent you that you never returned.</div>
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Remember, it's my heart,</div>
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The heart with which so willingly I part.</div>
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It's yours to take, to keep or break</div>
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But please, before you start</div>
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Be careful, it's my heart.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">THE THRUSH'S NEST</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><i>John Clare 1793-1864</i></span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">That overhung a mole-hill large and round,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush </span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">Sing hymns to sunrise, while I drank the sound</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">With joy; and, often an intruding guest,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">I watched her secret toils from day to day - </span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">How true she warped the moss to form a nest,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">And modelled it from within with wood and clay;</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue;</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">And there I witnessed, in the sunny hours,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly,</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">Glad as that sunshine and the laughing sky.</span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">-o0o- </span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I HAVE A GARDEN OF MY OWN</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Thomas Moore 1779-1852</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I have a garden of my own,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Shining with flowers of every hue;</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I loved it dearly while alone,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">But I shall love it more with you:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And there the golden bees shall come,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">In summer time at break of morn,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And wake us with their busy hum</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Around the Siha's fragrant thorn.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I have a fawn from Aden's land,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">On leafy buds and berries nursed;</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And you shall feed him from your hand,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Though he may start with fear at first;</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And I will lead you where he lies</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">For shel</span></span><span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">ter in the noon-tide heat;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">And you may touch his sleeping eyes,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">And feel his little silvery feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">-o0o-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY</span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Oliver Goldsmith 1728-74</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">When lovely woman stoops to folly</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And finds too late that men betray,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">What charm can soothe her melancholy,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">What art can wash her guilt away?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">The only art her guilt can cover,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">To hide her shame from every eye,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">To give repentance to her lover</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And wring his bosom is - to die.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
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TODAY'S POST CONCLUDES THIS SERIES OF "AS LONG AS IT RHYMES"</div>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</span></span><br />
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-16646758281260918552013-11-11T08:30:00.000+00:002013-11-11T08:30:03.673+00:00No.29<div style="text-align: center;">
DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS<br /><i>William Butler Yeats 1865-1939</i><br /><br />Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;<br />She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.<br />She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;<br />But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.<br />
<br />In a field by the river my love and I did stand,<br />And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.<br />She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;<br />But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. <br /><br />-o0o-<br />
<br />
SOLITUDE<br /><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1850-1919</i><br /><br />Laugh and the world laughs with you;<br />Weep, and you weep alone.<br />For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,<br />But has trouble enough of its own.<br />Sing, and the hills will answer;<br />Sigh, it is lost on the air.<br />The echoes bound to a joyful sound,<br />But shrink from voicing care.<br /><br />Rejoice, and men will seek you;<br />Grieve, and they turn and go.<br />They want full measure of all your pleasure,<br />But they do not need your woe.<br />Be glad, and your friends are many;<br />Be sad, and you lose them all.<br />There are none to decline your nectared wine,<br />But alone you must drink life's gall.<br /><br />Feast, and your halls are crowded;<br />Fast, and the world goes by.<br />Succeed and give, and it helps you live,<br />But no man can help you die.<br />There is room in the halls of pleasure<br />For a long and lordly train,<br />But one by one we must all file on<br />Through the narrow aisles of pain. <br /><br />-o0o-<br /><br />SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER’S DAY?<br /><i>William Shakespeare 1564-1616</i><br />
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?<br />Thou art more lovely and more temperate.<br />Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,<br />And summer's lease hath all too short a date.<br />Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,<br />And often is his gold complexion dimmed;<br />And every fair from fair sometime declines,<br />By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;<br />But thy eternal summer shall not fade,<br />Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,<br />Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,<br />When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.<br /> So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,<br /> So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
A NONSENSE POEM<br /><i>Oliver Goldsmith 1728-1774</i><br />
<br />
A quiet home had Parson Gray,<br />Secluded in a vale;<br />His daughters all were feminine,<br />And all his sons were male.<br /><br />How faithfully did Parson Gray<br />The bread of life dispense -<br />Well "posted" in theology,<br />And post and rail his fence.<br /><br />'Gainst all the vices of the age<br />He manfully did battle;<br />His chickens were a biped breed,<br />And quadruped his cattle.<br /><br />No clock more punctually went,<br />He ne'er delayed a minute -<br />Nor ever empty was his purse,<br />When he had money in it.<br /><br />His piety was ne'er denied;<br />His truths hit saint and sinner;<br />At morn he always breakfasted;<br />He always dined at dinner.<br /><br />He ne'er by any luck was grieved,<br />By any care perplexed -<br />No filcher he, though when he preached,<br />He always "took" a text.<br /><br />As faithful characters he drew<br />As mortal ever saw;<br />But ah! poor parson! when he died,<br />His breath he could not draw! <br />
<br />
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-14584279405907173912013-11-04T08:23:00.001+00:002013-11-04T08:23:55.016+00:00No.28<div style="text-align: center;">
NO!<br />
<i>Thomas Hood 1799-1845</i> </div>
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<br /></div>
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No sun - no moon!<br />
No morn - no noon!<br />
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day -<br />
No sky - no earthly view -<br />
No distance looking blue -<br />
<br />
No road - no street -<br />
No "t'other side the way" -<br />
No end to any Row -<br />
No indications where the Crescents go -<br />
<br />
No top to any steeple -<br />
No recognitions of familiar people -<br />
No courtesies for showing 'em -<br />
No knowing 'em!<br />
<br />
No mail - no post -<br />
No news from any foreign coast -<br />
No park - no ring -<br />
No afternoon gentility -<br />
No company - no nobility -<br />
<br />
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,<br />
No comfortable feel in any member -<br />
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,<br />
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,<br />
November!<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
THE MOUNTAINS OF MOURNE<br />
<i>Percy French 1854-1920</i> </div>
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Oh Mary, this London's a wonderful sight<br />
With the people here working by day and by night,<br />
They don't sow potatoes nor barley nor wheat,<br />
But there's gangs of them digging for gold in the street;<br />
At least when I asked them that's what I was told,<br />
So I just took a hand at this digging for gold,<br />
But for all that I found there I might as well be<br />
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.<br />
<br />
I believe that when writing a wish you expressed,<br />
As to how the fine ladies of London were dressed;<br />
Well, if you believe me, when asked to a ball,<br />
They don't wear a top on their dresses at all;<br />
Oh, I've seen them myself, and you couldn't in truth<br />
Say if they were bound for a ball or a bath;<br />
Don't be starting them fashions now, Mary Macree,<br />
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.<br />
<br />
I've seen England's king from the top of a bus,<br />
I never knew him, though he means to know us;<br />
And though by the Saxon we once were oppressed,<br />
Still I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest;<br />
And now that he's visited Erin's green shore,<br />
We'll be much better friends than we've heretofore;<br />
When we've got all we want, we're as quiet as can be,<br />
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.<br />
<br />
You remember young Peter O'Loughlin of course,<br />
Well, now he is here at the head of the force;<br />
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand<br />
And he stopped the whole street with one wave of his hand;<br />
And there we stood talking of days that are gone,<br />
While the whole population of London looked on,<br />
But for all these great powers he's wishful like me<br />
To be back where dark Moume sweeps down to the sea.<br />
<br />
There's beautiful girls here - Oh, never you mind,<br />
With beautiful shapes Nature never designed,<br />
And lovely complexions, all roses and cream,<br />
But O'Loughlin remarked with regard to the same,<br />
That, if at those roses you venture to sip,<br />
The colours might all come away on your lip,<br />
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me<br />
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
A TERRIBLE INFANT<br />
<i>Frederick Locker-Lampson 1821-95</i><br />
<br />
I recollect a nurse called Ann,<br />
Who carried me about the grass,<br />
And one fine day a fine young man<br />
Came up and kissed the pretty lass.<br />
<br />
She did not make the least objection.<br />
Thinks I <i>“Aha!<br />When I can talk I’ll tell Mama”</i><br />
- And that’s my earliest recollection.<br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
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BLOG NEWS: A new series of "John's Quiet Corner" which ran from May 2009 until May 2011 begins on 8th November and will be updated every Friday. The address is <a href="http://john-quietcorner.blogspot.com/">http://john-quietcorner.blogspot.com</a></div>
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-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-64193685925612970572013-10-28T08:16:00.001+00:002013-10-28T08:16:18.973+00:00No.27 <div style="text-align: center;">
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER<br />
<i>Thomas Campbell 1777-1844</i><br />
<br />
A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,<br />
Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry!<br />
And I'll give thee a silver pound<br />
To row us o'er the ferry!''<br />
<br />
“Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,<br />
This dark and stormy weather?''<br />
“O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,<br />
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.<br />
<br />
“And fast before her father's men<br />
Three days we've fled together,<br />
For should he find us in the glen,<br />
My blood would stain the heather.<br />
<br />
“His horsemen hard behind us ride;<br />
Should they our steps discover,<br />
Then who will cheer my bonny bride<br />
When they have slain her lover?''<br />
<br />
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,<br />
“I'll go, my chief - I'm ready,<br />
It is not for your silver bright,<br />
But for your winsome lady.<br />
<br />
“And by my word! the bonny bird<br />
In danger shall not tarry;<br />
So, though the waves are raging white,<br />
I'll row you o'er the ferry.''<br />
<br />
By this the storm grew loud apace,<br />
The water-wraith was shrieking;<br />
And in the scowl of heaven each face<br />
Grew dark as they were speaking.<br />
<br />
But still as wilder blew the wind,<br />
And as the night grew drearer,<br />
Adown the glen rode armèd men,<br />
Their trampling sounded nearer.<br />
<br />
“O haste thee, haste!'' the lady cries,<br />
“Though tempests round us gather;<br />
I'll meet the raging of the skies,<br />
But not an angry father.''<br />
<br />
The boat has left a stormy land,<br />
A stormy sea before her,<br />
When, O! too strong for human hand,<br />
The tempest gather'd o'er her.<br />
<br />
And still they row'd amidst the roar<br />
Of waters fast prevailing:<br />
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,<br />
His wrath was changed to wailing.<br />
<br />
For, sore dismay'd through storm and shade,<br />
His child he did discover -<br />
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,<br />
And one was round her lover.<br />
<br />
“Come back! come back!'' he cried in grief<br />
Across this stormy water:<br />
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,<br />
My daughter! - O my daughter!''<br />
<br />
'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,<br />
Return or aid preventing:<br />
The waters wild went o'er his child,<br />
And he was left lamenting. <br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
A TIRED HOUSEWIFE<i><br />Anon</i><br />
<br />
Here lies a poor woman who was always tired,<br />
She lived in a house where help wasn't hired:<br />
Her last words on earth were: “Dear friends, I am going<br />
To where there's no cooking, or washing, or sewing,<br />
For everything there is exact to my wishes,<br />
For where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes.<br />
I'll be where loud anthems will always be ringing,<br />
But having no voice I'll be quit of the singing.<br />
Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never,<br />
I am going to do nothing for ever and ever.”<i><br /> </i><br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
YOU DO SOMETHING TO ME<br />
<i>Cole Porter 1891-1964</i><br />
<br />
You do something to me.<br />
Something that simply mystifies me.<br />
Tell me, why should it be<br />
You have the pow'r to hypnotize me.<br />
Let me live 'neath your spell.<br />
Do do that voodoo that you do so well.<br />
For you do something to me<br />
That nobody else can do.<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><br /> </i> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-<br />
<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-18273743484817847692013-10-21T08:32:00.000+01:002015-11-14T18:50:50.662+00:00No.26<div style="text-align: center;">
ODE TO AUTUMN<br />
<i>John Keats 1795-1821</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!<br />
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;<br />
Conspiring with him how to load and bless<br />
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;<br />
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,<br />
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;<br />
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells<br />
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,<br />
And still more, later flowers for the bees,<br />
Until they think warm days will never cease,<br />
For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.<br />
<br />
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?<br />
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find<br />
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,<br />
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;<br />
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,<br />
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook<br />
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;<br />
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep<br />
Steady thy laden head across a brook;<br />
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,<br />
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.<br />
<br />
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?<br />
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -<br />
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day<br />
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;<br />
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn<br />
Among the river sallows, borne aloft<br />
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;<br />
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;<br />
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft<br />
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;<br />
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
WILD NIGHTS! WILD NIGHTS!<br />
<i>Emily Dickenson 1830-86</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wild Nights! Wild Nights!<br />
Were I with thee,<br />
Wild Nights should be<br />
Our luxury!<br />
<br />
Futile the winds<br />
To a heart in port, -<br />
Done with the compass,<br />
Done with the chart!<br />
<br />
Rowing in Eden!<br />
Ah! the sea!<br />
Might I but moor<br />
To-night in Thee!<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
WITH RUE MY HEART IS LADEN<br />
<i>A.E. Housman 1859-1936</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With rue my heart is laden <br />
For golden friends I had, <br />
For many a rose-lipt maiden <br />
And many a lightfoot lad. <br />
<br />
By brooks too broad for leaping <br />
The lightfoot boys are laid; <br />
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping <br />
In fields where roses fade.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
WE’LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING<br />
<i>George, Lord Byron 1788-1824</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, we'll go no more a-roving <br />
So late into the night, <br />
Though the heart be still as loving, <br />
And the moon be still as bright. <br />
<br />
For the sword outwears its sheath, <br />
And the soul wears out the breast, <br />
And the heart must pause to breathe, <br />
And love itself have rest. <br />
<br />
Though the night was made for loving, <br />
And the day returns too soon, <br />
Yet we'll go no more a-roving <br />
By the light of the moon.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
NEW - now online - NEW
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
IN THE CHOCOLATE BOX STYLE</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The term, usually derogatory, describes idealistic, sentimental
paintings. Artists like Renoir were often derided for producing such
works. The genre was particularly loved by the Victorians and my selection will appeal to many today.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://inthechocolateboxstyle.blogspot.com/">http://inthechocolateboxstyle.blogspot.com</a></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-68102199985369408152013-10-14T08:28:00.000+01:002013-10-14T08:28:54.219+01:00No.25<div style="text-align: center;">
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL<br />
<i>Anon</i><br />
<br />
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,<br />
And a wealthy wife was she;<br />
She had three stout and stalwart sons,<br />
And sent them o’er the sea.<br />
<br />
They hadna' been a week from her,<br />
A week but barely ane,<br />
When word came to the carline wife,<br />
That her three sons were gane.<br />
<br />
They hadna' been a week from her,<br />
A week but barely three,<br />
When word came to the carline wife<br />
That her sons she‘d never see.<br />
<br />
"I wish the wind may never cease,<br />
Nor fashes in the flood,<br />
Till my three sons come hame to me,<br />
In earthly flesh and blood."<br />
<br />
It fell about the Martinmass,<br />
When nights are long and mirk,<br />
The carline wife's three sons came hame,<br />
But their hats were o’ the birk.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,<br />
Nor yet in any sheugh;<br />
But at the gates o' Paradise,<br />
That birk grew fair enough.<br />
<br />
"Blow up the fire my maidens,<br />
Bring water from the well;<br />
For a' my house shall feast this night,<br />
Since my three sons are well."<br />
<br />
And she has made to them a bed,<br />
She's made it large and wide,<br />
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,<br />
Sat down at the bed-side.<br />
<br />
Up then crew the red, red cock,<br />
And up then crew the grey;<br />
The eldest to the youngest said,<br />
“Tis time we were away.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The cock he hadna' crowed but once,<br />
And clapped his wings at a',<br />
When the youngest to the eldest said,<br />
“Brother, we must awa'.”<br />
<br />
"Fare ye well, our mother dear!<br />
Farewell to barn and byre!<br />
And fare ye well, the bonny lass<br />
That kindles our mother's fire!"<br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
THE SOLITARY REAPER<br />
<i>William Wordsworth 1770-1850</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Behold her, single in the field,<br />
Yon solitary Highland Lass!<br />
Reaping and singing by herself;<br />
Stop here, or gently pass!<br />
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,<br />
And sings a melancholy strain;<br />
O listen! for the Vale profound<br />
Is overflowing with the sound.<br />
<br />
No Nightingale did ever chaunt<br />
More welcome notes to weary bands<br />
Of travellers in some shady haunt,<br />
Among Arabian sands:<br />
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard<br />
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,<br />
Breaking the silence of the seas<br />
Among the farthest Hebrides.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Will no one tell me what she sings?<br />
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow<br />
For old, unhappy, far-off things,<br />
And battles long ago:<br />
Or is it some more humble lay,<br />
Familiar matter of to-day?<br />
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,<br />
That has been, and may be again?<br />
<br />
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang<br />
As if her song could have no ending;<br />
I saw her singing at her work,<br />
And o'er the sickle bending;<br />
I listened, motionless and still;<br />
And, as I mounted up the hill,<br />
The music in my heart I bore,<br />
Long after it was heard no more. <br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
THE ASH GROVE<br />
<i>Anon</i><br />
<br />
Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,<br />
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,<br />
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander<br />
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove.<br />
<br />
'Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing,<br />
I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart;<br />
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,<br />
Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.<br />
<br />
Still grows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain,<br />
Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree;<br />
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,<br />
But what are the beauties of nature to me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden,<br />
All day I go mourning in search of my love.<br />
Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden?<br />
She sleeps 'neath the green turf down by the Ash grove.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-90779401781816037022013-10-07T08:30:00.000+01:002013-10-07T08:30:04.267+01:00No.24<div style="text-align: center;">
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Christopher Marlowe 1564-93</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come live with me and be my love,<br />And we will all the pleasures prove,<br />That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,<br />Woods, or steepy mountain yields.<br /><br />And we will sit upon the Rocks,<br />Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,<br />By shallow Rivers to whose falls<br />Melodious birds sing Madrigals.<br /><br />And I will make thee beds of Roses<br />And a thousand fragrant posies,<br />A cap of flowers, and a kirtle<br />Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;<br /><br />A gown made of the finest wool<br />Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;<br />Fair lined slippers for the cold,<br />With buckles of the purest gold;<br /><br />A belt of straw and Ivy buds,<br />With Coral clasps and Amber studs:<br />And if these pleasures may thee move,<br />Come live with me, and be my love.<br /><br />The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing<br />For thy delight each May-morning:<br />If these delights thy mind may move,<br />Then live with me, and be my love.<br /><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o- </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SEA FEVER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>John Masefield 1878-1967</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,<br />And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;<br />And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,<br />And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,<br /><br />I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide<br />Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;<br />And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,<br />And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.<br /><br />I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,<br />To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;<br />And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,<br />And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.<br /><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DAFFODILS</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>William Wordsworth 1770-1850</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wandered lonely as a cloud<br />That floats on high o'er vales and hills,<br />When all at once I saw a crowd,<br />A host, of golden daffodils;<br />Beside the lake, beneath the trees,<br />Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.<br /><br />Continuous as the stars that shine<br />And twinkle on the milky way,<br />They stretched in never-ending line<br />Along the margin of a bay:<br />Ten thousand saw I at a glance,<br />Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.<br /><br />The waves beside them danced; but they<br />Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:<br />A poet could not but be gay,<br />In such a jocund company:<br />I gazed - and gazed - but little thought<br />What wealth the show to me had brought:<br /><br />For oft, when on my couch I lie<br />In vacant or in pensive mood,<br />They flash upon that inward eye<br />Which is the bliss of solitude;<br />And then my heart with pleasure fills,<br />And dances with the daffodils. <br /><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- </div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-65333185270366879782013-09-30T08:30:00.000+01:002013-09-30T08:30:05.088+01:00No.23<div style="text-align: center;">
ABOU BEN ADHEM<br /><i>Leigh Hunt 1784-1859</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)<br />Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,<br />And saw, within the moonlight in his room,<br />Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,<br />An angel writing in a book of gold:—<br />Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,<br />And to the Presence in the room he said<br />"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,<br />And with a look made of all sweet accord,<br />Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."<br />"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"<br />Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,<br />But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,<br />Write me as one that loves his fellow men."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night<br />It came again with a great wakening light,<br />And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,<br />And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BILLY AND ME<br /><i>James Hogg 1770-1835</i><br /><br />Where the pools are bright and deep,<br />Where the grey trout lies asleep,<br />Up the river and over the lea,<br />That's the way for Billy and me.<br /><br />Where the blackbird sings the latest,<br />Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,<br />Where the nestlings chirp and flee,<br />That's the way for Billy and me.<br /><br />Where the mowers mow the cleanest,<br />Where the hay lies thick and greenest,<br />There to track the homeward bee,<br />That's the way for Billy and me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Where the hazel bank is steepest,<br />Where the shadow falls the deepest,<br />Where the clustering nuts fall free,<br />That's the way for Billy and me.<br /><br />Why the boys should drive away<br />Little sweet maidens from the play,<br />Or love to banter and fight so well,<br />That's the thing I never could tell.<br /><br />But this I know, I love to play<br />Through the meadow, among the hay;<br />Up the water and over the lea,<br />That's the way for Billy and me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
THE ISLE OF CAPRI<br /><i>Jimmy Kennedy 1902-1984</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
‘Twas on the Isle of Capri that I found her<br />Beneath the shade of an old walnut tree,<br />Oh, I can still see the flowers blooming round her<br />Where we met on the Isle of Capri.<br /><br />She was as sweet as a rose at the dawning<br />But somehow fate hadn’t meant her for me,<br />And though I sailed with the tide in the morning<br />Still my heart’s on the Isle of Capri.<br /><br />Summertime was nearly over,<br />Blue Italian sky above,<br />I said “Lady, I’m a rover,<br />Can you spare a sweet word of love?”<br /><br />She whispered softly “It’s best not to linger,”<br />Then as I kissed her hand I could see<br />She wore a plain golden ring on her finger,<br />‘Twas goodbye on the Isle of Capri.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
ACCIDENT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Harry Graham 1874-1936</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"There's been an accident!" they said,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Your servant's cut in half; he's dead."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Indeed!" said Mr Jones, "and please<br />Give me the half that's got my keys.'"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-71634701872642608002013-09-23T08:30:00.000+01:002013-09-23T08:30:01.119+01:00No.22<div style="text-align: center;">
UNWELCOME<br /><i>Mary Coleridge 1861-1907</i><br /><br />We were young, we were merry, we were very, very wise,<br />And the door stood open at our feast,<br />When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,<br />And a man with his back to the East.<br /><br />O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,<br />The loudest voice was still,<br />The jest died away on our lips as they passed,<br />And the rays of July struck chill.<br /><br />The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,<br />The white bread black as soot,<br />The hound forgot the hand of her lord,<br />She fell down at his foot. <br /><br />Low let me lie where the dead dog lies,<br />Ere I sit me down again at a feast,<br />When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,<br />And a man with his back to the East.<br /><br />-o0o-<br /><br />DOON IN THE WEE ROOM<br /><i>Anon</i><br /><br />Doon in the wee room underneath the stair<br />Everybody's happy and everybody's there,<br />We're a' makin' merry, each in his chair<br />Doon in the wee room underneath the stair.<br /><br />When you're tired and weary and you're feeling blue,<br />Don't give way tae sorrow, we'll tell you what to do,<br />Just tak' a trip tae Springburn and find the Quin's Bar there<br />And go doon tae the wee room underneath the stair.<br /><br />The king went oot a-hunting, his fortune for tae seek.<br />He missed his train at Partick and went missing for a week.<br />And after days of searching, of sorrow and despair,<br />They found him in the wee room underneath the stair.<br /><br />If your team has won the day and you want tae cheer,<br />Take a trip tae Springburn and order up a beer,<br />Hae yersel' a bevvy, gie yersel' a tear,<br />Doon in the wee room underneath the stair.<br /><br />When I'm auld and feeble and my bones are gettin' set,<br />Ah'll no get cross and grumpy like other people get,<br />Ah'm savin' up ma bawbees tae buy a hurly chair<br />Tae tak' me tae the wee room underneath the stair.<br /><br />-o0o-<br /><br />ONE PERFECT ROSE<br /><i>Dorothy Parker 1893-1967</i><br /><br />A single flower he sent me, since we met.<br />All tenderly his messenger he chose;<br />Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet –<br />One perfect rose.<br /><br />I knew the language of the floweret;<br />“My fragile leaves,” it said, “his heart enclose.”<br />Love long has taken for his amulet<br />One perfect rose.<br /><br />Why is it no one’s ever sent me yet<br />One perfect limousine, do you suppose?<br />Ah, no – it’s always just my luck to get<br />One perfect rose.<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />DOWN IN THE FOREST </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- <i>Harold Simpson</i> (dates not known)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Down in the forest something stirred<br />So faint that I scarcely heard,<br />But the forest leapt at the sound,<br />Like a good ship homeward bound.<br />Down in the forest something stirred,<br />It was only the song of a bird.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-49990393099980277642013-09-16T08:19:00.000+01:002013-09-16T08:19:25.471+01:00No.21<div style="text-align: center;">
IN EXTREMIS<br />
<i> John Updike 1932-2009<br /> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I saw my toes the other day.<br />
I hadn't looked at them for months.<br />
Indeed, they might have passed away.<br />
And yet they were my best friends once.<br />
When I was small, I knew them well.<br />
I counted on them up to ten<br />
And put them in my mouth to tell<br />
The larger from the lesser. Then<br />
I loved them better than my ears,<br />
My elbows, adenoids, and heart.<br />
But with the swelling of the years<br />
We drifted, toes and I, apart.<br />
Now, gnarled and pale, each said, “j'accuse!”<br />
I hid them quickly in my shoes.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
YOUNG AND OLD<i> </i><br />
<i>Charles Kingsley 1819-75</i><br />
<br />
When all the world is young, lad,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And all the trees are green,<br />
And every goose a swan, lad,<br />
And every lass a queen,<br />
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,<br />
And round the world away;<br />
Young blood must have its course, lad,<br />
And every dog his day.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
When all the world is old, lad,<br />
And all the trees are brown;<br />
And all the sport is stale, lad,<br />
And all the wheels run down,<br />
Creep home, and take your place there,<br />
The spent and maimed among:<br />
God grant you find one face there<br />
You loved when all was young.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
TWO HUNTERS<br />
<i>Anon </i><br />
<br />
There were but two beneath the sky -<br />
The thing I came to kill, and I.<br />
I, under covert, quietly<br />
Watched him sense eternity<br />
From quivering brush to pointed nose<br />
My gun to shoulder level rose.<br />
And then I felt (I could not see)<br />
Far off a hunter watching me.<br />
I slowly put my rifle by,<br />
For there were two who had to die -<br />
The thing I wished to kill, and I. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
LILI MARLENE<br />
English words by <i>Tommie Connor</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i></i><br />
Underneath the lantern by the barrack gate<br />
Darling I remember the way you used to wait,<br />
Twas there that you whispered tenderly<br />
That you loved me,<br />
You'd always be<br />
My Lili of the lamplight,<br />
My own Lili Marlene.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Time would come for roll call,<br />
Time for us to part,<br />
Darling I'd caress you and press you to my heart,<br />
And there 'neath that far off lantern light<br />
I'd hold you tight,<br />
We'd kiss good-night,<br />
My Lili of the lamplight,<br />
My own Lili Marlene</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
.<br />
Orders came for sailing somewhere over there,<br />
All confined to barracks was more than I could bear,<br />
I knew you were waiting in the street,<br />
I heard your feet,<br />
But could not meet<br />
My Lili of the lamplight,<br />
My own Lili Marlene.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Resting in a billet just behind the line,<br />
Even tho' we're parted your lips are close to mine,<br />
You wait where that lantern softly gleams,<br />
Your sweet face seems to haunt my dreams,<br />
My Lili of the lamplight, <br />
My own Lili Marlene.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-47437493205519434142013-09-09T08:11:00.000+01:002013-09-09T08:11:16.417+01:00No.20<div style="text-align: center;">
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Thomas Moore 1779-1852</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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'Tis the last rose of summer,<br />
Left blooming alone;<br />
All her lovely companions<br />
Are faded and gone;<br />
No flower of her kindred,<br />
No rosebud is nigh,<br />
To reflect back her blushes,<br />
Or give sigh for sigh.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!<br />
To pine on the stem;<br />
Since the lovely are sleeping,<br />
Go, sleep thou with them.<br />
Thus kindly I scatter,<br />
Thy leaves o'er the bed,<br />
Where thy mates of the garden<br />
Lie scentless and dead.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So soon may I follow,<br />
When friendships decay,<br />
And from Love's shining circle<br />
The gems drop away.<br />
When true hearts lie withered,<br />
And fond ones are flown,<br />
Oh! who would inhabit<br />
This bleak world alone?</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI</div>
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<i>John Keats</i> <i>1795-1821</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, <br />
Alone and palely loitering? <br />
The sedge has withered from the lake, <br />
And no birds sing. <br />
<br />
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! <br />
So haggard and so woe-begone? <br />
The squirrel’s granary is full, <br />
And the harvest’s done. <br />
<br />
I see a lily on thy brow <br />
With anguish moist and fever dew, <br />
And on thy cheeks a fading rose <br />
Fast withereth too. <br />
<br />
I met a lady in the meads, <br />
Full beautiful - a faery’s child, <br />
Her hair was long, her foot was light, <br />
And her eyes were wild. <br />
<br />
I made a garland for her head, <br />
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; <br />
She looked at me as she did love, <br />
And made sweet moan. <br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>I set her on my pacing steed, <br />
And nothing else saw all day long, <br />
For sidelong would she bend, and sing <br />
A faery’s song. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She found me roots of relish sweet, <br />
And honey wild, and manna dew, <br />
And sure in language strange she said - <br />
“I love thee true.” <br />
<br />
She took me to her elfin grot, <br />
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore, <br />
And there I shut her wild wild eyes <br />
With kisses four. <br />
<br />
And there she lulled me asleep, <br />
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! <br />
The latest dream I ever dreamed <br />
On the cold hill’s side. <br />
<br />
I saw pale kings and princes too, <br />
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; <br />
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci <br />
Hath thee in thrall!"<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span> </div>
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I saw their starved lips in the gloam, <br />
With horrid warning gaped wide, <br />
And I awoke and found me here, <br />
On the cold hill’s side. <br />
<br />
And this is why I sojourn here, <br />
Alone and palely loitering, <br />
Though the sedge is withered from the lake, <br />
And no birds sing.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
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-o0o-<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
THINGS<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Joan Dixon</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So many things<br />
Everywhere things,<br />
My things, your things,<br />
On-the-shelves and in-drawers things,<br />
Old things, new things,<br />
Useful and trivial things,<br />
Pretty and ugly things,<br />
Treasured and forgotten things,<br />
Not-need-now things,<br />
One day come-in-handy things,<br />
Will keep-for-grandchildren things,<br />
Hate-to-throw-away things,<br />
Oh! Too many things!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Time to shed the blooming things!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
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-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
GOLDEN SLUMBERS</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Thomas Dekker 1572-1632</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork">Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, <br />Smiles awake you when you rise ; <br />Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, <br />And I will sing a lullaby, <br />Rock them, rock them, lullaby. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork"><br />Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, <br />You are care, and care must keep you ; <br />Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, </span><i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork"><br /></span></i><span itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/CreativeWork">And I will sing a lullaby, <br />Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- </div>
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</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-35443235851352936592013-09-02T08:17:00.000+01:002013-09-02T08:17:46.728+01:00No.19<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
TIME OF ROSES<br />
<i>Thomas Hood 1798-1845</i><br />
<br />
It was not in the Winter<br />
Our loving lot was cast;<br />
It was the time of roses - </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!<br />
<br />
That churlish season never frown'd<br />
On early lovers yet:<br />
O no - the world was newly crown'd<br />
With flowers when first we met!<br />
<br />
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,<br />
But still you held me fast;<br />
It was the time of roses - </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!</div>
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<br />
-o0o-</div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
ALL IN THE DOWNS<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Tom Hood (The Younger) 1835-1874</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I would I had something to do - or to think!<br />
Or something to read, or to write!<br />
I am rapidly verging on Lunacy’s brink,<br />
Or I shall be dead before night.<br />
<br />
In my ears has been ringing and droning all day,<br />
Without ever a stop or a change,<br />
That poem of Tennyson’s - heart-cheering lay! -<br />
Of the Moated Monotonous Grange!<br />
<br />
The stripes in the carpet and paper alike<br />
I have counted, and counted all through.<br />
And now I’ve a fervid ambition to strike<br />
Out some path of wild pleasure that’s new.<br />
<br />
They say if a number you count, and re-count,<br />
That the time imperceptibly goes: -<br />
Ah, I wish - how I wish! - I’d ne’er learnt the amount<br />
Of my aggregate fingers and toes.<br />
<br />
“Enjoyment is fleeting,” the proverbs all say,<br />
“Even that, which it feeds upon, fails.”<br />
I’ve arrived at the truth of the saying today,<br />
By devouring the whole of my nails.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have numbered the minutes, so heavy and slow,<br />
Till of that dissipation I tire.<br />
And as for exciting amusements - you know<br />
One can’t ALWAYS be stirring the fire!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SWEET GARDEN-ORCHARD</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>William Wordsworth 1770-1850</i><br />
<br />
Sweet Garden-orchard! of all spots that are<br />
The loveliest surely man hath ever found.<br />
Farewell! we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care.<br />
Thee and the cottage which thou dost surround -<br />
<br />
Dear Spot! whom we have watched with tender heed,<br />
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown<br />
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed<br />
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own -<br />
<br />
O happy Garden! loved for hours of sleep,<br />
O quiet Garden! loved for waking hours.<br />
For soft half-slumbers that did gently steep<br />
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A FINE ROMANCE<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Dorothy Fields/Jerome Kern</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A fine romance with no kisses,<br />
A fine romance, my friend, this is,<br />
We should be like a couple of hot tomatoes,<br />
But you're as cold as yesterday's mashed po-tah-toes.<br />
<br />
A fine romance, you won't nestle,<br />
A fine romance, you won't even wrestle,<br />
You've never mussed the crease in my blue serge pants,<br />
You never take a chance, this is a fine romance.<br />
<br />
A fine romance, my good fellow,<br />
You take romance, I'll take jello,<br />
You're calmer than the seals in the Arctic Ocean,<br />
At least they flap their fins to express emotion.<br />
<br />
A fine romance, my dear Duchess,<br />
Two old fogies, we really need crutches,<br />
You're just as hard to land as the Ile de France!<br />
I haven't got a chance, this is a fine romance.<br />
<br />
A fine romance, my good woman,<br />
My strong, aged-in-the-wood woman,<br />
You never give those orchids I send a glance,<br />
They're just like cactus plants,<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>This is a fine romance. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MORE POETRY NEXT MONDAY</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
BLOG NEWS - "The Eternal Venus" will have shown 180 paintings by Friday and will come to an end then. "My Own Selection of Pre-Raphaelite Paintings" which ran from June 2010 to June 2011 returns on Saturday 7th with a new title "My Own Selection of British Art of the 19th Century" but using the same address - <a href="http://myownselection.blogspot.com/">http://myownselection.blogspot.com</a></div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<br /></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-23306399255261235732013-08-26T08:30:00.000+01:002013-08-26T08:30:00.669+01:00No.18<div style="text-align: center;">
THE FOUR MARYS</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Anon</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Last night there were four Marys,<br />
Tonight there'll be but three,<br />
There was Mary Seaton and Mary Beaton<br />
And Mary Carmichael and me. <br />
<br />
Oh, often have I dressed my Queen<br />
And put on her braw silk gown,<br />
But all the thanks I've got tonight<br />
Is to be hanged in Edinburgh Town.<br />
<br />
Full often have I dressed my Queen<br />
Put gold upon her hair,<br />
But I have got for my reward<br />
The gallows to be my share. <br />
<br />
Oh, little did my mother know<br />
The day she cradled me<br />
The land I was to travel in,<br />
The death I was to dee. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, happy, happy is the maid<br />
That's born of beauty free,<br />
Oh, it was my rosy, dimpled cheeks<br />
That's been the devil to me. <br />
<br />
They'll tie a kerchief around my eyes<br />
That I may not see to dee,<br />
And they'll never tell my father or mother<br />
But that I'm across the sea. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This information comes from <a href="http://www.marie-stuart.co.uk/">www.marie-stuart.co.uk</a><br />
<br />
"The four Marys were Mary, Queen of Scots' ladies-in-waiting, but these were Mary Seton, Mary Beaton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston. There was no Mary Carmichael but this popular song was believed to be relating to Mary, Queen of Scots until it was traced back to the court of the Tsar. The ballad dates between 1719 and 1764 and narrates the story of Mary Hamilton, a Scottish maid of Peter the Great's wife Catherine, who was executed for the murder of her illegitimate child, product of an affair with the Tsar Peter. <br />
The two stories of Mary Hamilton and Mary, Queen of Scots were grafted onto each other."</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP<br />
<i>Emily Bronte</i> <i>1818-48</i><br />
<br />
Love is like the wild rose-briar,<br />
Friendship like the holly-tree -<br />
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms<br />
But which will bloom most constantly?<br />
<br />
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,<br />
Its summer blossoms scent the air;<br />
Yet wait till winter comes again<br />
And who will call the wild-briar fair?<br />
<br />
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now<br />
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,<br />
That when December blights thy brow<br />
He still may leave thy garland green. <br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LUCY<br />
<i>William Wordsworth 1770-1850</i><br />
<br />
She dwelt among the untrodden ways<br />
Beside the springs of Dove,<br />
A Maid whom there were none to praise<br />
And very few to love:<br />
<br />
A violet by a mossy stone<br />
Half hidden from the eye!<br />
Fair as a star, when only one<br />
Is shining in the sky.<br />
<br />
She lived unknown, and few could know<br />
When Lucy ceased to be;<br />
But she is in her grave, and oh,<br />
The difference to me!<br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
HOPE<br /><i>Emily Dickinson</i> <i>1830-86</i><br /><br /> Hope is the thing with feathers<br /> That perches in the soul<br /> And sings the tune without the words<br /> And never stops at all.<br /> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And sweetest in the gale is heard; <br />
And sore must be the storm <br />
That could abash the little bird <br />
That kept so many warm.<br />
<br />
I've heard it in the chillest land, <br />
And on the strangest sea; <br />
Yet, never, in extremity, <br />
It asked a crumb of me.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-12149213442386765662013-08-19T08:30:00.000+01:002013-08-19T08:30:04.766+01:00No.17<div style="text-align: center;">
BEGIN THE BEGUINE<br /><i>Cole Porter 1891-64</i><br /><br />When they begin the beguine<br />It brings back the sound of music so tender,<br />It brings back a night of tropical splendour,<br />It brings back a memory ever green.<br /><br />I'm with you once more under the stars<br />And down by the shore an orchestra's playing,<br />And even the palms seem to be swaying<br />When they begin the beguine.<br /><br />To live it again is past all endeavor<br />Except when that tune clutches my heart,<br />And there we are swearing to love forever<br />And promising never, never to part.<br /><br />What moments divine, what rapture serene,<br />Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted,<br />And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted<br />I know but too well what they mean.</div>
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So don't let them begin the beguine,<br />Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember,<br />Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember,<br />When they begin the beguine.<br /><br />Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play,<br />Till the stars that were there before return above you,<br />Till you whisper to me once more, darling I love you,<br />And we suddenly know what heaven we're in,<br />When they begin the beguine.<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE<br /><i>Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-94</i><br /><br />Faster than fairies, faster than witches, <br />Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; <br />And charging along like troops in a battle, <br />All through the meadows the horses and cattle: <br />All of the sights of the hill and the plain <br />Fly as thick as driving rain; <br />And ever again, in the wink of an eye, <br />Painted stations whistle by. <br /> <br />Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, <br />All by himself and gathering brambles; <br />Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; <br />And there is the green for stringing the daisies! <br />Here is a cart run away in the road <br />Lumping along with man and load; <br />And here is a mill and there is a river: <br />Each a glimpse and gone for ever!<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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OH! EVER THUS<br /><i>Thomas Moore 1779-1852</i><br /><br /> Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,<br /> I've seen my fondest hopes decay;<br /> I never loved a tree or flower,<br /> But 'twas the first to fade away.<br /> I never nursed a dear gazelle,<br /> To glad me with its soft black eye,<br /> But when it came to know me well,<br /> And love me, it was sure to die!<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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TWAS EVER THUS<br /><i>Henry Sambrooke Leigh 1837-83</i></div>
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I never rear'd a young gazelle, <br />(Because, you see, I never tried); <br />But, had it known and loved me well, <br />No doubt the creature would have died. <br />My rich and aged uncle John <br />Has known me long and loves me well, <br />But still persists in living on -<br />I would he were a young gazelle.<br /><br />I never loved a tree or flower; <br />But, if I had, I beg to say, <br />The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower, <br />Would soon have withered it away. <br />I've dearly loved my uncle John, <br />From childhood till the present hour, <br />And yet he will go living on, - <br />I would he were a tree or flower!<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-8485734464438981062013-08-12T08:30:00.000+01:002013-08-12T08:30:02.559+01:00No.16<div style="text-align: center;">
BEAUTIFUL DREAMER<br /><i>Stephen Foster 1826-1864</i><br /><br />Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,<br />Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;<br />Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,<br />Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away!<br /><br />Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,<br />List while I woo thee with soft melody;<br />Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,<br />Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!<br /><br />Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea<br />Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;<br />Over the streamlet vapours are borne,<br />Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.<br /><br />Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,<br />E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;<br />Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,<br />Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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ADLESTROP<br /><i>Edward Thomas 1878-1917</i><br /><br />Yes, I remember Adlestrop -<br />The name, because one afternoon<br />Of heat the express-train drew up there<br />Unwontedly. It was late June.<br /><br />The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.<br />No one left and no one came<br />On the bare platform. What I saw<br />Was Adlestrop - only the name<br /><br />And willows, willow-herb, and grass,<br />And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,<br />No whit less still and lonely fair<br />Than the high cloudlets in the sky.</div>
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And for that minute a blackbird sang<br />Close by, and round him, mistier,<br />Farther and farther, all the birds<br />Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.<br /><br />-o0o-<br /><br />UPHILL<br /><i>Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830–1894</i></div>
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Does the road wind uphill all the way?<br />Yes, to the very end.<br />Will the day's journey take the whole long day?<br />From morn to night, my friend.<br /><br />But is there for the night a resting-place?<br />A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.<br />May not the darkness hide it from my face?<br />You cannot miss that inn.<br /><br />Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?<br />Those who have gone before.<br />Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?<br />They will not keep you waiting at that door.<br /><br />Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?<br />Of labour you shall find the sum.<br />Will there be beds for me and all who seek?<br />Yea, beds for all who come.</div>
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-o0o-<br /><br />I’LL NEVER USE TOBACCO<br />Anon, from <i>The Temperance Orator and Reciter 19th cent</i><br /><br />“I’ll never use tobacco, no,<br />It is a filthy weed!<br />I’ll never put it in my mouth,”<br />Said little Robert Reid.<br /><br />“Why, there was idle Jerry Jones,<br />As dirty as a pig,<br />Who smoked when only ten years old, <br />And thought it made him big.<br /><br />“He’d puff along the open street,<br />As if he had no shame;<br />He’s sit beside the tavern-door, <br />And there he’d do the same.<br /><br />“He spent his time and money too,<br />And made his mother sad,<br />She feared a worthless man would come<br />From such a worthless lad.</div>
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“Oh no, I’ll never smoke or chew,<br />‘Tis very wrong indeed,<br />It hurts the health, it makes bad breath,”<br />Said little Robert Reid.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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MORE POEMS NEXT MONDAY</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-10824409050305109272013-08-05T08:30:00.000+01:002013-08-05T08:30:03.129+01:00No.15<div style="text-align: center;">
BALLADE OF AUTUMN<br /><i>Andrew Lang 1844-1912</i><br /><br />We built a castle in the air,<br />In summer weather, you and I,<br />The wind and sun were in your hair,<br />Gold hair against a sapphire sky:<br />When autumn came, with leaves that fly<br />Before the storm, across the plain,<br />You fled from me, with scarce a sigh,<br />My Love returns no more again!<br /><br />The windy lights of autumn flare:<br />I watch the moonlit sails go by;<br />I marvel how men toil and fare,<br />The weary business that they ply!<br />Their voyaging is vanity,<br />And fairy gold is all their gain,<br />And all the winds of winter cry,<br />"My Love returns no more again!"<br /><br />Here, in my Castle of Despair,<br />I sit alone with memory;<br />The wind-fed wolf has left his lair,<br />To keep the outcast company.<br />The brooding owl he hoots hard by,<br />The hare shall kindle on thy hearth-stane,<br />The Rhymer's soothest prophecy,<br />My Love returns no more again!<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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THE MOON<br /><i>Anon</i><br /><br />Slowly, silently, now the moon<br />Walks the night in her silver shoon:<br />This way, and that, she peers and sees<br />Silver fruit upon silver trees;<br />One by one the casements catch<br />Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;<br />Couched in his kennel, like a log,<br />With paws of silver sleeps the dog<br />From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep<br />Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;<br />A harvest mouse goes scampering by,<br />With silver claws and silver eye;<br />And moveless fish in the water gleam<br />By silver reeds in a silver stream.<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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STELLA'S BIRTHDAY MARCH 13, 1719<br /><i>Jonathan Swift 1667-1745</i></div>
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<i></i><br />Stella this day is thirty-four,<br />(We shan't dispute a year or more:)<br />However, Stella, be not troubled,<br />Although thy size and years are doubled,<br />Since first I saw thee at sixteen,<br />The brightest virgin on the green;<br />So little is thy form declined;<br />Made up so largely in thy mind.<br /><br />Oh, would it please the gods to split<br />Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit;<br />No age could furnish out a pair<br />Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;<br />With half the lustre of your eyes,<br />With half your wit, your years, and size.<br />And then, before it grew too late,<br />How should I beg of gentle Fate,<br />(That either nymph might have her swain,)<br />To split my worship too in twain<br /><br /> </div>
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-o0o-</div>
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DREAMS<i> </i></div>
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<i>Langston Hughes 1902-67</i> </div>
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Hold fast to dreams<br />For if dreams die<br />Life is a broken-winged bird<br />That cannot fly.<br />Hold fast to dreams<br />For when dreams go<br />Life is a barren field<br />Frozen with snow.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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More poetry next Monday</div>
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o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-<br /><br /><br /></div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-70604503592911569732013-07-29T08:30:00.000+01:002013-07-29T08:30:01.770+01:00No.14<div style="text-align: center;">
THE GREENWOOD SIDE<br /><i>John Clare</i> <i>1793-1864</i><br /><br />I wandered down a green wood side<br />On Sunday noon in spring,<br />Where little birds their dwellings hide<br />And Thrushes sweetly sing,<br />The moss so green round Hazel roots,<br />The Primrose by its side,<br />That in its brimstone livery shoots<br />In bunches far and wide.<br /><br />Oh there I met a pretty maid<br />The fairest of her kind,<br />She stood beneath the Hazels shade<br />Where lightly blew the wind.<br />I gave her cheek a hearty smack<br />As leaning on her neck<br />Her soft hair trailed adown her back<br />Without a mark or Speck,<br /><br />Within the dyke the bullrush grew<br />Although the place was dry,<br />And Thrushes nest wi’ Eggs o' blue<br />Did on the hedge ribs lye.<br />The Woodbines in green leaves look'd wan,<br />The Bluebell stooped i' pride,<br />And there I claspt my bonny Ann<br />Along the greenwood side.</div>
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Oh bonny Ann, Oh bonny Ann,<br />What makes you look so fair,<br />Is it the love for some fond man<br />Or is't for none you care.<br />My love to thee my bonny Ann<br />Where primrose blooms wi’ pride,<br />I’ll talk and please thee all I can<br />Down by the greenwood side.<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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LAZY BONES<br /><i>Johnny Mercer 1909-76</i> </div>
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Long as there is chicken gravy on your rice,<br />Ev'rything is nice.<br />Long as there's watermelon on the vine,<br />Ev'rything is fine.<br />You got no time to work,<br />You got no time to play,<br />Busy doin' nothin' all the live long day.<br />You won't ever change no matter what I say,<br />You're just made that way.</div>
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Lazybones, sleepin' in the sun,<br />How you 'spec' to get your day's work<br />done?<br />Never get your day's work done,</div>
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Sleepin' in the noonday sun.<br />Lazybones, sleepin' in the shade,<br />How you 'spec' to get your corn meal<br />made?<br />Never get your corn meal made<br />Sleepin' in the evenin' shade.<br /><br />When 'taters need sprayin',<br />I bet you keep prayin'<br />The bugs fall off the vine<br />And when you go fishin'<br />I bet you keep wishin'<br />The fish won't grab at your line.<br /><br />Lazybones, loafin' thru' the day,</div>
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How you spec to make a dime that way?<br />Never make a dime that way<br />(Well looky here)<br />He never heard a word I say!</div>
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<br />-o0o-</div>
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THE STAR<br /><i>Jane Taylor 1783–1824</i><br /><br />Twinkle, twinkle, little star,<br />How I wonder what you are.<br />Up above the world so high,<br />Like a diamond in the sky.<br /><br />When the blazing sun is gone,<br />When he nothing shines upon,<br />Then you show your little light,<br />Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.<br /><br />Then the traveller in the dark,<br />Thanks you for your tiny spark,<br />He could not see which way to go,<br />If you did not twinkle so.</div>
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In the dark blue sky you keep,<br />And often through my curtains peep,<br />For you never shut your eye,<br />Till the sun is in the sky.<br /><br />Twinkle, twinkle, little star.<br />How I wonder what you are.<br />Up above the world so high,<br />Like a diamond in the sky.<br />Twinkle, twinkle, little star.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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A CURE FOR HAVING DRUNK MUCH</div>
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<i>Alexis c350BC</i></div>
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Last evening you were drinking deep,</div>
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So now your head aches, go to sleep;</div>
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Take boiled cabbage when you wake,</div>
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And there's the end of your headache.</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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Now online</div>
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OH WHAT A PICTURE</div>
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updated every week-end</div>
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<a href="http://ohwhatapicture.blogspot.com/">http://ohwhatapicture.blogspot.com</a></div>
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-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-40106086309752949502013-07-22T08:30:00.000+01:002013-07-22T08:30:04.972+01:00No.13<div style="text-align: center;">
FAIRIES’ SONG<br /><i>Leigh Hunt 1784-1859</i><br /><br />We the fairies blithe and antic,<br />Of dimensions not gigantic,<br />Though the moonshine mostly keep us,<br />Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.<br /><br />Stolen sweets are always sweeter,<br />Stolen kisses much completer,<br />Stolen looks are nice in chapels,<br />Stolen, stolen, be your apples.<br /><br />When to bed the world is bobbing,<br />Then’s the time for orchard robbing,<br />Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,<br />Were it not for stealing, stealing.<br /><br />-o0o-</div>
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THE SKYE BOAT SONG<br /><i>Sir Harold Boulton 1859-1935</i><br /><br />Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,<br />Onward! the sailors cry;<br />Carry the lad that's born to be King<br />Over the sea to Skye.<br /><br />Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,<br />Thunderclaps rend the air;<br />Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,<br />Follow they will not dare.<br /><br />Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,<br />Ocean's a royal bed.<br />Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep<br />Watch by your weary head.<br /><br />Many's the lad fought on that day,<br />Well the Claymore could wield,<br />When the night came, silently lay<br />Dead in Culloden's field.<br /><br />Burned are their homes, exile and death<br />Scatter the loyal men;<br />Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath<br />Charlie will come again.<br /><br />Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,<br />Onward! the sailors cry;<br />Carry the lad that's born to be King<br />Over the sea to Skye.</div>
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<i>These verses recall the escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie to the Isle of Skye after his defeat at Culloden in 1746. The prince disguised as a servant girl made his escape in a small boat with the help of Flora MacDonald.</i><br /> </div>
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-o0o-</div>
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MYFANWY<br /><i>Richard Davies 1833-1877</i><br /><br />Why is it anger, O Myfanwy,<br />That fills your eyes so dark and clear?<br />Your gentle cheeks, O sweet Myfanwy,<br />Why blush they not when I draw near?<br /><br />Where is the smile that once most tender<br />Kindled my love so fond, so true?<br />Where is the sound of your sweet words,<br />That drew my heart to follow you?<br /><br />What have I done, O my Myfanwy,<br />To earn your frown? What is my blame?<br />Was it just play, my sweet Myfanwy,<br />To set your poet's love aflame?<br /><br />You truly once to me were promised,<br />Is it too much to keep your part?<br />I wish no more your hand, Myfanwy,<br />If I no longer have your heart.<br /><br />Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime<br />Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,<br />And on your cheeks O may the roses<br />Dance for a hundred years or so.<br /> </div>
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Forget now all the words of promise<br />You made to one who loved you well,<br />Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,<br />But one last time, to say "farewell".<br /><br />-o0o-<br /> </div>
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RESUME</div>
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<i> Dorothy Parker 1893-1967</i></div>
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<br /> Razors pain you,<br /> Rivers are damp,<br /> Acids stain you,<br /> And drugs cause cramp.<br /> Guns aren't lawful,<br /> Nooses give,<br /> Gas smells awful.<br /> You might as well live. </div>
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<br /> THE NEXT POST HERE WILL BE ON MONDAY 29TH JULY</div>
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-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
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Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-41646263215449574892013-07-17T16:14:00.000+01:002013-07-17T16:15:54.006+01:00No.12<div style="text-align: center;">
WHERE OR WHEN<br />
<i>Lorenz Hart 1896-1943</i><br />
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When you're awake, the things you think<br />
Come from the dream you dream<br />
Thought has wings, and lots of things<br />
Are seldom what they seem.<br />
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Sometimes you think you’ve lived before<br />
All that you live today,<br />
Things you do come back to you<br />
As though they knew the way -<br />
Oh, the tricks your mind can play.<br />
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It seems we stood and talked like this before,<br />
We looked at each other in the same way then<br />
But I can't remember where or when,<br />
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The clothes you're wearing are the close you wore,<br />
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then<br />
But I can't remember where or when.<br />
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Some things that happen for the first time<br />
Seem to be happening again, <br />
And so it seems that we have met before<br />
And laughed before and loved before,<br />
But who knows where or when.<br />
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-o0o- </div>
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TWO LOVERS <br />
<i>George Eliot 1819-80</i><br />
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Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:<br />
They leaned soft cheeks together there,<br />
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,<br />
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.<br />
O budding time!<br />
O love's blest prime!<br />
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Two wedded from the portal stept:<br />
The bells made happy carolings,<br />
The air was soft as fanning wings,<br />
White petals on the pathway slept.<br />
O pure-eyed bride!<br />
O tender pride!</div>
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Two faces o'er a cradle bent:<br />
Two hands above the head were locked:<br />
These pressed each other while they rocked,<br />
Those watched a life that love had sent.<br />
O solemn hour!<br />
O hidden power!<br />
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Two parents by the evening fire:<br />
The red light fell about their knees<br />
On heads that rose by slow degrees<br />
Like buds upon the lily spire.<br />
O patient life!<br />
O tender strife!<br />
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The two still sat together there,<br />
The red light shone about their knees;<br />
But all the heads by slow degrees<br />
Had gone and left that lonely pair.<br />
O voyage fast!<br />
O vanished past!<br />
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The red light shone upon the floor<br />
And made the space between them wide;<br />
They drew their chairs up side by side,<br />
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"<br />
O memories!<br />
O past that is!</div>
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-o0o-</div>
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IF YOU’LL PARDON MY SAYING SO<br />
<i>Warren Hastings and Herberte Jordan</i><br />
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A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.<br />
The matter appears to be pressing.<br />
Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,<br />
I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know,<br />
There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.<br />
I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,<br />
And also a whisky and “polly,“<br />
I don't know what time you retired to bed,<br />
But the party sir, must have been jolly - <br />
If you'll pardon my saying so.<br />
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The lady in question a-waiting below,<br />
Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,<br />
And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,<br />
A pugnacious character one might infer,<br />
Whom the lady describes as her brother.<br />
The elderly female is quite commonplace,<br />
A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,<br />
Who shouts in a nerve-wracking falsetto voice,<br />
And her language is painful to hear, sir -<br />
If you'll pardon my saying so.</div>
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The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.<br />
He refers to you, sir, as a “twister“,<br />
He threatens to alter the shape of your “clock,”<br />
To break you in half, sir, and knock off your “block”<br />
Unless you do right by his sister.<br />
The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,<br />
That you made her a promise of marriage.<br />
She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,<br />
While you, sir, ride by in your carriage - <br />
If you'll pardon me saying so.<br />
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Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,<br />
He is fuming to beat all creation.<br />
My lady, your mother, is up in the air.<br />
She’s having hysterics and tearing her hair,<br />
And borders on nervous prostration.<br />
Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,<br />
And look up the times of the trains, sir?<br />
Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,<br />
And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir -<br />
If you'll pardon my saying so.</div>
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-o0o-<br />
<br />
MY PRETTY ROSE TREE<br />
<i>William Blake 1757-1827</i><br />
<br />
A flower was offered to me,<br />
Such a flower as May never bore;<br />
But I said, "I've a pretty rose tree,"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.<br />
<br />
Then I went to my pretty rose tree<br />
To tend her by day and by night;<br />
But my rose turned away with jealousy,<br />
And her thorns were my only delight.<br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-82010672874159434692013-07-14T23:05:00.000+01:002013-07-14T23:05:00.976+01:00No.11<div style="text-align: center;">
THE PESSIMIST</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>B.J. King (dates not known)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing to do but work,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing to eat but food,</div>
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Nothing to wear but clothes</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To keep one from going nude.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Nothing to breathe but air,</div>
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Quick as a flash 'tis gone,</div>
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Nowhere to fall but off,</div>
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Nowhere to stand but on.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nothing to comb but hair,</div>
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Nowhere to sleep but in bed,</div>
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Nothing to weep but tears,</div>
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Nothing to bury but dead.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing to sing but songs,</div>
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Ah, well, alas, alack,</div>
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Nowhere to go but out,</div>
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Nowhere to come but back.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nothing to see but sights, </div>
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Nothing to quench but thirst,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing to have but what we've got,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thus through life we are cursed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing to strike but a gait,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Everything moves that goes.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing at all but commonsense</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can ever withstand these woes. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
COUNSEL TO GIRLS </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Robert Herrick 1591-1674</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Old Time is still a-flying:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And this same flower that smiles today</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tomorrow will be dying.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The higher he's a-getting</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The sooner will his race be run,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And nearer he's to setting.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That age is best which is the first,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When youth and blood are warmer;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But being spent, the worse, and worst</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Times, still succeed the former.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then be not coy, but use your time;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And while ye may go marry:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For having lost but once your prime,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You may for ever tarry.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A BIRTHDAY<br />
<i>Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-94</i><br />
<br />
My heart is like a singing bird<br />
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;<br />
My heart is like an apple-tree<br />
Whose boughs are bent with thickest fruit;<br />
My heart is like a rainbow shell<br />
That paddles in a halcyon sea;<br />
My heart is gladder than all these<br />
Because my love is come to me.<br />
<br />
Raise me a dais of silk and down;<br />
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;<br />
Carve it in doves, and pomegranates,<br />
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;<br />
Work it in gold and silver grapes,<br />
In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys;<br />
Because the birthday of my life<br />
Is come, my love is come to me.<br />
<br />
-o0o-<br />
<br />
GOLDEN SLUMBERS<i><br /></i><br />
<i> Thomas Dekker c1572-1632</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,<br />
Smiles awake you when you rise.<br />
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,<br />
And I will sing a lullaby:<br />
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.<br />
<br />
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;<br />
You are care, and care must keep you.<br />
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,<br />
And I will sing a lullaby.<br />
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.<br />
<br />
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-3556477926221513152013-07-11T08:30:00.000+01:002013-07-11T08:34:04.918+01:00No.10<div style="text-align: center;">
-o=0=o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
THE SLAVE'S DREAM<br />
<i>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882</i><br />
<br />
Beside the ungathered rice he lay,<br />
His sickle in his hand;<br />
His breast was bare, his matted hair<br />
Was buried in the sand.<br />
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,<br />
He saw his Native Land.<br />
<br />
Wide through the landscape of his dreams<br />
The lordly Niger flowed;<br />
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain<br />
Once more a king he strode;<br />
And heard the tinkling caravans<br />
Descend the mountain-road.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
He saw once more his dark-eyed queen<br />
Among her children stand;<br />
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,<br />
They held him by the hand!<br />
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids<br />
And fell into the sand.<br />
<br />
And then at furious speed he rode<br />
Along the Niger's bank;<br />
His bridle-reins were golden chains,<br />
And, with a martial clank,<br />
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel<br />
Smiting his stallion's flank.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Before him, like a blood-red flag,<br />
The bright flamingoes flew;<br />
From morn till night he followed their flight,<br />
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,<br />
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,<br />
And the ocean rose to view.<br />
<br />
At night he heard the lion roar,<br />
And the hyena scream,<br />
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds<br />
Beside some hidden stream;<br />
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,<br />
Through the triumph of his dream.<br />
<br />
The forests, with their myriad tongues,<br />
Shouted of liberty;<br />
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,<br />
With a voice so wild and free,<br />
That he started in his sleep and smiled<br />
At their tempestuous glee.<br />
<br />
He did not feel the driver's whip,<br />
Nor the burning heat of day;<br />
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,<br />
And his lifeless body lay<br />
A worn-out fetter, that the soul<br />
Had broken and thrown away!<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o=0=o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
OLD DAN’L<br />
<i>L.A.G. Strong 1896-1958</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Out of his cottage to the sun<br />
Bent double comes old Dan’l,<br />
His chest all over cotton wool, <br />
His back all over flannel.<br />
<br />
“Winter will finish him,” they’ve said<br />
Each winter now for ten;<br />
But comes the first warm day of Spring<br />
Old Dan’l’s out again!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-o=0=o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMING?<br />
<i>William Shakespeare 1564-1616</i><br />
<br />
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?<br />
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,<br />
That can sing both high and low:<br />
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;<br />
Journeys end in lovers meeting,<br />
Every wise man's son doth know.<br />
<br />
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;<br />
Present mirth hath present laughter;<br />
What's to come is still unsure:<br />
In delay there lies not plenty;<br />
Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,<br />
Youth's a stuff will not endure.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-o=0=o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
THE ELEPHANT KNOCKED THE GROUND<br />
<i>Adrian Mitchell 1932-2008</i><br />
<br />
The elephant knocked the ground with a stick,<br />
He knocked it slow, he knocked it quick.<br />
He knocked it till his trunk turned black -<br />
Then the ground turned round and knocked him back<br />
<br />
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
More poems on Monday<br />
<br />
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-73790605435187995032013-07-08T08:30:00.000+01:002013-07-08T08:30:03.378+01:00No.9<div style="text-align: center;">
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY<br />
<i>Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)</i><br />
<br />
The fountains mingle with the river<br />
And the rivers with the ocean,<br />
The winds of heaven mix for ever<br />
With a sweet emotion;<br />
Nothing in the world is single,<br />
All things by a law divine<br />
In one another's being mingle -<br />
Why not I with thine?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
See the mountains kiss high heaven,<br />
And the waves clasp one another;<br />
No sister-flower would be forgiven<br />
If it disdain'd its brother;<br />
And the sunlight clasps the earth,<br />
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What are all these kissings worth,<br />
If thou kiss not me?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BIRD SONGS AT EVENTIDE<br />
<i>Royden Barrie</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Over the quiet hills<br />
Slowly the shadows fall;<br />
Far down the echoing vale<br />
Birds softly call;<br />
Slowly the golden sun<br />
Sinks in the dreaming West;<br />
Bird songs at eventide<br />
Call me to rest.<br />
<br />
Love, though the hours of day<br />
Sadness of heart may bring,<br />
When twilight comes again<br />
Sorrows take wing;<br />
For when the dusk of dreams<br />
Comes with the falling dew,<br />
Bird songs at eventide<br />
Call me to you. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
TWO SPARROWS<br />
<i>Humbert Wolfe 1885-1940</i><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Two sparrows, feeding,<br />
Heard a thrush<br />
Sing to the dawn, <br />
The first said, “Tush!<br />
<br />
In all my life<br />
I never heard<br />
A more affected<br />
Singing bird.”<br />
<br />
The second said,<br />
“It’s you and me<br />
Who slave to keep<br />
The likes of he.”<br />
<br />
“And if we cared,”<br />
Both sparrows said,<br />
“We’d do that singing<br />
On our head.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The thrush pecked sideways<br />
And was dumb.<br />
“And now,” they screamed,<br />
“He’s pinched our crumb!”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
THE OTHER SIDE OF A MIRROR<br />
<i>Mary Elizabeth Coleridge 1861-1907</i><br />
<br />
I sat before my glass one day,<br />
And conjured up a vision bare,<br />
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,<br />
That erst were found reflected there -<br />
The vision of a woman, wild<br />
With more than womanly despair.<br />
<br />
Her hair stood back on either side<br />
A face bereft of loveliness.<br />
It had no envy now to hide<br />
What once no man on earth could guess.<br />
It formed the thorny aureole<br />
Of hard, unsanctified distress.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Her lips were open - not a sound<br />
Came though the parted lines of red,<br />
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound<br />
In silence and secret bled.<br />
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,<br />
She had no voice to speak her dread.<br />
<br />
And in her lurid eyes there shone<br />
The dying flame of life's desire,<br />
Made mad because its hope was gone,<br />
And kindled at the leaping fire<br />
Of jealousy and fierce revenge,<br />
And strength that could not change nor tire.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shade of a shadow in the glass,<br />
O set the crystal surface free!<br />
Pass - as the fairer visions pass -<br />
Nor ever more return, to be<br />
The ghost of a distracted hour,<br />
That heard me whisper: - "I am she!'"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o0o-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
More poems on Thursday</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3451792592885303202.post-52874203525088821142013-07-03T16:52:00.002+01:002013-07-03T16:54:10.092+01:00No.8<div style="text-align: center;">
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
NIGHT AND DAY (1932)<br />
<i>Cole Porter 1891-1964</i><br />
<br />
Like the beat beat beat of the tom-tom<br />
When the jungle shadows fall,<br />
Like the tick tick tock of the stately clock<br />
As it stands against the wall,<br />
Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops<br />
When the summer shower is through,<br />
So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you.<br />
<br />
Night and day, you are the one,<br />
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,<br />
Whether near to me, or far<br />
It's no matter darling where you are,<br />
I think of you, night and day. <br />
Day and night, why is it so<br />
That this longing for you follows wherever I go,<br />
In the roaring traffic's boom,<br />
In the silence of my lonely room<br />
I think of you, night and day. <br />
<br />
Night and day, under the hide of me<br />
There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me,<br />
And its torment won't be through<br />
'Til you let me spend my life making love to you<br />
Day and night, night and day.<br />
<br />
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
THERE ARE FAIRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF OUR GARDEN<br />
<i>Rose Fyleman 1877-1957</i><br />
<br />
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!<br />
It's not so very, very far away;<br />
You pass the gardener's shed and you just keep straight ahead,<br />
I do so hope they've really come to stay.<br />
There's a little wood, with moss in it and beetles,<br />
And a little stream that quietly runs through;<br />
You wouldn't think they'd dare to come merrymaking there -<br />
Well, they do!<br />
<br />
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!<br />
They often have a dance on summer nights;<br />
The butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze,<br />
And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.<br />
Did you know that they could sit upon the moonbeams<br />
And pick a little star to make a fan,<br />
And dance away up there in the middle of the air?<br />
Well, they can!<br />
<br />
There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!<br />
You cannot think how beautiful they are;<br />
They all stand up and sing when the Fairy Queen and King<br />
Come gently floating down upon their car.<br />
The King is very proud and very handsome;<br />
The Queen -now you can guess who that could be -<br />
She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away -<br />
Well - it's Me!<br />
<br />
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
LIFE IS FINE<br />
<i>Langston Hughes 1902-1967</i><br />
<br />
I went down to the river,<br />
I set down on the bank.<br />
I tried to think but couldn't,<br />
So I jumped in and sank.<br />
<br />
I came up once and hollered!<br />
I came up twice and cried!<br />
If that water hadn't a-been so cold<br />
I might've sunk and died.<br />
<br />
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!<br />
<br />
I took the elevator<br />
Sixteen floors above the ground.<br />
I thought about my baby<br />
And thought I would jump down.<br />
<br />
I stood there and I hollered!<br />
I stood there and I cried!<br />
If it hadn't a-been so high<br />
I might've jumped and died.<br />
<br />
But it was High up there! It was high!<br />
<br />
So since I'm still here livin',<br />
I guess I will live on.<br />
I could've died for love -<br />
But for livin' I was born<br />
<br />
Though you may hear me holler,<br />
And you may see me cry -<br />
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,<br />
If you gonna see me die.<br />
<br />
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!<br />
<br />
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS<br />
<i>William Wordsworth 1770-1850</i><br />
<br />
She dwelt among the untrodden ways<br />
Beside the springs of Dove,<br />
A Maid whom there were none to praise<br />
And very few to love:<br />
<br />
A violet by a mossy stone<br />
Half hidden from the eye!<br />
- Fair as a star, when only one<br />
Is shining in the sky.<br />
<br />
She lived unknown, and few could know<br />
When Lucy ceased to be;<br />
But she is in her grave, and, oh,<br />
The difference to me!<br />
<br />
-o=0=o-<br />
<br />
More poems on Monday<br />
<br />
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-</div>
Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02902634877966762520noreply@blogger.com0