segunda-feira, 22 de maio de 2017

Love and Sleep - Arthur Symons


Love and Sleep - Arthur Symons

I have laid sorrow to sleep;
Love sleeps.
She who oft made me weep
Now weeps.

I loved, and have forgot,
And yet
Love tells me she will not

She it was bid me go;
Love goes
By what strange ways, ah! no
One knows.

Because I cease to weep,
She weeps.
Here by the sea in sleep,
Love sleeps.

My Delight and Thy Delight Robert Bridges
Nemesis Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ode, Inscribed to W. H. Channing Ralph Waldo Emerson
Patterns Amy Lowell
Rubies Ralph Waldo Emerson
Self Reliance Ralph Waldo Emerson
To a Squirrel at Kyle-na-gno William Butler Yeats
Two Moods from the Hill Ernest Benshimol
Which Are You? Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Lip and the Heart - John Quincy Adams

ONE day between the Lip and the Heart
  A wordless strife arose,
Which was expertest in the art
  His purpose to disclose.

The Lip called forth the vassal Tongue,        5
  And made him vouch—a lie!
The slave his servile anthem sung,
  And braved the listening sky.

The Heart to speak in vain essayed,
  Nor could his purpose reach—        10
His will nor voice nor tongue obeyed,
  His silence was his speech.

Mark thou their difference, child of earth!
  While each performs his part,
Not all the lip can speak is worth        15
  The silence of the heart.

The Listeners Walter De la Mare

Let Us Be Merry Before We Go - John Philpot Curran

IF SADLY thinking, with spirits sinking,
Could, more than drinking, my cares compose
A cure for sorrow from sighs I’d borrow,
And hope to-morrow would end my woes.
But as in wailing there’s nought availing,        5
And Death unfailing will strike the blow,
Then for that reason, and for a season,
Let us be merry before we go.

To joy a stranger, a wayworn ranger,
In every danger my course I’ve run;        10
Now hope all ending, and death befriending,
His last aid lending, my cares are done.
No more a rover, or hapless lover,
My griefs are over—my glass runs low;
Then for that reason, and for a season,        15
Let us be merry before we go.

Holy Sonnet X: Death, be not proud - John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

If I Should Die To-Night Belle E. Smith

Holy Sonnet II: As due by many titles I resign - John Donne

AS due by many titles I resign
Myself to thee, O God. First I was made
By Thee; and for Thee, and when I was decay’d
Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine.
I am Thy son, made with Thyself to shine,        5
Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid,
Thy sheep, Thine image, and—till I betray’d
Myself—a temple of Thy Spirit divine.
Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
Why doth he steal, nay ravish, that’s Thy right?        10
Except Thou rise and for Thine own work fight,
O! I shall soon despair, when I shall see 1
That Thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.

The Green Grass Under the Snow - Annie A. Preston

THE WORK of the sun is slow,
But as sure as heaven, we know;
    So we ’ll not forget,
    When the skies are wet,
There ’s green grass under the snow.        5

When the winds of winter blow,
Wailing like voices of woe,
    There are April showers,
    And buds and flowers,
And green grass under the snow.        10

We find that it ’s ever so
In this life’s uneven flow;
    We ’ve only to wait,
    In the face of fate,
For the green grass under the snow.      

The Fisherman's Hymn - Alexander Wilson

THE OSPREY sails above the sound,
  The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
The herring shoals swarm thick around,
  The nets are launched, the boats are plying;
    Yo ho, my hearts! let ’s seek the deep,        5
      Raise high the song, and cheerily wish her,
    Still as the bending net we sweep,
      “God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher!”

She brings us fish—she brings us spring,
  Good times, fair weather, warmth, and plenty,        10
Fine stores of shad, trout, herring, ling,
  Sheepshead and drum, and old-wives dainty.
    Yo ho, my hearts! let ’s seek the deep,
      Ply every oar, and cheerily wish her,
    Still as the bending net we sweep,        15
      “God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher!”

She rears her young on yonder tree,
  She leaves her faithful mate to mind ’em;
Like us, for fish, she sails to sea,
  And, plunging, shows us where to find ’em.        20
    Yo ho, my hearts! let ’s seek the deep,
      Ply every oar, and cheerily wish her,
    While the slow bending net we sweep,
      “God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher!“

Eros - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The sense of the world is short,—
Long and various the report,—
              To love and be beloved;
Men and gods have not outlearned it;
And, how oft soe’er they’ve turned it,
              ’Tis not to be improved.

Ballad of Douglas Bridge - Francis Carlin

ON Douglas Bridge I met a man
Who lived adjacent to Strabane,
  Before the English hung him high
For riding with O’Hanlon.

The eyes of him were just as fresh        5
As when they burned within the flesh;
  And his boot-legs were wide apart
From riding with O’Hanlon.

“God save you, Sir,” I said with fear,
“You seem to be a stranger here.”        10
  “Not I,” said he, “nor any man
Who rides with Count O’Hanlon.

“I know each glen from North Tyrone
To Monaghan, and I’ve been known
  By every clan and parish, since        15
I rode with Count O’Hanlon.”

“Before that time,” said he to me,
“My fathers owned the land you see;
  But they are now among the moors
A-riding with O’Hanlon.”        20

“Before that time,” said he with pride,
“My fathers rode where now they ride
  As Rapparees, before the time
Of trouble and O’Hanlon.”

“Good night to you, and God be with        25
The tellers of the tale and myth,
  For they are of the spirit-stuff
That rides with Count O’Hanlon.”

“Good night to you,” said I, “and God
Be with the chargers, fairy-shod,        30
  That bear the Ulster heroes forth
To ride with Count O’Hanlon.”

On Douglas Bridge we parted, but
The Gap o’ Dreams is never shut,
  To one whose saddled soul to-night        35
Rides out with Count O’Hanlon.

Short Poetry Collection 044

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