The Spring In Ireland: 1916 (James Stephens Poems)
IDo not forget my charge I beg of you ;That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hueAnd sweetest odor ...
IDo not forget my charge I beg of you ;That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hueAnd sweetest odor ...
In the garden at Clevedale, whose waters havebeen immortalized from a Young Lady's fallinginto them.In imitation of Petrarch's Ode to ...
(From _The Shepherd's Hunting_)Seest thou not, in clearest days,Oft thick fogs cloud Heaven's rays?And that vapours which do breatheFrom the ...
1FriendsThe old word is dead.The old books are dead.Our speech with holes like worn-out shoes is dead.Dead is the mind ...
LYCIDASSay whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,Or on what errand bent?MOERIS O Lycidas,We have lived to see, what never yet ...
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom ...
I. The quickening East climbs to yon star, That, cradled, rocks herself in morn; The liquid silver broad'ning far Dawn drencheth cliff, holt, down ...
I. THE CAVEMANI live! And the scarlet sunrise is climbing the mountain steep,I live . . . And below, in the ...
That sculptor we knew, the passionate-eyed son of a quarryman,Who astonished Rome and Paris in his meteor youth, and thenwas ...
THE ARGUMENT.God sends his angel to Tortosa down,Godfrey unites the Christian Peers and Knights;And all the Lords and Princes of ...
May has come from out the showers,Sun and splendor in her train.All the grasses and the flowersWaken up to life ...
UPON a rounded hill at Wollongong,A silent hill which hears by night and dayThe never-ceasing voices of the waves,An ancient ...
In the old days (a custom laid asideWith breeches and cocked hats) the people sentTheir wisest men to make the ...
IWith their country tied to their sails and their oars hung on the windThe shipwrecked slept tamely like dead beasts on ...
The snow had fallen many nights and days; The sky was come upon the earth at last, Sifting thinly down as endlessly As ...
There! See the line of lights,A chain of stars down either side the street --Why can't you lift the chain ...
(A VALENTINE)Which of my palaces? Gold one by one,Of all the splendid houses of my throne,This day in grave thought ...
Three youths in the heyday of life's hopeful spring, On a bright April morn gaily hied,With three little skiffs, each one ...
FLYING from out the gusty west,To seek the place where last year's nest,Ragged, and torn by many a routOf winter ...
HASTE! gentle Sleep! in pity shedThy blessings on my weary head:Come! but do not come alone,Bring the partners of thy ...
O dwellers in the stately towns,What come ye out to see?This common earth, this common sky,This water flowing free?As gayly ...
Why openest thou afresh the spring ofmy grief, O son of Alpin, inquiringhow Oscur fell? My eyes are blind withtears; ...
Thou lonely spring of waters undefiled!Silently slumbering in thy mossy cell,Yea, moveless as the hillock's verdant sideFrom which thou hadst ...
Kwannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, is represented with many hands, typifying generosity and kindness. In one of these hands she is supposedto hold an axe, wherewith she severs the threads of human lives. I am the ancient one, the many-handed, The merciful am I. Here where the black pine bends above the sea They bring their gifts to me — Spoil of the foreshore where the corals lie, Fishes of ivory, and amber stranded, And carven beads Green as the fretted fringes of the weeds. Age after age, I watch the long sails pass. Age after age, I see them come once more Home, as the grey-winged pigeon to the grass, The white crane to the shore. Goddess am I of heaven and this small town Above the beaches brown. And here the children bring me cakes, and flowers, And all the strange sea-creatures that they find, For "She," they say, "the Merciful, is ours, And she," they say, "is kind." Camphor and wave-worn sandalwood for burning They bring to me alone, Shells that are veined like irises, and those Curved like the clear bright petals of a rose. Wherefore an hundredfold again returning I render them their own — Full-freighted nets that flash among the foam, Laughter and love, and gentle eyes at home, Cool of the night, and the soft air that swells My silver temple bells. Winds of the spring, the little flowers that shine Where the young barley slopes to meet the pine, Gold of the charlock, guerdon of the rain, I give to them again. Yet though the fishing boats return full-laden Out of the broad blue east, Under the brown roofs pain is their handmaiden, And mourning is their feast. Yea, though my many hands are raised to bless, I am not strong to give them happiness. Sorrow comes swiftly as the swallow flying, O, little lives, that are so quickly done! Peace is my raiment, mercy is my breath, I am the gentle one. When they are tired of sorrow and of sighing I give them death. (Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall)
To the EVENING BREEZE.Go, wanton Breeze, to Cashmere's wavey groves,Whose wild, and tangled haunts, my fair one loves ;There gaily ...
THE sun is up, Great God, the sun is up,High o'er the eastern hill among white cloudsInsufferable! I thank Thee ...
You shall not be overboldWhen you deal with arctic cold,As late I found my lukewarm bloodChilled wading in the snow-choked ...
NOW the earth in fields and hillsStirs with pulses of the Spring,Next-embowering hedges ringWith interminable trills;Sunlight runs a race with ...
Around Sebago's lonely lakeThere lingers not a breeze to breakThe mirror which its waters make.The solemn pines along its shore,The ...
Around Sebago's lonely lakeThere lingers not a breeze to breakThe mirror which its waters make.The solemn pines along its shore,The ...
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