Poesia: The Incentive - Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn

The Incentive - Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn

I saw a sickly cellar plant
Droop on its feeble stem, for want
Of sun and wind and rain and dew —
Of freedom! — Then a man came through
The cellar, and I heard him say,
'Poor, foolish plant, by all means stay
Contented here; for — know you not? —
This stagnant dampness, mold and rot
Are your incentive to grow tall
And reach that sunbeam on the wall.'
— Even as he spoke, the sun's one spark
Withdrew, and left the dust more dark.

The Instinct of Hope John Clare
Jabberwocky Lewis Carroll
King Cahal Mór of the Wine-Red Hand James Clarence Mangan
Life Charlotte Brontë
Lullaby William Blake
A March Glee John Burroughs
Metaphysics Oliver Herford
Neutral Tones Thomas Hardy
O Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman
October William Cullen Bryant
An October Evening William Wilfred Campbell
The Pessimist P. G. Wodehouse
To John Clare John Clare
The Wolf At the Door Charlotte Perkins Gilman

If - E. E. Cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

In October John Burroughs

An Elegy - Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.

The Convict of Clonmala - Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

How hard is my fortune,
And vain my repining!
The strong rope of fate
For this young neck is twining!
My strength is departed,
My cheeks sunk and sallow,
While I languish in chains
In the jail of Clonmala.
No boy of the village
Was ever yet milder;
I'd play with a child
And my sport would be wilder;
I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even,
And the goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of heaven.
At my bed-foot decaying,
My hurl-bat is lying;
Through the boys of the village
My goal-ball is flying;
My horse 'mong the neighbors
Neglected may fallow,
While I pine in my chains
In the jail of Clonmala.
Next Sunday the patron
At home will be keeping,
And the young active hurlers
The field will be sweeping;
With the dance of fair maidens
The evening they'll hallow,
While this heart once so gay
Shall be cold in Clonmala.

Come Hither, Child Emily Brontë

Short Poetry Collection 049

Conteúdo completo disponível em:

http://sanderlei.com.br

Lista de BLOGs by Sanderlei Silveira

Poesia

sábado, 20 de maio de 2017

The Incentive - Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn

Conteúdo completo disponível em:

http://sanderlei.com.br

Links:

Lista de BLOGs by Sanderlei Silveira

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