A. E.

Housman (1859–1936)
On the Idle Hill of Summer
On the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder
On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
Soldiers marching, all to die.
East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
o!ely lads and dead and rotten"
#one that go return again.
Far the calling bugles hollo,
$igh the screaming fife replies,
%ay the files of scarlet follow&
'oman bore me, I will rise.

Alexander Pope (1688–1744)
from The Rape of the Lock, from Canto 1
'hat dire offense from amorous causes springs,
'hat mighty contests rise from tri!ial things,
I sing()his !erse to *aryll, +use, is due&
)his, e!en Belinda may !ouchsafe to !iew&
Slight is the sub-ect, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he appro!e my lays.
Say what strange moti!e, %oddess, could compel
. well/bred lord to assault a gentle belle0
Oh, say what stranger cause, yet une1plored,
*ould make a gentle belle re-ect a lord0
In tasks so bold can little men engage,
.nd in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage0
Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray,
.nd oped those eyes that must eclipse the day.
#ow lapdogs gi!e themsel!es the rousing shake,
.nd sleepless lo!ers -ust at twel!e awake&
)hrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground,
.nd the pressed watch returned a sil!er sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow pressed,
$er guardian Sylph prolonged the balmy rest&
2)was he had summoned to her silent bed
)he morning dream that ho!ered o2er her head.
. youth more glittering than a birthnight beau
3)hat e!en in slumber caused her cheek to glow4
Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay,
.nd thus in whispers said, or seemed to say&
5Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air,
If e2er one !ision touched thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest ha!e taught,
Of airy el!es by moonlight shadows seen,
)he sil!er token, and the circled green,
Or !irgins !isited by angel powers,
'ith golden crowns and wreaths of hea!enly flowers,
$ear and belie!e, thy own importance know
#or bound thy narrow !iews to things below.
Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed,
)o maids alone and children are re!ealed&
'hat though no credit doubting wits may gi!e0
)he fair and innocent shall still belie!e.
6now, then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly,
)he light militia of the lower sky&
)hese, though unseen, are e!er on the wing,
$ang o2er the bo1, and ho!er round the 7ing.
)hink what an e8uipage thou hast in air,
.nd !iew with scorn two pages and a chair.
.s now your own, our beings were of old,
.nd once enclosed in woman2s beauteous mold"
)hence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly !ehicles to these of air.
)hink not, when woman2s transient breath is fled,
)hat all her !anities at once are dead&
Succeeding !anities she still regards,
.nd though she plays no more, o2erlooks the cards.
$er -oy in gilded chariots, when ali!e,
.nd lo!e of ombre, after death sur!i!e.
For when the Fair in all her pride e1pire,
)o their first elements their souls retire&
)he sprites of fiery termagants in flame
+ount up, and take a Salamander2s name.
Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
.nd sip, with #ymphs, their elemental tea.
)he gra!er prude sinks downward to a %nome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
)he light co8uettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
.nd sport and flutter in the fields of air.
56now further yet" whoe!er fair and chaste
7e-ects mankind, is by some Sylph embraced&
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
.ssume what se1es and what shapes they please.
'hat guards the purity of melting maids,
In courtly balls, and midnight mas8uerades,
Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring spark,
)he glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
'hen kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
'hen music softens, and when dancing fires0
2)is but their Sylph, the wise *elestials know,
)hough $onor is the word with men below.
5Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestined to the %nomes2 embrace.
)hese swell their prospects and e1alt their pride,
'hen offers are disdained, and lo!e denied&
)hen gay ideas crowd the !acant brain,
'hile peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,
.nd garters, stars, and coronets appear,
.nd in soft sounds, 2your %race2 salutes their ear.
2)is these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young co8uettes to roll,
)each infant cheeks a bidden blush to know,
.nd little hearts to flutter at a beau.
5Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
)he Sylphs through mystic ma9es guide their way,
)hrough all the giddy circle they pursue,
.nd old impertinence e1pel by new.
'hat tender maid but must a !ictim fall
)o one man2s treat, but for another2s ball0
'hen Florio speaks what !irgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not s8uee9e her hand0
'ith !arying !anities, from e!ery part,
)hey shift the mo!ing toyshop of their heart"
'here wigs with wigs, with sword/knots sword/knots stri!e,
Beau1 banish beau1, and coaches coaches dri!e.
)his erring mortals le!ity may call"
Oh, blind to truth, the Sylphs contri!e it all.
5Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
. watchful sprite, and .riel is my name.
ate, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas, some dread e!ent impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
But $ea!en re!eals not what, or how, or where&
'arned by the Sylph, O pious maid, beware,
)his to disclose is all thy guardian can&
Beware of all, but most beware of +an,5

Alexander Pope (1688–1744)
Ode on Solitude
$ow happy he, who free from care
)he rage of courts, and noise of towns"
*ontented breathes his nati!e air,
In his own grounds.
'hose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
'hose flocks supply him with attire,
'hose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern2dly find
$ours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
:uiet by day,
Sound sleep by night" study and ease
)ogether mi12d" sweet recreation,
.nd innocence, which most does please,
'ith meditation.
)hus let me li!e, unheard, unknown"
)hus unlamented let me die"
Steal from the world, and not a stone
)ell where I lie.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
from The Lotos-Eaters
5*ourage,5 he said, and pointed toward the land,
5)his mounting wa!e will roll us shoreward soon.5
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seem<d always afternoon.
.ll round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full/faced abo!e the !alley stood the moon"
.nd, like a downward smoke, the slender stream
.long the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
. land of streams, some, like a downward smoke,
Slow/dropping !eils of thinnest lawn, did go"
.nd some through wa!ering lights and shadows broke,
7olling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
)hey saw the gleaming ri!er seaward flow
From the inner land" far off, three mountaintops,
)hree silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset/flush2d" and, dew2d with showery drops,
=p/clomb the shadowy pine abo!e the wo!en copse.
)he charm<d sunset linger2d low adown
In the red 'est& through mountain clefts the dale
'as seen far inland, and the yellow down
Border2d with palm, and many a winding !ale
.nd meadow, set with slender galingale"
. land where all things always seem2d the same,
.nd round about the keel with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
)he mild/eyed melancholy otos/eaters came.
Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
aden with flower and fruit, whereof they ga!e
)o each, but whoso did recei!e of them
.nd taste, to him the gushing of the wa!e
Far far away did seem to mourn and ra!e
On alien shores" and if his fellow spake,
$is !oice was thin, as !oices from the gra!e"
.nd deep/asleep he seem2d, yet all awake,
.nd music in his ears his beating heart did make.
)hey sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore"
.nd sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and sla!e" but e!ermore
+ost weary seem2d the sea, weary the oar,
'eary the wandering fields of barren foam,
)hen some one said, 5'e will return no more5"
.nd all at once they sang, 5Our island home
Is far beyond the wa!e" we will no longer roam.5
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
Tears, Idle Tears
)ears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
)ears from the depth of some di!ine despair
7ise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy .utumn/fields,
.nd thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
)hat brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens o!er one
)hat sinks with all we lo!e below the !erge"
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
.h, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
)he earliest pipe of half/awakened birds
)o dying ears, when unto dying eyes
)he casement slowly grows a glimmering s8uare"
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remembered kisses after death,
.nd sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others" deep as lo!e,
Deep as first lo!e, and wild with all regret"
O Death in ife, the days that are no more,

Andrew Marell (1621–1678)
The Galler
*lora, come !iew my soul, and tell
'hether I ha!e contri!ed it well.
#ow all its se!eral lodgings lie
*omposed into one gallery"
.nd the great arras/hangings, made
Of !arious faces, by are laid"
)hat, for all furniture, you2ll find
Only your picture in my mind.
$ere thou art painted in the dress
Of an inhuman murderess"
E1amining upon our hearts
)hy fertile shop of cruel arts&
Engines more keen than e!er yet
.dorn<d tyrant2s cabinet"
Of which the most tormenting are
Black eyes, red lips, and curl<d hair.
But, on the other side, thou2rt drawn
ike to .urora in the dawn"
'hen in the east she slumb2ring lies,
.nd stretches out her milky thighs"
'hile all the morning choir does sing,
.nd manna falls, and roses spring"
.nd, at thy feet, the wooing do!es
Sit perfecting their harmless lo!es.
ike an enchantress here thou show2st,
;e1ing thy restless lo!er2s ghost"
.nd, by a light obscure, dost ra!e
O!er his entrails, in the ca!e"
Di!ining thence, with horrid care,
$ow long thou shalt continue fair"
.nd 3when informed4 them throw2st away,
)o be the greedy !ulture2s prey.
But, against that, thou sit2st afloat
ike ;enus in her pearly boat.
)he halcyons, calming all that2s nigh,
Betwi1t the air and water fly&
Or, if some rolling wa!e appears,
. mass of ambergris it bears&
#or blows more wind than what may well
*on!oy the perfume to the smell.
)hese pictures and a thousand more,
Of thee, my gallery do store"
In all the forms thou canst in!ent
Either to please me, or torment&
For thou alone to people me,
.rt grown a num2rous colony"
.nd a collection choicer far
)han or 'hitehall2s, or +antua2s were.
But, of these pictures and the rest,
)hat at the entrance likes me best"
'here the same posture, and the look
7emains, with which I first was took&
. tender shepherdess, whose hair
$angs loosely playing in the air,
)ransplanting flowers from the green hill,
)o crown her head, and bosom fill.

Andrew Marell (1621–1678)
To His Co !istress
$ad we but world enough, and time,
)his coyness, lady, were no crime.
'e would sit down, and think which way
)o walk, and pass our long lo!e2s day.
)hou by the Indian %anges2 side
Shouldst rubies find" I by the tide
Of $umber would complain. I would
o!e you ten years before the Flood,
.nd you should, if you please, refuse
)ill the con!ersion of the >ews.
+y !egetable lo!e should grow
;aster than empires and more slow"
.n hundred years should go to praise
)hine eyes, and on thy forehead ga9e"
)wo hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest"
.n age at least to e!ery part,
.nd the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deser!e this state,
#or would I lo!e at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
)ime2s wing<d chariot hurrying near"
.nd yonder all before us lie
Deserts of !ast eternity.
)hy beauty shall no more be found"
#or, in thy marble !ault, shall sound
+y echoing song" then worms shall try
)hat long/preser!ed !irginity,
.nd your 8uaint honor turn to dust,
.nd into ashes all my lust&
)he gra!e2s a fine and pri!ate place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
#ow therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
.nd while thy willing soul transpires
.t e!ery pore with instant fires,
#ow let us sport us while we may,
.nd now, like amorous birds of prey,
7ather at once our time de!our
)han languish in his slow/chapped power.
et us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
.nd tear our pleasures with rough strife
)horough the iron gates of life&
)hus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Anna Lae!"!"a #ar$a%ld (174&–182')
The Ri"hts of #oman
?es, in-ured 'oman, rise, assert thy right,
'oman, too long degraded, scorned, opprest"
O born to rule in partial aw2s despite,
7esume thy nati!e empire o2er the breast,
%o forth arrayed in panoply di!ine"
)hat angel pureness which admits no stain"
%o, bid proud +an his boasted rule resign,
.nd kiss the golden scepter of thy reign.
%o, gird thyself with grace" collect thy store
Of bright artillery glancing from afar"
Soft melting tones thy thundering cannon2s roar,
Blushes and fears thy maga9ine of war.
)hy rights are empire& urge no meaner claim,(
Felt, not defined, and if debated, lost"
ike sacred mysteries, which withheld from fame,
Shunning discussion, are re!ered the most.
)ry all that wit and art suggest to bend
Of thy imperial foe the stubborn knee"
+ake treacherous +an thy sub-ect, not thy friend"
)hou mayst command, but ne!er canst be free.
.we the licentious, and restrain the rude"
Soften the sullen, clear the cloudy brow&
Be, more than princes2 gifts, thy fa!ors sued"(
She ha9ards all, who will the least allow.
But hope not, courted idol of mankind,
On this proud eminence secure to stay"
Subduing and subdued, thou soon shalt find
)hy coldness soften, and thy pride gi!e way.
)hen, then, abandon each ambitious thought,
*on8uest or rule thy heart shall feebly mo!e,
In #ature2s school, by her soft ma1ims taught,
)hat separate rights are lost in mutual lo!e.

Anne #rads!ree! ((a) 1612–1672)
The $uthor to Her %ook
)hou ill/formed offspring of my feeble brain,
'ho after birth didst by my side remain,
)ill snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
'ho thee abroad, e1posed to public !iew,
+ade thee in rags, halting to th2 press to trudge,
'here errors were not lessened 3all may -udge4.
.t thy return my blushing was not small,
+y rambling brat 3in print4 should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
)hy !isage was so irksome in my sight"
?et being mine own, at length affection would
)hy blemishes amend, if so I could&
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
.nd rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched thy -oints to make thee e!en feet,
?et still thou run2st more hobbling than is meet"
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought sa!e homespun cloth i2 th2 house I find.
In this array 2mongst !ulgars may2st thou roam.
In critic2s hands beware thou dost not come,
.nd take thy way where yet thou art not known"
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none"
.nd for thy mother, she alas is poor,
'hich caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Anne #rads!ree! ((a) 1612–1672)
The &rolo"ue
)o sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,
Of cities founded, commonwealths begun,
For my mean pen, are too superior things,
.nd how they all, or each, their dates ha!e run
et poets, and historians set these forth,
+y obscure !erse shall not so dim their worth.
But when my wond2ring eyes, and en!ious heart,
%reat Bartas2 sugared lines do but read o2er,
Fool, I do grudge the +uses did not part
2)wi1t him and me that o!erfluent store"
. Bartas can do what a Bartas will,
But simple I, according to my skill.
From schoolboy2s tongue, no rhetoric we e1pect,
#or yet a sweet consort, from broken strings,
#or perfect beauty, where2s a main defect"
+y foolish, broken, blemished +use so sings"
.nd this to mend, alas, no art is able,
2*ause nature made it so irreparable.
#or can I, like that fluent sweet/tongued %reek
'ho lisped at first, speak afterwards more plain.
By art, he gladly found what he did seek,
. full re8uital of his stri!ing pain&
.rt can do much, but this ma1im2s most sure.
. weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
I am obno1ious to each carping tongue,
'ho says my hand a needle better fits"
. poet2s pen all scorn I should thus wrong"
For such despite they cast on female wits&
If what I do pro!e well, it won2t ad!ance,
)hey2ll say it2s stolen, or else it was by chance.
But sure the anti8ue %reeks were far more mild,
Else of our se1, why feigned they those nine,
.nd poesy made *alliope2s own child0
So 2mongst the rest they placed the arts di!ine&
But this weak knot they will full soon untie,
)he %reeks did nought, but play the fool and lie.
et %reeks be %reeks, and women what they are,
+en ha!e precedency, and still e1cel"
It is but !ain, un-ustly to wage war"
+en can do best, and women know it well"
Greeminence in each and all is yours,
?et grant some small acknowledgement of ours.
.nd oh, ye high flown 8uills that soar the skies,
.nd e!er with your prey, still catch your praise,
If e2er you deign these lowly lines your eyes,
%i!e wholesome parsley wreath, I ask no bays&
)his mean and unrefin<d stuff of mine,
'ill make your glistering gold but more to shine.

Anne *"n(+, ,o%n!ess of -"n(+"lsea (1661–1720)
$dam &osed
*ould our first father, at his toilsome plow,
)horns in his path, and labor on his brow,
*lothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
*ould he a !ain fantastic nymph ha!e seen,
In all her airs, in all her antic graces,
$er !arious fashions, and more !arious faces"
$ow had it posed that skill, which late assigned
>ust appellations to each se!eral kind,
. right idea of the sight to frame"
)2ha!e guessed from what new element she came"
)2ha!e hit the wa!2ring form, or gi!2n this thing a name.

Anne *"n(+, ,o%n!ess of -"n(+"lsea (1661–1720)
$ 'octurnal Re(erie
In such a night, when e!ery louder wind
Is to its distant ca!ern safe confined"
.nd only gentle Iephyr fans his wings,
.nd lonely Ghilomel, still waking, sings"
Or from some tree, famed for the owl2s delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the wand2rer right&
In such a night, when passing clouds gi!e place,
Or thinly !eil the hea!2ns2 mysterious face"
'hen in some ri!er, o!erhung with green,
)he wa!ing moon and trembling lea!es are seen"
'hen freshened grass now bears itself upright,
.nd makes cool banks to pleasing rest in!ite,
'hence springs the woodbind, and the bramble/rose,
.nd where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows"
'hilst now a paler hue the fo1glo!e takes,
?et checkers still with red the dusky brakes
'hen scattered glow/worms, but in twilight fine,
Shew tri!ial beauties watch their hour to shine"
'hilst Salisb2ry stands the test of e!ery light,
In perfect charms, and perfect !irtue bright&
'hen odors, which declined repelling day,
)hrough temp2rate air uninterrupted stray"
'hen darkened gro!es their softest shadows wear,
.nd falling waters we distinctly hear"
'hen through the gloom more !enerable shows
Some ancient fabric, awful in repose,
'hile sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
.nd swelling haycocks thicken up the !ale&
'hen the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads,
*omes slowly gra9ing through th2 ad-oining meads,
'hose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear,
)ill torn/up forage in his teeth we hear&
'hen nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
.nd unmolested kine rechew the cud"
'hen curlews cry beneath the !illage walls,
.nd to her straggling brood the partridge calls"
)heir shortli!ed -ubilee the creatures keep,
'hich but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep"
'hen a sedate content the spirit feels,
.nd no fierce light disturbs, whilst it re!eals"
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something, too high for syllables to speak"
)ill the free soul to a composedness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O2er all below a solemn 8uiet grown,
>oys in th2 inferior world, and thinks it like her own&
In such a night let me abroad remain,
)ill morning breaks, and all2s confused again"
Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,
Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.

#en .onson (1'72–16&7)
The Hour"lass
*onsider this small dust here running in the glass,
By atoms mo!ed"
*ould you belie!e that this the body was
Of one that lo!ed0
.nd in his mistress2 flame, playing like a fly,
)urned to cinders by her eye&
?es" and in death, as life, unblessed,
)o ha!e it e1pressed,
E!en ashes of lo!ers find no rest.

,+r"s!"na /osse!!" (18&0–1894)
$ )au"hter of E(e
. fool I was to sleep at noon,
.nd wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon"
. fool to pluck my rose too soon,
. fool to snap my lily.
+y garden/plot I ha!e not kept"
Faded and all/forsaken,
I weep as I ha!e ne!er wept&
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It2s winter now I waken.
)alk what you please of future spring
.nd sun/warm2d sweet to/morrow&(
Stripp2d bare of hope and e!erything,
#o more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow.

,+r"s!"na /osse!!" (18&0–1894)
In an $rtist*s Studio
One face looks out from all his can!ases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans&
'e found her hidden -ust behind those screens,
)hat mirror ga!e back all her lo!eliness.
. 8ueen in opal or in ruby dress,
. nameless girl in freshest summer/greens,
. saint, an angel(e!ery can!as means
)he same one meaning, neither more nor less.
$e feeds upon her face by day and night,
.nd she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and -oyful as the light&
#ot wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim"
#o as she is, but was when hope shone bright"
#ot as she is, but as she fills his dream.
0an!e Al"1+"er" (126'–1&21)
from The )i(ine Comed, from The Inferno
*anto III
)hrough me the way is to the city dolent"
)hrough me the way is to eternal dole"
)hrough me the way among the people lost.
>ustice incited my sublime *reator"
*reated me di!ine Omnipotence,
)he highest 'isdom and the primal o!e.
Before me there were no created things,
Only eterne, and I eternal last.
.ll hope abandon, ye who enter in,
)hese words in somber color I beheld
'ritten upon the summit of a gate"
'hence I& )heir sense is, +aster, hard to me,
.nd he to me, as one e1perienced&
$ere all suspicion needs must be abandoned,
.ll cowardice must needs be here e1tinct.
'e to the place ha!e come, where I ha!e told thee
)hou shalt behold the people dolorous
'ho ha!e foregone the good of intellect.

.nd after he had laid his hand on mine
'ith -oyful mien, whence I was comforted,
$e led me in among the secret things.

)here sighs, complaints, and ululations loud
7esounded through the air without a star,
'hence I, at the beginning, wept thereat.

anguages di!erse, horrible dialects,
.ccents of anger, words of agony,
.nd !oices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,

+ade up a tumult that goes whirling on
Fore!er in that air fore!er black,
E!en as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes.

.nd I, who had my head with horror bound,
Said& +aster, what is this which now I hear0
'hat folk is this, which seems by pain so !an8uished0

.nd he to me& )his miserable mode
+aintain the melancholy souls of those
'ho li!ed withouten infamy or praise.

*ommingled are they with that caitiff choir
Of .ngels, who ha!e not rebellious been,
#or faithful were to %od, but were for self.

)he hea!ens e1pelled them, not to be less fair"
#or them the nethermore abyss recei!es,
For glory none the damned would ha!e from them.

.nd I& O +aster, what so grie!ous is
)o these, that maketh them lament so sore0
$e answered& I will tell thee !ery briefly.

)hese ha!e no longer any hope of death"
.nd this blind life of theirs is so debased,
)hey en!ious are of e!ery other fate.
#o fame of them the world permits to be"
+isericord and >ustice both disdain them.
et us not speak of them, but look, and pass.

.nd I, who looked again, beheld a banner,
'hich, whirling round, ran on so rapidly,
)hat of all pause it seemed to me indignant"

.nd after it there came so long a train
Of people, that I ne2er would ha!e belie!ed
)hat e!er Death so many had undone.

'hen some among them I had recogni9ed.
I looked, and I beheld the shade of him
'ho made through cowardice the great refusal.

Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain,
)hat this the sect was of the caitiff wretches
$ateful to %od and to his enemies.

)hese miscreants, who ne!er were ali!e,
'ere naked, and were stung e1ceedingly
By gadflies and by hornets that were there.

)hese did their faces irrigate with blood,
'hich, with their tears commingled, at their feet
By the disgusting worms was gathered up.

.nd when to ga9ing farther I betook me.
Geople I saw on a great ri!er2s bank"
'hence said I& +aster, now !ouchsafe to me,

)hat I may know who these are, and what law
+akes them appear so ready to pass o!er,
.s I discern athwart the dusky light.

.nd he to me& )hese things shall all be known
)o thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay
=pon the dismal shore of .cheron.

)hen with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast,
Fearing my words might irksome be to him,
From speech refrained I till we reached the ri!er.

.nd lo, towards us coming in a boat
.n old man, hoary with the hair of eld,
*rying& 'oe unto you, ye souls depra!ed

$ope ne!ermore to look upon the hea!ens"
I come to lead you to the other shore,
)o the eternal shades in heat and frost.

.nd thou, that yonder standest, li!ing soul,
'ithdraw thee from these people, who are dead(
But when he saw that I did not withdraw,

$e said& By other ways, by other ports
)hou to the shore shalt come, not here, for, passage"
. lighter !essel needs must carry thee.

.nd unto him the %uide& ;e1 thee not, *haron"
It is so willed there where is power to do
)hat which is willed" and farther 8uestion not.
)hereat were 8uieted the fleecy cheeks
Of him the ferryman of the li!id fen,
'ho round about his eyes had wheels of flame.

But all those souls who weary were and naked
)heir color changed and gnashed their teeth together,
.s soon as they had heard those cruel words.

%od they blasphemed and their progenitors,
)he human race, the place, the time, the seed
Of their engendering and of their birth,

)hereafter all together they drew back,
Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore,
'hich waiteth e!ery man who fears not %od.

*haron the demon, with the eyes of glede,
Beckoning to them, collects them all together,
Beats with his oar whoe!er lags behind.

.s in the autumn/time the lea!es fall off,
First one and then another, till the branch
=nto the earth surrenders all its spoils"

In similar wise the e!il seed of .dam
)hrow themsel!es from that margin one by one,
.t signals, as a bird unto its lure.

So they depart across the dusky wa!e,
.nd ere upon the other side they land,
.gain on this side a new troop assembles.

+y son, the courteous +aster said to me,
.ll those who perish in the wrath of %od
$ere meet together out of e!ery land"

.nd ready are they to pass o2er the ri!er,
Because celestial >ustice spurs them on,
So that their fear is turned into desire.

)his way there ne!er passes a good soul"
.nd hence if *haron doth complain of thee
'ell mayst thou know now what his speech imports.

)his being finished, all the dusk champaign
)rembled so !iolently, that of that terror
)he recollection bathes me still with sweat.

)he land of tears ga!e forth a blast of wind,
.nd fulminated a !ermilion light,
'hich o!ermastered in me e!ery sense,

.nd as a man whom sleep hath sei9ed I fell.
3tr. $enry 'adsworth ongfellow4

0eena L"ne!!
+ur )ut
?our numberJs up. *liff edge
is a window/ledge, twelfth floor
#ew *ourts Building, Esse1
*ounty. Below, the snowJs
been four feet deep for weeks.
*ops patrol and weJre locked in
as if by ser!ing time
we would de!elop empathy.
*louds sweet as cream drift
across the skies where they are free.
)wel!e/eighteenJs my new I.D.,
hotel room, flight number, war lottery.
.fter the change of go!ernment
begin with the maps, newly re!ised.
Ignore the stars. )hey will not
be there when you need them.
?ouJre in altered relation
to the spray of light on dark. #ow
you see the gala1y edge/on, spinning
all the way toward the beginning.
?our compass says south is a range
of mountains with a glacier whose flowJs
shape is music you know
but canJt sing" you are west
of fields of purple flowers and east
of a salt sea. 'here are you0 'hy
ha!e they left you here0 'hat is your task0
'hat will you de!ote yourself to0
K Deena inett

0eena L"ne!!
The Ti"er in the )ri(e,a
has escaped the carousel and stands chained
to the trunk of a dogwood in the suburbs
fourteen miles from #ew ?ork. Bright
in his new coat of paint, his stripes
blend with the mi1 of light and shade,
his likeness, and only slightly less dangerous.
.cross the street, nearly hidden
in dense brushy rhododendron, a bron9e swan
glimmers in dots of light like rain or little mirrors,
like medallions. 'hen the lightJs right they reflect
the tiger, broken into pieces, flattened, tamed.
She doesnJt like to hear his panting on hot days
but senses how the chain beneath his chin
chafes skin. Sympathy like light wind
cannot stir her feathers, weighted with metal.
#ights she imagines his slide silent as shadow
to the beds upstairs. Dri!en out 3he is always
dri!en out4, he dreams itJs possible to slip
behind the sto!e or fridge" he spits
like a house/cat when the woman sprinkles water
on the grass and wets his clothes. $e misses
his little blue -acket but not the saddleJs
golden tassels and gilt trim, and he longs for music,
but not the children climbing and patting.
On long summer afternoons he might do9e
in the shade of the garage where blades and spokes,
old bikes and broken mowers, gleam beneath coats
of grime and dust, brown furry frosting. $e is manifest
desire and drips like bitten peaches, plums" tigers.
$is fine eyes shine with bleak intelligence and blink
in all that dark, and then he stretches, pink
tongue curling. $is breast hea!es. Bars bow&
he is potential mouth and froth and leap,
brings smells like meat, the scent of mud from ri!ers
with him, bruises, streaks of old abrasions, chunks
of carrion and traces of wild grasses,
memories of fatty thighs of swans,
their gorgeous splayed black paddlefeet.
K Deena inett

2d1ar Allan Poe (1809–1849)
The Cit in the Sea
o, Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim 'est,
'here the good and the bad and the worst and the best
$a!e gone to their eternal rest.
)here shrines and palaces and towers
3)ime/eaten towers that tremble not,4
7esemble nothing that is ours.
.round, by lifting winds forgot,
7esignedly beneath the sky
)he melancholy waters lie.
#o rays from the holy hea!en come down
On the long night/time of that town"
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently(
%leams up the pinnacles far and free(
=p domes(up spires(up kingly halls(
=p fanes(up Babylon/like walls(
=p shadowy long/forgotten bowers
Of sculptured i!y and stone flowers(
=p many and many a mar!elous shrine
'hose wreath<d frie9es intertwine
)he !iol, the !iolet, and the !ine.
7esignedly beneath the sky
)he melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
)hat all seem pendulous in air,
'hile from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
)here open fanes and gaping gra!es
?awn le!el with the luminous wa!es"
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol2s diamond eye(
#ot the gaily/-eweled dead
)empt the waters from their bed"
For no ripples curl, alas,
.mong that wilderness of glass(
#o swellings tell that winds may be
=pon some far/off happier sea(
#o hea!ings hint that winds ha!e been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air,
)he wa!e(there is a mo!ement there,
.s if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide(
.s if their tops had feebly gi!en
. !oid within the filmy $ea!en.
)he wa!es ha!e now a redder glow(
)he hours are breathing faint and low(
.nd when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
$ell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it re!erence.

2d1ar Allan Poe (1809–1849)
The Ra(en
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
O!er many a 8uaint and curious !olume of forgotten lore(
'hile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
.s of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
52)is some !isiter,5 I muttered, 5tapping at my chamber door(
Only this and nothing more.5
.h, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December"
.nd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow"(!ainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow(sorrow for the lost enore(
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name enore(
#ameless here for e!ermore.
.nd the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
)hrilled me(filled me with fantastic terrors ne!er felt before"
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
52)is some !isiter entreating entrance at my chamber door(
Some late !isiter entreating entrance at my chamber door"(
)his it is and nothing more.5
Gresently my soul grew stronger" hesitating then no longer,
5Sir,5 said I, 5or +adam, truly your forgi!eness I implore"
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
.nd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
)hat I scarce was sure I heard you5(here I opened wide the door"(
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal e!er dared to dream before"
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness ga!e no token,
.nd the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 5enore05
)his I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 5enore,5
+erely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
5Surely,5 said I, 5surely that is something at my window lattice"
et me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery e1plore(
et my heart be still a moment and this mystery e1plore"(
2)is the wind and nothing more,5
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately 7a!en of the saintly days of yore"
#ot the least obeisance made he" not a minute stopped or stayed he"
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched abo!e my chamber door(
Gerched upon a bust of Gallas -ust abo!e my chamber door(
Gerched, and sat, and nothing more.
)hen this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the gra!e and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
5)hough thy crest be shorn and sha!en, thou,5 I said, 5art sure no cra!en,
%hastly grim and ancient 7a!en wandering from the #ightly shore(
)ell me what thy lordly name is on the #ight2s Glutonian shore,5
:uoth the 7a!en 5#e!ermore.5
+uch I mar!elled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
)hough its answer little meaning(little rele!ancy bore"
For we cannot help agreeing that no li!ing human being
E!er yet was blessed with seeing bird abo!e his chamber door(
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust abo!e his chamber door,
'ith such name as 5#e!ermore.5
But the 7a!en, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
)hat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
#othing farther then he uttered(not a feather then he fluttered(
)ill I scarcely more than muttered 5Other friends ha!e flown before(/
On the morrow he will lea!e me, as my $opes ha!e flown before.5
)hen the bird said 5#e!ermore.5
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
5Doubtless,5 said I, 5what it utters is its only stock and store
*aught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore(
)ill the dirges of his $ope that melancholy burden bore
Of 2#e!er(ne!ermore.25
But the 7a!en still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door"
)hen, upon the !el!et sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore(
'hat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
+eant in croaking 5#e!ermore.5
)his I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable e1pressing
)o the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom2s core"
)his and more I sat di!ining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion2s !el!et lining that the lamp/light gloated o2er,
But whose !el!et/!iolet lining with the lamp/light gloating o2er,
She shall press, ah, ne!ermore,
)hen, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot/falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
5'retch,5 I cried, 5thy %od hath lent thee(by these angels he hath sent thee
7espite(respite and nepenthe from thy memories of enore"
:uaff, oh 8uaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost enore,5
:uoth the 7a!en 5#e!ermore.5
5Grophet,5 said I, 5thing of e!il,(prophet still, if bird or de!il,(
'hether )empter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted(
On this home by $orror haunted(tell me truly, I implore(
Is there(is there balm in %ilead0(tell me(tell me, I implore,5
:uoth the 7a!en 5#e!ermore.5
5Grophet,5 said I, 5thing of e!il,(prophet still, if bird or de!il,
By that $ea!en that bends abo!e us(by that %od we both adore(
)ell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant .idenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name enore(
*lasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name enore.5
:uoth the 7a!en 5#e!ermore.5
5Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend,5 I shrieked, upstarting(
5%et thee back into the tempest and the #ight2s Glutonian shore,
ea!e no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken,
ea!e my loneliness unbroken,(8uit the bust abo!e my door,
)ake thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door,5
:uoth the 7a!en 5#e!ermore.5
.nd the 7a!en, ne!er flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Gallas -ust abo!e my chamber door"
.nd his eyes ha!e all the seeming of a demon2s that is dreaming,
.nd the lamp/light o2er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor"
.nd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted(ne!ermore,

2d1ar Lee Mas!ers (1868–19'0)
)oc Hill
I went up and down the streets
$ere and there by day and night,
)hrough all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick.
Do you know why0
+y wife hated me, my son went to the dogs.
.nd I turned to the people and poured out my lo!e to them.
Sweet it was to see the crowds about the lawns on the day of my funeral,
.nd hear them murmur their lo!e and sorrow.
But oh, dear %od, my soul trembled, scarcely able
)o hold to the railing of the new life
'hen I saw Em Stanton behind the oak tree
.t the gra!e,
$iding herself, and her grief,

2d1ar Lee Mas!ers (1868–19'0)
Seth Compton
'hen I died, the circulating library
'hich I built up for Spoon 7i!er,
.nd managed for the good of in8uiring minds,
'as sold at auction on the public s8uare,
.s if to destroy the last !estige
Of my memory and influence.
For those of you who could not see the !irtue
Of knowing ;olney2s 57uins5 as well as Butler2s 5.nalogy5
.nd 5Faust5 as well as 5E!angeline,5
'ere really the power in the !illage,
.nd often you asked me,
5'hat is the use of knowing the e!il in the world05
I am out of your way now, Spoon 7i!er,
*hoose your own good and call it good.
For I could ne!er make you see
)hat no one knows what is good
'ho knows not what is e!il"
.nd no one knows what is true
'ho knows not what is false.

2d3%nd 4penser ((a) 1''2–1'99)
from $moretti- Sonnet ./
ike as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escap2d away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,
'ith panting hounds beguiled of their prey&
So after long pursuit and !ain assay,
'hen I all weary had the chase forsook,
)he gentle deer return2d the self/same way,
)hinking to 8uench her thirst at the ne1t brook.
)here she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide&
)ill I in hand her yet half trembling took,
.nd with her own goodwill her firmly tied.
Strange thing, me seem2d, to see a beast so wild,
So goodly won, with her own will beguil2d.

2d3%nd 4penser ((a) 1''2–1'99)
from The 0aerie 1ueene, from The 0irst %ooke
)he egende of the
6night of the 7ed *rosse,
Of $olinesse
o I the man, whose +use whilome did maske,
.s time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds,
.m now enforst a far unfitter taske,
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,
.nd sing of 6nights and adies gentle deeds"
'hose prayses ha!ing slept in silence long,
+e, all too meane, the sacred +use areeds
)o bla9on broad emongst her learned throng&
Fierce warres and faithfull lo!es shall morali9e my song.
$elpe then, O holy ;irgin chiefe of nine,
)hy weaker #o!ice to performe thy will,
ay forth out of thine e!erlasting scryne
)he anti8ue rolles, which there lye hidden still,
Of Faerie knights and fairest )ana8uill,
'hom that most noble Briton Grince so long
Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill,
)hat I must rue his undeser!<d wrong&
O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.
.nd thou most dreaded impe of hightest >o!e,
Faire ;enus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
.t that good knight so cunningly didst ro!e,
)hat glorious fire it kindled in his hart,
ay now thy deadly $eben bow apart,
.nd with thy mother milde come to mine ayde&
*ome both, and with you bring triumphant +art,
In lo!es and gentle -ollities arrayd,
.fter his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.
.nd with them eke, O %oddesse hea!enly bright,
+irrour of grace and +a-estie di!ine,
%reat ady of the greatest Isle, whose light
ike Ghoebus lampe throughout the world doth shine,
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne,
.nd raise my thoughts too humble and too !ile,
)o thinke of that true glorious type of thine,
)he argument of mine afflicted stile&
)he which to heare, !ouchsafe, O dearest dred a/while.

2dward Lear (1812–1888)
The O,l and the &uss-Cat
)he Owl and the Gussy/*at went to sea
In a beautiful pea/green boat,
)hey took some honey, and plenty of money
'rapped up in a fi!e/pound note.
)he Owl looked up to the stars abo!e,
.nd sang to a small guitar,
5O lo!ely Gussy, O Gussy, my lo!e,
'hat a beautiful Gussy you are,
?ou are,
?ou are,
'hat a beautiful Gussy you are,5

Gussy said to the Owl, 5?ou elegant fowl,
$ow charmingly sweet you sing,
O let us be married, too long we ha!e tarried&
But what shall we do for a ring05
)hey sailed away, for a year and a day,
)o the land where the Bong/tree grows
.nd there in a wood a Giggy/wig stood
'ith a ring at the end of his nose,
$is nose,
$is nose,
'ith a ring at the end of his nose.
5Dear Gig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
?our ring05 Said the Giggy, 5I will.5
So they took it away, and were married ne1t day
By the )urkey who li!es on the hill.
)hey dined on mince, and slices of 8uince,
'hich they ate with a runcible spoon"
.nd hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
)hey danced by the light of the moon,
)he moon,
)he moon,
)hey danced by the light of the moon.

2dw"n Arl"n1!on /o$"nson (1869–19&')
!ini(er Chee(
+ini!er *hee!y, child of scorn,
%rew lean while he assailed the seasons"
$e wept that he was e!er born,
.nd he had reasons.
+ini!er lo!ed the days of old
'hen swords were bright and steeds were prancing"
)he !ision of a warrior bold
'ould set him dancing.
+ini!er sighed for what was not,
.nd dreamed, and rested from his labors"
$e dreamed of )hebes and *amelot,
.nd Griam2s neighbors.
+ini!er mourned the ripe renown
)hat made so many a name so fragrant"
$e mourned 7omance, now on the town,
.nd .rt, a !agrant.
+ini!er lo!ed the +edici,
.lbeit he had ne!er seen one"
$e would ha!e sinned incessantly
*ould he ha!e been one.
+ini!er cursed the commonplace
.nd eyed a khaki suit with loathing"
$i missed the medie!al grace
Of iron clothing.
+ini!er scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it"
+ini!er thought, and thought, and thought,
.nd thought about it.
+ini!er *hee!y, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking"
+ini!er coughed, and called it fate,
.nd kept on drinking.

2l"5a$e!+ #arre!! #rown"n1 (1806–1861)
from Sonnets from the &ortu"uese
%o from me. ?et I feel that I shall stand
$enceforward in thy shadow. #e!ermore
.lone upon the threshold of my door
Of indi!idual life, I shall command
)he uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
'ithout the sense of that which I forbore(
)hy touch upon the palm. )he widest land
Doom takes to part us, lea!es thy heart in mine
'ith pulses that beat double. 'hat I do
.nd what I dream include thee, as the wine
+ust taste of its own grapes. .nd when I sue
%od for myself, $e hears that name of thine,
.nd sees within my eyes the tears of two.
23"ly #ron!6 (1818–1848)
.h, why, because the da99ling sun
7estored our earth to -oy
$a!e you departed, e!ery one,
.nd left a desert sky0
.ll through the night, your glorious eyes
'ere ga9ing down in mine,
.nd with a full heart2s thankful sighs
I blessed that watch di!ine,
I was at peace, and drank your beams
.s they were life to me
.nd re!elled in my changeful dreams
ike petrel on the sea.
)hought followed thought(star followed star
)hrough boundless regions on,
'hile one sweet influence, near and far,
)hrilled through and pro!ed us one.
'hy did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure a spell,
.nd scorch with fire the tran8uil cheek
'here your cool radiance fell0
Blood/red he rose, and arrow/straight
$is fierce beams struck my brow&
)he soul of #ature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low,
+y lids closed down(yet through their !eil
I saw him bla9ing still"
.nd steep in gold the misty dale
.nd flash upon the hill.
I turned me to the pillow then
)o call back #ight, and see
?our worlds of solemn light, again
)hrob with my heart and me,
It would not do(the pillow glowed
.nd glowed both roof and floor,
.nd birds sang loudly in the wood,
.nd fresh winds shook the door.
)he curtains wa!ed, the wakened flies
'ere murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
.nd gi!e them lea!e to roam.
O Stars and Dreams and %entle #ight"
O #ight and Stars return,
.nd hide me from the hostile light
)hat does not warm, but burn(
)hat drains the blood of suffering men"
Drinks tears, instead of dew&
et me sleep through his blinding reign,
.nd only wake with you,

23"ly 0"(7"nson (18&0–1886)
I dreaded that first 7obin, so,
But $e is mastered, now,
I2m some accustomed to $im grown,
$e hurts a little, though(
I thought if I could only li!e
)ill that first Shout got by(
#ot all Gianos in the 'oods
$ad power to mangle me(
I dared not meet the Daffodils(
For fear their ?ellow %own
'ould pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own(
I wished the %rass would hurry(
So(when 2twas time to see(
$e2d be too tall, the tallest one
*ould stretch(to look at me(
I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they2d stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
'hat word had they, for me0
)hey2re here, though" not a creature failed(
#o Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me(
)he :ueen of *al!ary(
Each one salutes me, as he goes,
.nd I, my childish Glumes,
ift, in berea!ed acknowledgement
Of their unthinking Drums(

23"ly 0"(7"nson (18&0–1886)
Because I could not stop for Death(
$e kindly stopped for me(
)he *arriage held but -ust Oursel!es(
.nd Immortality.
'e slowly dro!e($e knew no haste
.nd I had put away
+y labor and my leisure too,
For $is *i!ility(
'e passed the School, where *hildren stro!e
.t 7ecess(in the 7ing(
'e passed the Fields of %a9ing %rain(
'e passed the Setting Sun(
Or rather(he passed us(
)he Dews drew 8ui!ering L chill(
For only %ossamer, my %own(
+y )ippet(only )ulle(
'e paused before a $ouse that seemed
. Swelling of the %round(
)he 7oof was scarcely !isible(
)he *ornice(in the %round(
Since then(2tis *enturies(and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the $orses2 $eads
'ere toward Eternity(
233a La5ar%s (1849–1887)
The 'e, Colossus
#ot like the bra9en giant of %reek fame,
'ith con8uering limbs astride from land to land"
$ere at our sea/washed, sunset gates shall stand
. mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
+other of E1iles. From her beacon/hand
%lows world/wide welcome" her mild eyes command
)he air/bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
56eep, ancient lands, your storied pomp,5 cries she
'ith silent lips. 5%i!e me your tired, your poor,
?our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
)he wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest/tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door,5

*leda #rown (1944– )
I #rite ! !other a &oem
Sometimes I feel her easing further into her gra!e,
resigned, as always, and I ha!e to come to her rescue.
ike now, when I ha!e so much else to do. #ot that
she2d want a poem. She would ha!e been proud, of course,
of all its mystery, in!ol!ing her, but scared a little.
$er eyes would ha!e filled with tears. It always comes
to that, I don2t know why I bother. One gesture
and she2s gone down a well of raw feeling, and I2m left
alone again. I a!ert my eyes, to keep from scaring her.
On her dresser is one of those old glass bottles
of >ergen2s otion with the black label, a little round
bottle of +um deodorant, a white plastic tray
with .!on necklaces and earrings, pennies, paper clips,
and a large black coat button. I appear to be !ery
interested in these ob-ects, e!en interested in the sun
through the blinds. It falls across her face, and not,
as she changes the bed. She would rather ha!e clean sheets
than my poem, but as long as I don2t bother her, she2s glad
to know I care. She2s talked my father into taking
a dri!e later, stopping for an . L ' root beer.
She is dreaming of foam on the glass, the tray propped
on the car window. .nd trees, farmhouses, the e1panse
of the world as seen from inside the car. It is no
use to try to get her out to watch airplanes
take off, or walk a trail, or hear this poem
and offer anything more than 5Isn2t that sweet,5
7ight now bombs are e1ploding in 6oso!o, students
shot in *olorado, and my mother is wearing a root beer
mustache. $er eyes are unfocused, e!erything2s root beer.
I write root beer, root beer, to make her happy.
*leda #rown (1944– )
The #omen #ho Lo(ed El(is $ll Their Li(es
She reads, of course, what he2s doing, shaking #i1on2s hand,
dating this starlet or that, while he is faithful to her
like a stone in her belly, like the actual lo!e child,
its bills and diapers. Once he had kissed her
and time had stood still, at least some point seems to
remain back there as a place to return to, to wait for.
'hat is she waiting for0 $e will not marry her, nor will he
stop !ery often. DesireM will grow up to say her father is dead.
DesireM will imagine him standing on a timeless street,
hungry for his child. She will wait for him, not in the original,
but in a gesture copied to whate!er lo!er she takes.
$e will fracture and change to landscape, to the Gope, maybe,
or Gresident 6ennedy, or to a pain that darkens her eyes.
5Once,5 she will say, as if she remembers,
and the memory will stick like a fishbone. She knows
how easily she will comply when a man puts his hand
on the back of her neck and gently steers her.
She knows how long she will wait for rescue, how the world
will go on e1panding outside. She will see her mother2s photo
of El!is shaking hands with #i1on, the terrifying con-unction.
. whole war with .sia will begin slowly,
in her lifetime, out of such irreconcilable urges.
)he Gill will become a!ailable to the general public,
starting up a new waiting in that other depth.
)he egg will ha!e to keep belie!ing in its timeless moment
of completion without any proof e1cept in the longing
of its own body. +aris will break Babe 7uth2s record
while Orbison will ha!e his first ma-or hit with
5Only the onely,5 trying his best to sound like El!is.

8ary *"n(7e (194'– )
The %illion Heart6eats of the !ammal
NFeel this,O my father says, guiding my hand
)o the simple Braille of his pacemaker.
NSi1ty,O he tells me, No!er and o!er
ike a clock,O and I mention the billion
$eartbeats of the mammal, how the life span
*an be rough/guessed by the HPP beats
Ger minute of the shrew, the APP
Of the house cat, speeding through their billion
In three years, in twel!e. $ow slowly we act,
.ccording to our pets. $ow we are stone
)o the frantic insects. N#ot slow enough,O
$e answers, summing up the math, citing
$is two billion heartbeats of punched/in work,
)he one billion my mother beat to do
)he daily double/shift of housekeeper
.nd clerk until her heart softened to mush.
$eJs busy, now, with wiping down his floors
)he way he swirled a mop through locker rooms
Before striding the push broom up and down
)he grain of gym sweep, repeating the mo!es
Of twenty kinds of cleaning between ten
.nd si1/thirty in the high school I used
Between eight and three/fifteen. $e might ha!e
Been following the Geterson +ethod
For care, learning the neat lines and o!als
Of my mother, who wrote to me, the day
She died, a perfectly scripted letter,
Gages of open !owels so nothing
She said could be misread. .nd e!en now,
In the attic, inside her black notebooks
Stacked and banded, her carefully copied
Familiar 8uotes, the good ad!ice
Of the writing e1ercise dating back
)o a hundred lines of o!als, fifty
Of the properly slanted line. Genciled
Gages of strict, block printing, the two/space
*apitals, the touch of tall letters to
)he roof of lines, my father repeating
)he multiplication and di!ision
)o the thirty years of humans, how he is
*losing in on three billion while I am
#earing two. $ow we are the e1ception
)o the heartbeat system, taking so long
)o come of age we ha!e time to practice
)he Geterson +ethod for memory,
Greser!e these things to open up and read.

8ary *"n(7e (194'– )
The !a"pie E(enin"- $ &raer
'hen magpies die, each of the li!ing swoops down
and pecks, one by one, in an accepted order.

$e coa1ed my car to start, the boy whoJs killed himself.
$e twisted a cable, performed *G7 on
)he carburetor while my three children shi!ered
)hrough the unanswerable 8uestions about stalled.
$e chose shotgun, full in the face, so no one stepped
Into the cold, blowing on his hands, to fi1 him.
et him rest now, the minister says. et this be,
7epeating himself to four brothers, fi!e sisters,
.ll of them my neighbors until they grew and left.
et us pray. et us manage what we need to say.
et this house with its three hand/made additions be
arge enough for the one day of necessity.
et e!ening empty each room to ceremony
*hosen by the remaining nine. et the awful,
Forecasted weather hold off in east Ohio
=ntil each of them, oldest to youngest, has passed.
et their thirty/se!en children scatter into
)he s8uabbling of the e!eryday, and let them break
)his creeping chain of cars into the fanning out
)oward anger and selfishness and the need to eat
.t any of the thousand tables they will pass.
et them wait. et them correctly choose the right turn
Or the left, this entrance ramp, that e1it, the last
*onfusing fork before the familiar dri!eway
)hree hundred miles and more from these bleak thunderheads.
et them regather into the chairs e1actly
+atched to their numbers, blessing the bountiful or
)he meager with !oices that soar toward renewal.
et them ha!e mercy on themsel!es. et my children,
%rown now, be repairing my faults with forgi!eness.

8eoffrey ,+a%(er ((a) 1&4&–1400)
from The Canter6ur Tales, from The #ife of %ath*s &rolo"ue
E1perience, though noon auctoritee
'ere in this world, is right ynough for me
)o speke of wo that is in mariage&
For lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age(
)hanked be %od that is eterne on li!e(
$ousbondes at chirche dore I ha!e had fi!e
3If I so ofte mighte han wedded be4,
.nd alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was told, certain, nat longe agoon is,
)hat sith that *rist ne wente ne!ere but ones
)o wedding in the *ane of %alilee,
)hat by the same ensample taughte he me
)hat I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
$erke eek, lo, which a sharp word for the nones,
Biside a well, >esus, %od and man,
Spak in repre!e of the Samaritan&
5)hou hast yhad fi!e housbondes,5 8uod he,
5.nd that ilke man that now hath thee
Is nat thyn housbonde.5 )hus saide he certain.
'hat that he mente therby I can nat sayn,
But that I a1e why the fifthe man
'as noon housbonde to the Samaritan0
$ow manye mighte she han in mariage0
?it herde I ne!ere tellen in myn age
=pon this nombre diffinicioun.
+en may di!ine and glosen up and down,
But wel I woot, e1pres, withouten lie,
%od bad us for to we1e and multiplye&
)hat gentil te1t can I wel understonde.

8eor1e 8ordon, Lord #yron (1788–1824)
#hen #e T,o &arted
'hen we two parted
In silence and tears,
$alf broken/hearted
)o se!er for years,
Gale grew thy cheek and cold,
*older thy kiss"
)ruly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
)he dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow(
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
)hy !ows are all broken,
.nd light is thy fame"
I hear thy name spoken,
.nd share in its shame.
)hey name thee before me,
. knell to mine ear"
. shudder comes o2er me(
'hy wert thou so dear0
)hey know not I knew thee,
'ho knew thee too well(
ong, long shall I rue thee,
)o deeply to tell.
In secret we met(
In silence I grie!e,
)hat thy heart could forget,
)hy spirit decei!e.
If I should meet thee
.fter long years,
$ow should I greet thee0(
'ith silence and tears.

8eor1e 9er$er! (1'9&–16&&)
+y %od, I heard this day
)hat none doth build a stately habitation,
But he that means to dwell therein.
'hat house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, than is +an0 to whose creation
.ll things are in decay.
For +an is e!ery thing,
.nd more& he is a tree, yet bears more fruit"
. beast, yet is or should be more&
7eason and speech we only bring.
Garrots may thank us, if they are not mute,
)hey go upon the score.
+an is all symmetry,
Full of proportions, one limb to another,
.nd all to all the world besides&
Each part may call the furthest, brother"
For head with foot hath pri!ate amity,
.nd both with moons and tides.
#othing hath got so far,
But man hath caught and kept it, as his prey.
$is eyes dismount the highest star&
$e is in little all the sphere.
$erbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they
Find their ac8uaintance there.
For us the winds do blow,
)he earth doth rest, hea!en mo!e, and fountains flow.
#othing we see but means our good,
.s our delight or as our treasure&
)he whole is either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
)he stars ha!e us to bed"
#ight draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws"
+usic and light attend our head.
.ll things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being" to our mind
In their ascent and cause.
Each thing is full of duty&
'aters united are our na!igation"
Distinguish<d, our habitation"
Below, our drink" abo!e, our meat"
Both are our cleanliness. $ath one such beauty0
)hen how are all things neat0
+ore ser!ants wait on +an
)han he2ll take notice of& in e!ery path
$e treads down that which doth befriend him
'hen sickness makes him pale and wan.
O mighty lo!e, +an is one world, and hath
.nother to attend him.
Since then, my %od, thou hast
So bra!e a palace built, O dwell in it
)hat it may dwell with thee at last,
)ill then, afford us so much wit,
)hat, as the world ser!es us, we may ser!e thee,
.nd both thy ser!ants be.
8erard Manley 9op7"ns (1844–1889)
God*s Grandeur
)he world is charged with the grandeur of %od.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil"
It gathers to a greatness, like the oo9e of oil
*rushed. 'hy do men then now not reck his rod0
%enerations ha!e trod, ha!e trod, ha!e trod"
.nd all is seared with trade" bleared, smeared with toil"
.nd wears man2s smudge and shares man2s smell& the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
.nd for all this, nature is ne!er spent"
)here li!es the dearest freshness deep down things"
.nd though the last lights off the black 'est went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs(
Because the $oly %host o!er the bent
'orld broods with warm breast and with ah, bright wings.

8erard Manley 9op7"ns (1844–1889)
&ied %eaut
%lory be to %od for dappled things(
For skies of couple/color as a brinded cow"
For rose/moles all in stipple upon trout that swim"
Fresh/firecoal chestnut/falls" finchesJ wings"
andscape plotted and pieced(fold, fallow, and plough"
.nd Qll trQdes, their gear and tackle and trim.
.ll things counter, original, spare, strange"
'hate!er is fickle, freckled 3who knows how04
'ith swift, slow" sweet, sour" ada99le, dim"
$e fathers/forth whose beauty is past change&
Graise him.

8ra(e ,aal"er" (19&7– )
)he first time I saw my .merican poems translated
I -ust stopped and studied
the hieroglyphics on the page,
tiny scribbles of black ink
saying twice
what was said before.
)hen I knew
I would not lea!e this world
without lo!ing some of it . . .
nothing reduced to a single truth . . .
all of one blood,
our words, music and li!es coming together.
It was not that the stars had fallen down(
It was more that we didnJt need
the lamp which had gone out.
$ow separate we are in the dark
after the poem is gone.

8ra(e ,aal"er" (19&7– )
)he sil!er from my motherJs mirror
gleams its stories
toward a light which drops and ne!er breaks.
It says to tell the truth and
permanently shining, brings forth
an original day bright as this one
where children and other small creatures
played without threat
but the childJs story is ne!er without fear(is it(
and seems to be made of remainders which either
want for lo!e or some relief from it.
In the third grade the pyramids were presented to us
by +iss OJ+alley
so kind that she would(
in honor of learning(
gi!e us the key to Egypt
if she could.
'ho would like to bring dates for all to taste0
'ho can do this on the lunch hour0 she asked.
#aturally I
(who could not imagine how(
said I would(
and, like a child with enough money to spend, ran
home with only one hour, one hour to ease
my dear mother who probably had
little money in the house, yet who bra!ely asked
NShouldnJt you buy two packages for the classO
I said #o.
o!e and fear di!ided in my mind between
an ocean of children
and my motherJs troubled face,
NOne package is all I needO I lied,
NSomeone else will bring the restO
3*hildren spend so much time persuading(
no wonder no one belie!es them4.
Eight dates for twenty children
which would taste so sweet(
+iss OJ+alley, always kind, cut the tiny s8uares
and I kept interrupting, hoping they
wouldnJt notice. .fter all
there wasnJt water in the land of pyramids . . . was
there . . . and
not too many trees,
probably hungry people and small rations there as well.
)hat day e!ery one of us was a reflection of the other(
the children who ate their portions,
the mother at home worrying about her daughterJs gift,
the child thinking about her motherJs face,
and +iss OJ+alley who, kind and earnest,
taught us all about a hardy people in an arid land
who ga!e what they had and could gi!e nothing more.

9enry -adswor!+ Lon1fellow (1807–1882)
The 0ire of )rift-#ood
'e sat within the farm/house old,
'hose windows, looking o2er the bay,
%a!e to the sea/bree9e damp and cold,
.n easy entrance, night and day.
#ot far away we saw the port,
)he strange, old/fashioned, silent town,
)he lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
)he wooden houses, 8uaint and brown.
'e sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room"
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our !oices only broke the gloom.
'e spake of many a !anished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might ha!e been,
.nd who was changed, and who was dead"
.nd all that fills the hearts of friends,
'hen first they feel, with secret pain,
)heir li!es thenceforth ha!e separate ends,
.nd ne!er can be one again"
)he first slight swer!ing of the heart,
)hat words are powerless to e1press,
.nd lea!e it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great e1cess.
)he !ery tones in which we spake
$ad something strange, I could but mark"
)he lea!es of memory seemed to make
. mournful rustling in the dark.
Oft died the words upon our lips,
.s suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
)he flames would leap and then e1pire.
.nd, as their splendor flashed and failed,
'e thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
.nd sent no answer back again.
)he windows, rattling in their frames,
)he ocean, roaring up the beach,
)he gusty blast, the bickering flames,
.ll mingled !aguely in our speech"
=ntil they made themsel!es a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
)he long/lost !entures of the heart,
)hat send no answers back again.
O flames that glowed, O hearts that yearned,
)hey were indeed too much akin,
)he drift/wood fire without that burned,
)he thoughts that burned and glowed within.

9enry -adswor!+ Lon1fellow (1807–1882)
The Tide Rises, the Tide 0alls
)he tide rises, the tide falls,
)he twilight darkens, the curlew calls"
.long the sea/sands damp and brown
)he tra!eller hastens toward the town,
.nd the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls"
)he little wa!es, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
.nd the tide rises, the tide falls.
)he morning breaks" the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls"
)he day returns, but ne!ermore
7eturns the tra!eller to the shore,
.nd the tide rises, the tide falls.

.o+n 0onne (1'72–16&1)
The 0lea
+ark but this flea, and mark in this,
$ow little that which thou deniest me is"
+e it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
.nd in this flea our two bloods mingled be"
)hou know2st that this cannot be said
. sin, nor shame nor loss of maidenhead,
?et this en-oys before it woo,
.nd pampered swells with one blood made of two,
.nd this, alas, is more than we would do.
Oh stay, three li!es in one flea spare,
'here we almost, yea more than married are.
)his flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed and marriage temple is"
)hough parents grudge, and you, we are met,
.nd cloistered in these li!ing walls of -et.
)hough use make you apt to kill me,
et not to that, self/murder added be,
.nd sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
*urel and sudden, hast thou since
Gurpled thy nail, in blood of innocence0
'herein could this flea guilty be,
E1cept in that drop which it sucked from thee0
?et thou triumph2st, and say2st that thou
Find2st not thy self nor me the weaker now"
2)is true" then learn how false, fears be"
>ust so much honor, when thou yield2st to me,
'ill waste, as this flea2s death took life from thee.

.o+n 0ryden (16&1–1700)
To the !emor of !r7 Oldham
Farewell, too little, and too lately known,
'hom I began to think and call my own&
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
*ast in the same poetic mold with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
.nd kna!es and fools we both abhorred alike.
)o the same goal did both our studies dri!e"
)he last set out the soonest did arri!e.
)hus #isus fell upon the slippery place,
'hile his young friend performed and won the race.
O early ripe, to thy abundant store
'hat could ad!ancing age ha!e added more0
It might 3what nature ne!er gi!es the young4
$a!e taught the numbers of thy nati!e tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine
)hrough the harsh cadence of a rugged line&
. noble error, and but seldom made,
'hen poets are by too much force betrayed.
)hy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,
Still showed a 8uickness, and maturing time
But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme.
Once more, hail and farewell" farewell, thou young,
But ah too short, +arcellus of our tongue"
)hy brows with i!y, and with laurels bound"
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

.o+n 8reenleaf -+"!!"er (1807–1892)
%urnin" )rift-#ood
Before my drift/wood fire I sit,
.nd see, with e!ery waif I burn,
Old dreams and fancies coloring it,
.nd folly2s unlaid ghosts return.
O ships of mine, whose swift keels cleft
)he enchanted sea on which they sailed,
.re these poor fragments only left
Of !ain desires and hopes that failed0
Did I not watch from them the light
Of sunset on my towers in Spain,
.nd see, far off, uploom in sight
)he Fortunate Isles I might not gain0
Did sudden lift of fog re!eal
.rcadia2s !ales of song and spring,
.nd did I pass, with gra9ing keel,
)he rocks whereon the sirens sing0
$a!e I not drifted hard upon
)he unmapped regions lost to man,
)he cloud/pitched tents of Grester >ohn,
)he palace domes of 6ubla 6han0
Did land winds blow from -asmine flowers,
'here ?outh the ageless Fountain fills0
Did o!e make sign from rose blown bowers,
.nd gold from Eldorado2s hills0
.las, the gallant ships, that sailed
On blind .d!enture2s errand sent,
$owe2er they laid their courses, failed
)o reach the ha!en of *ontent.
.nd of my !entures, those alone
'hich o!e had freighted, safely sped,
Seeking a good beyond my own,
By clear/eyed Duty piloted.
O mariners, hoping still to meet
)he luck .rabian !oyagers met,
.nd find in Bagdad2s moonlit street,
$aroun al 7aschid walking yet,
)ake with you, on your Sea of Dreams,
)he fair, fond fancies dear to youth.
I turn from all that only seems,
.nd seek the sober grounds of truth.
'hat matter that it is not +ay,
)hat birds ha!e flown, and trees are bare,
)hat darker grows the shortening day,
.nd colder blows the wintry air,
)he wrecks of passion and desire,
)he castles I no more rebuild,
+ay fitly feed my drift/wood fire,
.nd warm the hands that age has chilled.
'hate!er perished with my ships,
I only know the best remains"
. song of praise is on my lips
For losses which are now my gains.
$eap high my hearth, #o worth is lost"
#o wisdom with the folly dies.
Burn on, poor shreds, your holocaust
Shall be my e!ening sacrifice,
Far more than all I dared to dream,
=nsought before my door I see"
On wings of fire and steeds of steam
)he world2s great wonders come to me,
.nd holier signs, unmarked before,
Of o!e to seek and Gower to sa!e,(
)he righting of the wronged and poor,
)he man e!ol!ing from the sla!e"
.nd life, no longer chance or fate,
Safe in the gracious Fatherhood.
I fold o2er/wearied hands and wait,
In full assurance of the good.
.nd well the waiting time must be,
)hough brief or long its granted days,
If Faith and $ope and *harity
Sit by my e!ening hearth/fire2s bla9e.
.nd with them, friends whom $ea!en has spared,
'hose lo!e my heart has comforted,
.nd, sharing all my -oys, has shared
+y tender memories of the dead,(
Dear souls who left us lonely here,
Bound on their last, long !oyage, to whom
'e, day by day, are drawing near,
'here e!ery bark has sailing room.
I know the solemn monotone
Of waters calling unto me"
I know from whence the airs ha!e blown
)hat whisper of the Eternal Sea.
.s low my fires of drift/wood burn,
I hear that sea2s deep sounds increase,
.nd, fair in sunset light, discern
Its mirage/lifted Isles of Geace.

.o+n 8reenleaf -+"!!"er (1807–1892)
So fallen, so lost, the light withdrawn
'hich once he wore,
)he glory from his gray hairs gone
7e!ile him not(the )empter hath
. snare for all"
.nd pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall,
Oh, dumb be passion2s stormy rage,
'hen he who might
$a!e lighted up and led his age,
Falls back in night.
Scorn, would the angels laugh, to mark
. bright soul dri!en,
Fiend/goaded, down the endless dark,
From hope and hea!en,
et not the land, once proud of him,
Insult him now,
#or brand with deeper shame his dim,
Dishonored brow.
But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake,
. long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.
Of all we lo!ed and honored, nought
Sa!e power remains(
. fallen angel2s pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.
.ll else is gone" from those great eyes
)he soul has fled&
'hen faith is lost, when honor dies,
)he man is dead,
)hen, pay the re!erence of old days
)o his dead fame"
'alk backward, with a!erted ga9e,
.nd hide the shame,
.o+n :ea!s (179'–1821)
Ode on a Grecian 9rn
)hou still unra!ish2d bride of 8uietness,
)hou foster child of silence and slow time,
Syl!an historian, who canst thus e1press
. flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme&
'hat leaf/fring2d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In )empe or the dales of .rcady0
'hat men or gods are these0 'hat maidens loath0
'hat mad pursuit0 'hat struggle to escape0
'hat pipes and timbrels0 'hat wild ecstasy0
$eard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
.re sweeter" therefore, ye soft pipes, play on"
#ot to the sensual ear, but, more endear2d,
Gipe to the spirit ditties of no tone&
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not lea!e
)hy song, nor e!er can those trees be bare"
Bold o!er, ne!er, ne!er canst thou kiss,
)hough winning near the goal(yet, do not grie!e"
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For e!er wilt thou lo!e, and she be fair,
.h, happy, happy boughs, that cannot shed
?our lea!es, nor e!er bid the Spring adieu"
.nd, happy melodist, unwearied,
Fore!er piping songs fore!er new"
+ore happy lo!e, more happy, happy lo!e,
Fore!er warm and still to be en-oy2d,
Fore!er panting, and fore!er young"
.ll breathing human passion far abo!e,
)hat lea!es a heart high/sorrowful and cloy2d,
. burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
'ho are these coming to the sacrifice0
)o what green altar, O mysterious priest,
ead2st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
.nd all her silken flanks with garlands dressed0
'hat little town by ri!er or sea shore,
Or mountain/built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn0
.nd, little town, thy streets fore!ermore
'ill silent be" and not a soul to tell
'hy thou art desolate, can e2er return.
O .ttic shape, Fair attitude, with brede
Of marble men and maidens o!erwrought,
'ith forest branches and the trodden weed"
)hou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
.s doth eternity& *old Gastoral,
'hen old age shall this generation waste,
)hou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
)han ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say2st,
5Beauty is truth, truth beauty,(that is all
?e know on earth, and all ye need to know.5

.o+n M"l!on (1608–1674)
from &aradise Lost, %ook I
Of +an2s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
'ith loss of Eden, till one greater +an
7estore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, $ea!2nly +use, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
)hat shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the $ea!2ns and Earth
7ose out of *haos" or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa2s brook that flow2d
Fast by the oracle of %od, I thence
In!oke thy aid to my ad!ent2rous song,
)hat with no middle flight intends to soar
.bo!e th2 .onian mount, while it pursues
)hings unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
.nd chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th2 upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know2st" thou from the first
'ast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Do!elike sat2st brooding on the !ast abyss,
.nd mad2st it pregnant& what in me is dark
Illumine" what is low, raise and support"
)hat, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Gro!idence,
.nd -ustify the ways of %od to men.

.ona!+an 4w"f! (1667–174')
$ Satirical Ele" on the )eath of a Late 0amous General
$is %race, impossible, what dead,
Of old age too, and in his bed,
.nd could that mighty warrior fall0
.nd so inglorious, after all,
'ell, since he2s gone, no matter how,
)he last loud trump must wake him now&
.nd, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
$e2d wish to sleep a little longer.
.nd could he be indeed so old
.s by the newspapers we2re told0
)hreescore, I think, is pretty high"
2)was time in conscience he should die.
)his world he cumbered long enough"
$e burnt his candle to the snuff"
.nd that2s the reason, some folks think,
$e left behind so great a s///k.
Behold his funeral appears,
#or widow2s sighs, nor orphan2s tears,
'ont at such times each heart to pierce,
.ttend the progress of his hearse.
But what of that, his friends may say,
$e had those honors in his day.
)rue to his profit and his pride,
$e made them weep before he died.
*ome hither, all ye empty things,
?e bubbles raised by breath of kings"
'ho float upon the tide of state,
*ome hither, and behold your fate.
et pride be taught by this rebuke,
$ow !ery mean a thing2s a Duke"
From all his ill/got honors flung,
)urned to that dirt from whence he sprung.

.%d"!+ 4ar1en! M%rray (17'1–1820)
from On the E:ualit of the Se;es, &art I
)hat minds are not alike, full well I know,
)his truth each day2s e1perience will show.
)o heights surprising some great spirits soar,
'ith inborn strength mysterious depths e1plore"
)heir eager ga9e sur!eys the path of light,
*onfessed it stood to #ewton2s piercing sight,
Deep science, like a bashful maid retires,
.nd but the ardent breast her worth inspires"
By perse!erance the coy fair is won,
.nd %enius, led by Study, wears the crown.
But some there are who wish not to impro!e,
'ho ne!er can the path of knowledge lo!e,
'hose souls almost with the dull body one,
'ith an1ious care each mental pleasure shun.
'eak is the le!eled, ener!ated mind,
.nd but while here to !egetate designed.
)he torpid spirit mingling with its clod
*an scarcely boast its origin from %od.
Stupidly dull(they mo!e progressing on(
)hey eat, and drink, and all their work is done,
'hile others, emulous of sweet applause,
Industrious seek for each e!ent a cause,
)racing the hidden springs whence knowledge flows,
'hich nature all in beauteous order shows.
?et cannot I their sentiments imbibe
'ho this distinction to the se1 ascribe,
.s if a woman2s form must needs enroll
. weak, a ser!ile, an inferior soul"
.nd that the guise of man must still proclaim
%reatness of mind, and him, to be the same.
?et as the hours re!ol!e fair proofs arise
'hich the bright wreath of growing fame supplies,
.nd in past times some men ha!e sunk so low,
)hat female records nothing less can show.
But imbecility is still confined,
.nd by the lordly se1 to us consigned.
)hey rob us of the power t2impro!e,
.nd then declare we only trifles lo!e.
?et haste the era when the world shall know
)hat such distinctions only dwell below.
)he soul unfettered to no se1 confined,
'as for the abodes of cloudless day designed.
+eantime we emulate their manly fires,
)hough erudition all their thoughts inspires,
?et nature with e8uality imparts,
.nd noble passions, swell e2en female hearts.

:a!+er"ne P+"l"ps (16&2–1664)
On the #elch Lan"ua"e
If honor to an ancient name be due,
Or riches challenge it for one that2s new,
)he British language claims in either sense
Both for its age, and for its opulence.
But all great things must be from us remo!ed,
)o be with higher re!erence belo!ed.
So landskips which in prospects distant lie,
'ith greater wonder draw the pleas<d eye.
Is not great )roy to one dark ruin hurled0
Once the fam2d scene of all the fighting world.
'here2s .thens now, to whom 7ome learning owes,
.nd the safe laurels that adorned her brows0
. strange re!erse of fate she did endure,
#e!er once greater, than she2s now obscure.
E!en 7ome her self can but some footsteps show
Of Scipio2s times, or those of *icero.
.nd as the 7oman and the %recian state,
)he British fell, the spoil of time and fate.
But though the language hath the beauty lost,
?et she has still some great remains to boast,
For 2twas in that, the sacred bards of old,
In deathless numbers did their thoughts unfold.
In gro!es, by ri!ers, and on fertile plains,
)hey ci!ili9ed and taught the listening swains"
'hilst with high raptures, and as great success,
;irtue they clothed in music2s charming dress.
)his +erlin spoke, who in his gloomy ca!e,
E!en Destiny her self seemed to ensla!e.
For to his sight the future time was known,
+uch better than to others is their own"
.nd with such state, predictions from him fell,
.s if he did decree, and not foretell.
)his spoke 6ing .rthur, who, if fame be true,
*ould ha!e compelled mankind to speak it too.
In this one Boadicca !alor taught,
.nd spoke more nobly than her soldiers fought&
)ell me what hero could be more than she,
'ho fell at once for fame and liberty0
#or could a greater sacrifice belong,
Or to her children2s, or her country2s wrong.
)his spoke *aractacus, who was so bra!e,
)hat to the 7oman fortune check he ga!e&
.nd when their yoke he could decline no more,
$e it so decently and nobly wore,
)hat 7ome her self with blushes did belie!e,
. Britain would the law of honor gi!e"
.nd hastily his chains away she threw,
est her own capti!e else should her subdue.

:enne!+ ,arroll (19'9– )
in the mornin"
for 3ary
it was my first poetry reading
i, a reluctant F year old attendee
standing in my -ockeys as my sister,
her mouth twisting !iolently
around DunbarJs dialectic !erse,
screeched 5lias, lias, bless de lawd5
at eight, my sister lacked subtlety
screaming lines without attention to timbre or tone,
commas L hyphens caused her no pause
she was, as instructed, pro-ecting,
loud enough for her !oice to bounce
off the rear of draper elementaryJs auditorium
L to wake the deceased L resting Dunbar
a shrill fisherwomanJs deli!ery for a future audience
shut up, I muttered, through sleepy eyes
as my sister switched to angstonJs poem,
5life for me ainJt been no crystal stair5
her head rocking with emphasis L -oy at my annoyance
i heard these two poems ricochet off the walls of our home
no less than fi!e thousand times in a truncated february
my friends came to my home often,
looking for this kid named lias, who caused my sister
to scream with madness e!ery waking hour
L searching in !ain for the crystals in our stairs
by the time my sister had her official reading
our entire family was reciting both poems
like brainwashed idiots
thirty years later, it is me
annoying my family with !erse and stan9a
casting my life by the poems coursing my !eins
while my sisterJs life has become the -agged minstrel
that identify DunbarJs lyrics
her song marked by the erratic meter
of an addictJs rhyme as she fills her lungs
with the shattered remains of a descending crystal stair
now i recite poems that beg her to li!e,
that implore her to be as tenacious in her search
for rhythm L meaning as the little girl
who lit up our home with sweet black words
who angston warned and Dunbar amused
in the morning,
i pray for the blessing of any lord
for some lyrical benediction
to heal her cacophonous wounds
L make whole again the little girl,
who clings to sonnets L sobriety.
K @RRE, 6enneth *arroll
:enne!+ ,arroll (19'9– )
Ridin" Shot"un
*or Morr"s ; Mary ,arroll, 3y 1randparen!s
?ou riding shotgun, grandma said
my face gla9ed o!er with ignorance
in all my @A years I had ne!er heard such a thing
riding shotgun0 I repeated seeking an e1planation
all I knew was that I was sitting ne1t to grandpa in the front seat
close enough to smell his hi/karate after/sha!e L
trace the !eins in his hands as they knitted like winding creeks
around his slender fists L unfurled as long ri!ers up his arms
the front seat with grandpa, a rare allowance for a child born
in a time when a lack of re!erence for any adult
could find your behind burning from an adroit switching
in the backseat my -ealous brothers L sisters rolled their eyes
snaking their tongues furiously out of their mouths to mock me
grandma broke the term down(riding shotgun
there was something -ohn wayne/ish about it
something my cowboy/L/indian/playing ass could dig
the image was phat,
I imagined myself, #at o!e of the pro-ects
afro peeking out from the brim of my Stetson
steel/faced, eagle/eyed brother, winchester
between my legs, scouring the hori9on for
bandits L na!a-o
I wish I could ha!e seen the cancer coming that took grandma
or the alcoholism that would steal my fatherJs eyes from me
but my -ob was simple, to make sure the coast was free
of obstruction for grandpaJs bifocal maneu!erings as
we headed to our ancestral grounds in upper marlboro
what ya see boy, asked grandpa intermittently
e!en when it was ob!ious he needed no help
my eyes spinning like the pontiacJs hubcaps, ne!er lea!ing
the road
I answered simply
its all clear o!er here grandpa
L it was as far as I could see.
K 6enneth *arroll

Len /o$er!s (1947– )
Clim6in" the Three Hills in Search of the %est Christmas Tree
>ust se!en nights from the
night of the year, my son
and I climb
the three hills behind
the white
house, his flashlight
from hemlock to fir,
to white
pine and blue spruce
and back
again. =p, up higher
he runs,
shadow among larger
in the below/9ero,
half/mooned sky, his
so distant at times
I think
it is the wind, a rustle
of tall
grass, the s8ueak of my
on new snow, his silence
me shout, 'here are you0,
his floating
back, 'hy are you so slow0,
a good
8uestion I ask myself to
the beat
of my forty/eight/year/old
so many answers rushing up
I ha!e to stop and command
them back,
snow de!ils whirling
me, behind me, on all
names that gleam and
out like ancient specks
of moon/
light, that old track
I step
onto like an escalator
to the ridge where the
trees grow and I know
I will find my son.
K en 7oberts

Len /o$er!s (1947– )
The List of !ost )ifficult #ords
I was still standing although
%abriella 'ells and Barbara 7yan were too,
their bodies dark against the wall of light
that dull/pewter December afternoon,
shadows with words that flowed
so easily from their mouths,
fluorescent and grie!ous,
pied and effer!escent,
words I2d spelled out to the rhythm
of my father2s hoarse whispers
during our nightly practice sessions
beneath the dim bulb,
superfluous, e1celsior,
desultory and e1aggeration
mi1ed with his Schaefer breath
and ucky Strike smoke
as I went down
)he ist of +ost Difficult 'ords
with a man whose wife had left,
one son grown into madness,
the other into death,
my father2s hundred/and/fi!e/pound skeleton
of skin glowing in that beer/flooded kitchen
when he2d lift the harmonica
to blow a few long, sad riffs
of country into a song
while he waited for me to hit
the single l of spiraling,
the silent i of receipt,
the two of us working words hard
those nights on Olmstead Street,
sure they would someday sa!e me.
K en 7oberts

Leon Mar7ow"(5 (1940– )
%irthda Son"
)he canary yellow en!elope at mail call
aroused the other seminarians,
N'hatJs the occasion0O
N?a got me,O I lied and peeked in at
two +allards landing
on a Blessed ;irgin blue
pond with a largemouth bass
leaping to greet them
under the swirling script
in the sky(
$appy Birthday
)o . 'onderful Son(
the only reminder that
tomorrow, -ust another
day in the sem,
was my birthday,
the se!enth since any celebration
with +om and Sarah, my sister,
the se!enth away from 'inthrop Street
in Detroit, half a continent west,
my third birthday
with my new family
the *ongregation of the $oly %host
whom I adopted with !ows of
po!erty, chastity, obedience
a family but
no gifts, not e!en a handkerchief,
no three/layer cake
lathered with angel/white icing,
lipstick/red roses,
first slice for the birthday boy,
no candles, family, friends to sing
$appy Birthday to ?ou
K eon +arkowic9

Leon Mar7ow"(5 (1940– )
Call Out
three 8uick rings
in Detroit
$i +a itJs your son
'hatJs the matter0
.re you O60 only
my fifth call home
in ele!en years
IJm lea!ing the seminary,
said out loud for the first
time impossible to breathe
back in those fatal words
rehearsed for three weeks
afraid to break her heart
si1 months
from the altar of %od
her only son offering +ass
-ust for her to pass through
the gates of hea!en repay her
for all those years
she lugged bushel upon
bushel of other peopleJs wash
into her home bought
a mangle burned her right
hand ironing faster
and faster
to keep me out of FordJs
7i!er 7ouge foundry
Did you lose your !ocation0
ose0 like I lost those wool
glo!es she sent me for *hristmas0
lose as if I actually owned it0
lose fore!er ne!er to find again0
IJm -ust not cut
out for this life
ainJt that the truth
nothing but the truth
certainly not
the whole truth
silence about the !ote
cast by all the priests brothers
in perpetual !ows
three spare noJs
lined up behind the first
black ball
K eon +arkowic9

Lew"s ,arroll (18&2–1898)
2)was brillig, and the slithy to!es
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe&
.ll mimsy were the borogo!es,
.nd the mome raths outgrabe.
5Beware the >abberwock, my son,
)he -aws that bite, the claws that catch,
Beware the >ub-ub bird, and shun
)he frumious Bandersnatch,5
$e took his !orpal sword in hand&
ong time the man1ome foe he sought(
So rested he by the )umtum tree,
.nd stood awhile in thought.
.nd, as in uffish thought he stood,
)he >abberwock, with eyes of flame,
*ame whiffling through the tulgey wood,
.nd burbled as it came,
One, two, One, two, .nd through and through
)he !orpal blade went snicker/snack,
$e left it dead, and with its head
$e went galumphing back.
5.nd hast thou slain the >abberwock0
*ome to my arms, my beamish boy,
O frab-ous day, *allooh, *allay,5
$e chortled in his -oy.
2)was brillig, and the slithy to!es
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe&
.ll mimsy were the borogo!es,
.nd the mome raths outgrabe.

Lew"s ,arroll (18&2–1898)
The #alrus and the Carpenter
)he sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might"
$e did his !ery best to make
)he billows smooth and bright(
.nd this was odd, because it was
)he middle of the night.
)he moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
$ad got no business to be there
.fter the day was done(
5It2s !ery rude of him,5 she said,
5)o come and spoil the fun,5
)he sea was wet as wet could be,
)he sands were dry as dry.
?ou could not see a cloud, because
#o cloud was in the sky"
#o birds were flying o!erhead(
)here were no birds to fly.
)he 'alrus and the *arpenter
'ere walking close at hand"
)hey wept like anything to see
Such 8uantities of sand.
5If this were only cleared away,5
)hey said, 5it would be grand,5
5If se!en maids with se!en mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,5 the 'alrus said,
5)hat they could get it clear05
5I doubt it,5 said the *arpenter,
.nd shed a bitter tear.
5O Oysters, come and walk with us,5
)he 'alrus did beseech.
5. pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
.long the briny beach"
'e cannot do with more than four,
)o gi!e a hand to each.5
)he eldest Oyster looked at him,
But ne!er a word he said"
)he eldest Oyster winked his eye,
.nd shook his hea!y head(
+eaning to say he did not choose
)o lea!e the oyster/bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
.ll eager for the treat"
)heir coats were brushed, their faces washed,
)heir shoes were clean and neat(
.nd this was odd, because, you know,
)hey hadn2t any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
.nd yet another four"
.nd thick and fast they came at last,
.nd more, and more, and more(
.ll hopping through the frothy wa!es,
.nd scrambling to the shore.
)he 'alrus and the *arpenter
'alked on a mile or so,
.nd then they rested on a rock
*on!eniently low"
.nd all the little Oysters stood
.nd waited in a row.
5)he time has come,5 the 'alrus said,
5)o talk of many things&
Of shoes(and ships(and sealing/wa1(
.nd cabbages(and kings(
.nd why the sea is boiling hot(
.nd whether pigs ha!e wings.5
5But wait a bit,5 the Oysters cried,
5Before we ha!e our chat"
For some of us are out of breath,
.nd all of us are fat,5
5#o hurry,5 said the *arpenter.
)hey thanked him much for that.
5. loaf of bread,5 the 'alrus said,
5Is what we chiefly need"
Gepper and !inegar besides
.re !ery good indeed(
#ow if you2re ready, Oysters dear,
'e can begin to feed.5
5But not on us,5 the Oysters cried,
)urning a little blue.
5.fter such kindness, that would be
. dismal thing to do,5
5)he night is fine,5 the 'alrus said,
5Do you admire the !iew05
5It was so kind of you to come,
.nd you are !ery nice,5
)he *arpenter said nothing but
5*ut us another slice.
I wish you were not 8uite so deaf(
I2!e had to ask you twice,5
5It seems a shame,5 the 'alrus said,
5)o play them such a trick,
.fter we2!e brought them out so far,
.nd made them trot so 8uick,5
)he *arpenter said nothing but
5)he butter2s spread too thick,5
5I weep for you,5 the 'alrus said"
5I deeply sympathi9e.5
'ith sobs and tears he sorted out
)hose of the largest si9e,
$olding his pocket/handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
5O Oysters,5 said the *arpenter,
5?ou2!e had a pleasant run,
Shall we be trotting home again05
But answer came there none(
.nd this was scarcely odd, because
)hey2d eaten e!ery one.

Ma!!+ew Arnold (1822–1888)
)o(er %each
)he sea is calm tonight.
)he tide is full, the moon lies fair
=pon the straits" on the French coast the light
%leams and is gone" the cliffs of England stand,
%limmering and !ast, out in the tran8uil bay.
*ome to the window, sweet is the night/air,
Only, from the long line of spray
'here the sea meets the moon/blanched land,
isten, you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the wa!es draw back, and fling,
.t their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
'ith tremulous cadence slow, and bring
)he eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
$eard it on the Sgean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery" we
Find also in the sound a thought,
$earing it by this distant northern sea.
)he Sea of Faith
'as once, too, at the full, and round earth2s shore
ay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long withdrawing roar,
7etreating, to the breath
Of the night/wind, down the !ast edges drear
.nd naked shingles of the world.
.h, lo!e, let us be true
)o one another, for the world, which seems
)o lie before us like a land of dreams,
So !arious, so beautiful, so new,
$ath really neither -oy, nor lo!e, nor light,
#or certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain"
.nd we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
'here ignorant armies clash by night.

<l"er -endell 9ol3es (1809–1894)
The Last Leaf
I saw him once before,
.s he passed by the door,
.nd again
)he pa!ement stones resound,
.s he totters o2er the ground
'ith his cane.
)hey say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning/knife of )ime
*ut him down,
#ot a better man was found
By the *rier on his round
)hrough the town.
But now he walks the streets,
.nd looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
.nd he shakes his feeble head,
)hat it seems as if he said,
5)hey are gone.5
)he mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
.nd the names he lo!ed to hear
$a!e been car!ed for many a year
On the tomb.
+y grandmamma has said(
Goor old lady, she is dead
ong ago(
)hat he had a 7oman nose,
.nd his cheek was like a rose
In the snow"
But now his nose is thin,
.nd it rests upon his chin
ike a staff,
.nd a crook is in his back,
.nd a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
.t him here"
But the old three/cornered hat,
.nd the breeches, and all that,
.re so 8ueer,
.nd if I should li!e to be
)he last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
et them smile, as I do now,
.t the old forsaken bough
'here I cling.

<s(ar -"lde (18'4–1900)
)o drift with e!ery passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I ha!e gi!en away
+ine ancient wisdom, and austere control0
+ethinks my life is a twice/written scroll
Scrawled o!er on some boyish holiday
'ith idle songs for pipe and !irelay,
'hich do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might ha!e trod
)he sunlit heights, and from life2s dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of %od.
Is that time dead0 lo, with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance(
.nd must I lose a soul2s inheritance0
Pa%l La%ren(e 0%n$ar (1872–1906)
I know what the caged bird feels, alas,
'hen the sun is bright on the upland slopes"
'hen the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
.nd the ri!er flows like a stream of glass"
'hen the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
.nd the faint perfume from its chalice steals(
I know what the caged bird feels,
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
)ill its blood is red on the cruel bars"
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
'hen he fain would be on the bough a/swing"
.nd a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
.nd they pulse again with a keener sting(
I know why he beats his wing,
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
'hen his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,(
'hen he beats his bars and he would be free"
It is not a carol of -oy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart2s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to $ea!en he flings(
I know why the caged bird sings,

Pa%l La%ren(e 0%n$ar (1872–1906)
#e #ear the !ask
'e wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes(
)his debt we pay to human guile"
'ith torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
.nd mouth with myriad subtleties.
'hy should the world be o!er/wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs0
#ay, let them only see us, while
'e wear the mask.
'e smile, but, O great *hrist, our cries
)o thee from tortured souls arise.
'e sing, but oh the clay is !ile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile"
But let the world dream otherwise,
'e wear the mask,

Per(y #yss+e 4+elley (1792–1822)
I met a tra!eller from an anti8ue land
'ho said& 5)wo !ast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . #ear them, on the sand,
$alf sunk, a shattered !isage lies, whose frown,
.nd wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
)ell that its sculptor well those passions read
'hich yet sur!i!e, stamped on these lifeless things,
)he hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed"
.nd on the pedestal these words appear&
2+y name is O9ymandias, 6ing of 6ings,
ook on my 'orks, ye +ighty, and despair,2
#othing beside remains. 7ound the decay
Of that colossal 'reck, boundless and bare
)he lone and le!el sands stretch far away.5

P+"l"p *renea% (17'2–18&2)
from The House of 'i"ht
)rembling I write my dream, and recollect
. fearful !ision at the midnight hour"
So late, Death o2er me spread his sable wings,
Gainted with fancies of malignant power,
et others draw from smiling skies their theme,
.nd tell of climes that boast unfading light,
I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom,
I sing the horrors of the $ouse of #ight.
Stranger, belie!e the truth e1perience tells,
Goetic dreams are of a finer cast
)han those which o2er the sober brain diffused,
.re but a repetition of some action past.
Fancy, I own thy power(when sunk in sleep
)hou play2st thy wild delusi!e part so well
?ou lift me into immortality,
Depict new hea!ens, or draw the scenes of hell.
By some sad means, when 7eason holds no sway,
onely I ro!ed at midnight o2er a plain
'here murmuring streams and mingling ri!ers flow,
Far to their springs, or seek the sea again.
Sweet !ernal +ay, though then thy woods in bloom
Flourished, yet nought of this could Fancy see,
#o wild pinks blessed the meads, no green the fields,
.nd naked seemed to stand each lifeless tree. . . .
P+"ll"s -+ea!ley (17'&–1784)
To a Lad on the )eath of Her Hus6and
%rim monarch, see, depri!2d of !ital breath,
. young physician in the dust of death&
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our -oy0
5Enough5 thou ne!er yet wast known to say,
)hough millions die, the !assals of thy sway&
#or youth, nor science, nor the ties of lo!e,
#or aught on earth thy flinty heart can mo!e.
)he friend, the spouse from his dire dart to sa!e,
In !ain we ask the so!ereign of the gra!e.
Fair mourner, there see thy lo!2d eonard laid,
.nd o2er him spread the deep imper!ious shade"
*los2d are his eyes, and hea!y fetters keep
$is senses bound in ne!er/waking sleep,
)ill time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from hea!2n, in dire confusion hurl2d,
)ill nature in her final wreck shall lie,
.nd her last groan shall rend the a9ure sky&
#ot, not till then his acti!e soul shall claim
$is body, a di!ine immortal frame.
But see the softly/stealing tears apace
Gursue each other down the mourner2s face"
But cease thy tears, bid e!2ry sigh depart,
.nd cast the load of anguish from thine heart&
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
.nd look beyond, thou nati!e of the skies"
)here fi1 thy !iew, where fleeter than the wind
)hy eonard mounts, and lea!es the earth behind.
)hyself prepare to pass the !ale of night
)o -oin for e!er on the hills of light&
)o thine embrace his -oyful sprit mo!es
)o thee, the partner of his earthly lo!es"
$e welcomes thee to pleasures more refin2d,
.nd better suited to th2 immortal mind.

P+"ll"s -+ea!ley (17'&–1784)
To S7 !7, a >oun" $frican &ainter, on Seein" His #orks
)o show the lab2ring bosom2s deep intent,
.nd thought in li!ing characters to paint,
'hen first thy pencil did those beauties gi!e,
.nd breathing figures learnt from thee to li!e,
$ow did those prospects gi!e my soul delight,
. new creation rushing on my sight0
Still, wond2rous youth, each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fi1 thine ardent !iew&
Still may the painter2s and the poet2s fire
)o aid thy pencil, and thy !erse conspire,
.nd may the charms of each seraphic theme
*onduct thy footsteps to immortal fame,
$igh to the blissful wonders of the skies
Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
)hrice happy, when e1alted to sur!ey
)hat splendid city, crowned with endless day,
'hose twice si1 gates on radiant hinges ring&
*elestial Salem blooms in endless spring.
*alm and serene thy moments glide along,
.nd may the muse inspire each future song,
Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed,
+ay peace with balmy wings your soul in!est,
But when these shades of time are chased away,
.nd darkness ends in e!erlasting day,
On what seraphic pinions shall we mo!e,
.nd !iew the landscapes in the realms abo!e0
)here shall thy tongue in hea!2nly murmurs flow,
.nd there my muse with hea!2nly transport glow&
#o more to tell of Damon2s tender sighs,
Or rising radiance of .urora2s eyes,
For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
.nd purer language on th2 ethereal plain.
*ease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night
#ow seals the fair creation from my sight.

=%een 2l"5a$e!+ > (1'&&–160&)
?The dou6t of future foes e;iles m present @oA
)he doubt of future foes e1iles my present -oy,
.nd wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy"
For falsehood now doth flow, and sub-ects2 faith doth ebb,
'hich should not be if reason ruled or wisdom wea!ed the web.
But clouds of -oys untried do cloak aspiring minds,
'hich turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.
)he top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,
.nd fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see.
)he da99led eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds.
)he daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know.
#o foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port"
Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.
+y rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ
)o poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future -oy.

/o$er! #rown"n1 (1812–1889)
! Last )uchess
)hat2s my last duchess painted on the wall,
ooking as if she were ali!e. I call
)hat piece a wonder, now& FrT Gandolf2s hands
'orked busily a day, and there she stands.
'ill2t please you sit and look at her0 I said
5FrT Gandolf5 by design, for ne!er read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
)he depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned 3since none puts by
)he curtain I ha!e drawn for you, but I4
.nd seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
$ow such a glance came there" so, not the first
.re you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 2twas not
$er husband2s presence only, called that spot
Of -oy into the Duchess2 cheek& perhaps
FrT Gandolf chanced to say 5$er mantle laps
O!er my lady2s wrist too much,5 or 5Gaint
+ust ne!er hope to reproduce the faint
$alf/flush that dies along her throat5& such stuff
'as courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of -oy. She had
. heart(how shall I say0(too soon made glad,
)oo easily impressed" she liked whate2er
She looked on, and her looks went e!erywhere.
Sir, 2twas all one, +y fa!or at her breast,
)he dropping of the daylight in the 'est,
)he bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace(all and each
'ould draw from her alike the appro!ing speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men(good, but thanked
Somehow(I know not how(as if she ranked
+y gift of a nine/hundred/years/old name
'ith anybody2s gift. 'ho2d stoop to blame
)his sort of trifling0 E!en had you skill
In speech(which I ha!e not(to make your will
:uite clear to such an one, and say, 5>ust this
Or that in you disgusts me" here you miss,
Or there e1ceed the mark5(and if she let
$erself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
$er wits to yours, forsooth, and made e1cuse,
(E2en then would be some stooping" and I choose
#e!er to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
'hene2er I passed her" but who passed without
+uch the same smile0 )his grew" I ga!e commands"
)hen all smiles stopped together. )here she stands
.s if ali!e. 'ill2t please you rise0 'e2ll meet
)he company below, then. I repeat,
)he *ount your master2s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no -ust pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed"
)hough his fair daughter2s self as I a!owed
.t starting, is my ob-ect. #ay, we2ll go
)ogether down, sir. #otice #eptune, though,
)aming a sea horse, thought a rarity,
'hich *laus of Innsbruck cast in bron9e for me,

/o$er! #%rns (17'9–1796)
To a !ouse
'ee, sleekit, cow2rin, tim2rous beastie,
O, what a panic2s in thy breastie,
)hou need na start awa sae hasty,
'i2 bickering brattle,
I wad be laith to rin an2 chase thee,
'i2 murd2ring pattle,
I2m truly sorry man2s dominion
$as broken #ature2s social union,
.n2 -ustifies that ill opinion
'hich makes thee startle
.t me, thy poor, earth/born companion,
.n2 fellow mortal,
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thie!e"
'hat then0 poor beastie, thou maun li!e,
. daimen icker in a thra!e
2S a sma2 re8uest"
I2ll get a blessin wi2 the la!e,
.n2 ne!er miss2t,
)hy wee bit housie, too, in ruin,
Its silly wa2s the win2s are strewin,
.n2 naething, now, to big a new ane,
O2 foggage green,
.n2 bleak December2s win2s ensuin,
Baith snell an2 keen,
)hou saw the fields laid bare an waste,
.n2 weary winter comin fast,
.n2 co9ie here, beneath the blast,
)hou thought to dwell,
)ill crash, the cruel coulter past
Out thro2 thy cell.
)hat wee bit heap o2 lea!es an2 stibble
$as cost thee mony a weary nibble,
#ow thou2s turned out, for a2 thy trouble,
But house or hald,
)o thole the winter2s sleety dribble,
.n2 cranreuch cauld,
But +ousie, thou art no thy lane,
In pro!ing foresight may be !ain&
)he best/laid schemes o2 mice an2 men
%ang aft a/gley,
.n2 lea2e us nought but grief an2 pain
For promised -oy,
Still thou art blest, compared wi2 me,
)he present only toucheth thee&
But och, I backward cast my e2e
On prospects drear,
.n2 forward, tho I canna see,
I guess an2 fear,

/o$er! *ros! (1874–196&)
!endin" #all
Something there is that doesn2t lo!e a wall,
)hat sends the fro9en/ground/swell under it,
.nd spills the upper boulders in the sun"
.nd makes gaps e!en two can pass abreast.
)he work of hunters is another thing&
I ha!e come after them and made repair
'here they ha!e left not one stone on a stone,
But they would ha!e the rabbit out of hiding,
)o please the yelping dogs. )he gaps I mean,
#o one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending/time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill"
.nd on a day we meet to walk the line
.nd set the wall between us once again.
'e keep the wall between us as we go.
)o each the boulders that ha!e fallen to each.
.nd some are loa!es and some so nearly balls
'e ha!e to use a spell to make them balance&
5Stay where you are until our backs are turned,5
'e wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, -ust another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more&
)here where it is we do not need the wall&
$e is all pine and I am apple orchard.
+y apple trees will ne!er get across
.nd eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
$e only says, 5%ood fences make good neighbors.5
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head&
5'hy do they make good neighbors0 Isn2t it
'here there are cows0 But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I2d ask to know
'hat I was walling in or walling out,
.nd to whom I was like to gi!e offense.
Something there is that doesn2t lo!e a wall,
)hat wants it down.5 I could say 5El!es5 to him,
But it2s not el!es e1actly, and I2d rather
$e said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old/stone sa!age armed.
$e mo!es in darkness as it seems to me,
#ot of woods only and the shade of trees.
$e will not go behind his father2s saying,
.nd he likes ha!ing thought of it so well
$e says again, 5%ood fences make good neighbors.5

/o$er! *ros! (1874–196&)
The Road 'ot Taken
)wo roads di!erged in a yellow wood,
.nd sorry I could not tra!el both
.nd be one tra!eler, long I stood
.nd looked down one as far as I could
)o where it bent in the undergrowth"
)hen took the other, as -ust as fair,
.nd ha!ing perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear"
)hough as for that, the passing there
$ad worn them really about the same,
.nd both that morning e8ually lay
In lea!es no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day,
?et knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should e!er come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence&
)wo roads di!erged in a wood, and I(
I took the one less tra!eled by,
.nd that has made all the difference.

/o$er! 9err"(7 (1'91–1674)
To 0ind God
'eigh me the fire" or canst thou find
. way to measure out the wind0
Distinguish all those floods that are
+i1ed in that wat2ry theater,
.nd taste thou them as saltless there,
.s in their channel first they were.
)ell me the people that do keep
'ithin the kingdoms of the deep"
Or fetch me back that cloud again,
Beshi!ered into seeds of rain.
)ell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when summer shakes his ears"
Show me that world of stars, and whence
)hey noiseless spill their influence.
)his if thou canst" then show me $im
)hat rides the glorious cherubim.

/%dyard :"pl"n1 (186'–19&6)
%od of our fathers, known of old,
ord of our far/flung battle/line,
Beneath whose awful $and we hold
Dominion o!er palm and pine(
ord %od of $osts, be with us yet,
est we forget(lest we forget,
)he tumult and the shouting dies"
)he *aptains and the 6ings depart&
Still stands )hine ancient sacrifice,
.n humble and a contrite heart.
ord %od of $osts, be with us yet,
est we forget(lest we forget,
Far/called, our na!ies melt away"
On dune and headland sinks the fire&
o, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with #ine!eh and )yre,
>udge of the #ations, spare us yet,
est we forget(lest we forget,
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
'ild tongues that ha!e not )hee in awe,
Such boastings as the %entiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the aw(
ord %od of $osts, be with us yet,
est we forget(lest we forget,
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
.ll !aliant dust that builds on dust,
.nd guarding, calls not )hee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word(
)hy mercy on )hy Geople, ord,
4a3%el Taylor ,oler"d1e (1772–18&4)
from The Rime of the $ncient !ariner
$ow a Ship ha!ing passed the ine was dri!en by storms to the cold *ountry towards
the South Gole" and how from thence she made her course to the tropical atitude of
the %reat Gacific Ocean" and of the strange things that befell" and in what manner the
.ncyent +arinere came back to his own *ountry.
G.7) I
U.n ancient +ariner meeteth three %allants bidden to a wedding/feast and detaineth one.V
It is an ancient +ariner,
.nd he stoppeth one of three.
(5By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,
#ow wherefore stopp2st thou me0
)he Bridegroom2s doors are opened wide,
.nd I am ne1t of kin"
)he guests are met, the feast is set&
+ay2st hear the merry din.5
$e holds him with his skinny hand,
5)here was a ship,5 8uoth he.
5$old off, unhand me, graybeard loon,5
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
U)he 'edding/%uest is spellbound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and
constrained to hear his tale.V
$e holds him with his glittering eye(
)he 'edding/%uest stood still,
.nd listens like a three years2 child&
)he +ariner hath his will.
)he 'edding/%uest sat on a stone&
$e cannot choose but hear"
.nd thus spake on that ancient man,
)he bright/eyed +ariner.
5)he ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,
+errily did we drop
U)he +ariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather,
till it reached the ine.V
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
)he Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he,
.nd he shone bright, and on the right
'ent down into the sea.
$igher and higher e!ery day,
)ill o!er the mast at noon(5
)he 'edding/%uest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
U)he 'edding/%uest heareth the bridal music" but the +ariner continueth his tale.V
)he bride hath paced into the hall,
7ed as a rose is she"
#odding their heads before her goes
)he merry minstrelsy.
)he 'edding/%uest he beat his breast,
?et he cannot choose but hear"
.nd thus spake on that ancient man,
)he bright/eyed +ariner.
U)he ship dri!en by a storm toward the South Gole.V
5.nd now the storm/blast came, and he
'as tyrannous and strong"
$e struck with his o2ertaking wings,
.nd chased us south along.
'ith sloping masts and dipping prow,
.s who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
.nd forward bends his head,
)he ship dro!e fast, loud roared the blast,
.nd southward aye we fled.
.nd now there came both mist and snow,
.nd it grew wondrous cold&
.nd ice, mast/high, came floating by,
.s green as emerald.

U)he land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no li!ing thing was to be seen.V
.nd through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen&
#or shapes of men nor beasts we ken(
)he ice was all between.
)he ice was here, the ice was there,
)he ice was all around&
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
ike noises in a swound,
U)ill a great sea/bird, called the .lbatross, came through the snow/fog,
and was recei!ed with great -oy and hospitality.V

.t length did cross an .lbatross,
)horough the fog it came"
.s if it had been a *hristian soul,
'e hailed it in %od2s name.
It ate the food it ne2er had eat,
.nd round and round it flew.
)he ice did split with a thunder/fit"
)he helmsman steered us through,
U.nd lo, the .lbatross pro!eth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship
as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.V
.nd a good south wind sprung up behind"
)he .lbatross did follow,
.nd e!ery day, for food or play,
*ame to the mariners2 hollo,
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for !espers nine"
'hiles all the night, through fog/smoke white,
%limmered the white +oon/shine.5
U)he ancient +ariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.V
5%od sa!e thee, ancient +ariner,
From the fiends, that plague thee thus,(
'hy look2st thou so05('ith my crossbow
I shot the .lbatross.
G.7) II
)he Sun now rose upon the right&
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
'ent down into the sea.
.nd the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
#or any day for food or play
*ame to the mariners2 hollo,
U$is shipmates cry out against the ancient +ariner, for killing the bird of good luck.V
.nd I had done a hellish thing,
.nd it would work 2em woe&
For all a!erred, I had killed the bird
)hat made the bree9e to blow.
.h wretch, said they, the bird to slay,
)hat made the bree9e to blow,
UBut when the fog cleared off, they -ustify the same, and thus make themsel!es accomplices in the
crime. V
#or dim nor red, like %od2s own head,
)he glorious Sun uprist&
)hen all a!erred, I had killed the bird
)hat brought the fog and mist.
2)was right, said they, such birds to slay,
)hat bring the fog and mist.
U)he fair bree9e continues" the ship enters the Gacific Ocean, and sails northward,
e!en till it reaches the ine.V
)he fair bree9e blew, the white foam flew,
)he furrow followed free"
'e were the first that e!er burst
Into that silent sea.
U)he ship hath been suddenly becalmed.V
Down dropt the bree9e, the sails dropt down,
2)was sad as sad could be"
.nd we did speak only to break
)he silence of the sea,
.ll in a hot and copper sky,
)he bloody Sun, at noon,
7ight up abo!e the mast did stand,
#o bigger than the +oon.
Day after day, day after day,
'e stuck, nor breath nor motion"
.s idle as a painted ship
=pon a painted ocean.
U.nd the .lbatross begins to be a!enged.V
'ater, water, e!erywhere,
.nd all the boards did shrink"
'ater, water, e!erywhere,
#or any drop to drink.
)he !ery deep did rot& O *hrist,
)hat e!er this should be,
?ea, slimy things did crawl with legs
=pon the slimy sea.
.bout, about, in reel and rout
)he death/fires danced at night"
)he water, like a witch2s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
U. Spirit had followed them" one of the in!isible inhabitants of this planet, neither
departed souls nor angels" concerning whom the learned >ew, >osephus, and the
Glatonic *onstantinopolitan, +ichael Gsellus, may be consulted. )hey are !ery
numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.V
.nd some in dreams assur<d were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so"
#ine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
.nd e!ery tongue, through utter drought,
'as withered at the root"
'e could not speak, no more than if
'e had been choked with soot.
U)he shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the
ancient +ariner& in sign whereof they hang the dead sea/bird round his neck.V
.h, well/a/day, what e!il looks
$ad I from old and young,
Instead of the cross, the .lbatross
.bout my neck was hung.

4app+o ((a) 7!+–6!+ (en!%ry #),))
To $tthis
+y .tthis, although our dear .naktoria
li!es in distant Sardis,
she thinks of us constantly, and
of the life we shared in days when for her
you were a splendid goddess,
and your singing ga!e her deep -oy.

#ow she shines among ydian women as
when the red/fingered moon
rises after sunset, erasing
stars around her, and pouring light e8ually
across the salt sea
and o!er densely flowered fields"
and lucent dew spreads on the earth to 8uicken
roses and fragile thyme
and the sweet/blooming honey/lotus.
#ow while our darling wanders she thinks of
lo!ely .tthis2s lo!e,
and longing sinks deep in her breast.
She cries loudly for us to come, 'e hear,
for the night2s many tongues
carry her cry across the sea.
3tr. 'illis Barnstone4

4a3%el Taylor ,oler"d1e (1772–18&4)
Bu6la Bhan
Or a ;ision in a Dream. . Fragment
In Wanadu did 6ubla 6han
. stately pleasure dome decree&
'here .lph, the sacred ri!er, ran
)hrough ca!erns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice fi!e miles of fertile ground
'ith walls and towers were girdled round&
.nd there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
'here blossomed many an incense/bearing tree"
.nd here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn co!er,
. sa!age place, as holy and enchanted
.s e2er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon/lo!er,
.nd from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
.s if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
. mighty fountain momently was forced&
.mid whose swift half/intermitted burst
$uge fragments !aulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher2s flail&
.nd 2mid these dancing rocks at once and e!er
It flung up momently the sacred ri!er.
Fi!e miles meandering with a ma9y motion
)hrough wood and dale the sacred ri!er ran,
)hen reached the ca!erns measureless to man,
.nd sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean&
.nd 2mid this tumult 6ubla heard from far
.ncestral !oices prophesying war,
)he shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the wa!es"
'here was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the ca!es.
It was a miracle of rare de!ice,
. sunny pleasure dome with ca!es of ice,
. damsel with a dulcimer
In a !ision once I saw&
It was an .byssinian maid,
.nd on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of +ount .bora.
*ould I re!i!e within me
$er symphony and song,
)o such a deep delight 2twould win me,
)hat with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
)hat sunny dome, those ca!es of ice,
.nd all who heard should see them there,
.nd all should cry, Beware, Beware,
$is flashing eyes, his floating hair,
'ea!e a circle round him thrice,
.nd close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey/dew hath fed,
.nd drunk the milk of Garadise.
4ara+ -en!wor!+ Mor!on (17'9–1846)
To !r7 Stuart
?pon 4ee"n1 T+ose Por!ra"!s -+"(+ -ere Pa"n!ed $y 9"3 a!
P+"ladelp+"a, "n !+e #e1"nn"n1 of !+e Presen! ,en!%ry)
Stuart, thy Gortraits speak,(with skill di!ine
7ound the light graces flows the wa!ing line"
E1pression in its finest utterance li!es,
.nd a new language to creation gi!es.
Each !arying trait the gifted artist shows,
'isdom ma-estic in his bending brows"
)he warrior2s open front, his eye of fire(
.s where the charms of bashful youth retire.
Or patient, plodding, and with wealth content,
)he man of commerce counts his cent per cent.
2)is character that breathes, 2tis soul that twines
7ound the rich can!as, traced in li!ing lines.
Speaks in the face, as in the form display2d,
'arms in the tint, and mellows in the shade.
)hose touching graces, and that front sublime,
)hy hand shall rescue from the spoil of time.
$ence the fair !ictim scorns the threat2ning rage,
.nd stealing step, of slow ad!ancing age.
Still on her cheek the bright carnation blows,
$er lip2s deep blush its breathing sweetness shows.
For like the magic wand, thy pencil gi!es
Its potent charm, and e!ery feature li!es.
E!en as the powerful eye2s transcendent ray
Bends its soft glance and bids the heart obey,
)hy fine perceptions flow, by hea!en designed,
)o reach the thought, and pierce the unfolded mind.
)hrough its swift course the rapid feeling trace,
.nd stamp the so!ereign passion on the face.
E!en one, by no enli!ening grace arrayed,
One, born to linger in affliction2s shade,
$ast thou, kind artist, with attraction dressed,
'ith all that nature in her soul e1pressed.
%o on, and may reward thy cares attend"
()he friend of genius must remain thy friend.
)hough sordid minds with impious touch presume
)o blend thy laurel with the cypress gloom,
'ith tears of grief its shining lea!es to fade,
Its fair hope withering in the cheerless shade,
)he well/earned meed of liberal praise deny,
.nd on thy talents ga9e with dubious eye.
%enius is sorrow2s child(to want allied(
*onsoled by glory, and sustained by pride.
)o souls sublime her richest wreath she owes,
.nd lo!es that fame which kindred worth bestows.

"r P+"l"p 4"dney (1''4–1'86)
from $strophil and Stella
o!ing in truth, and fain in !erse my lo!e to show,
)hat she dear she might take some pleasure of my pain,
Gleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
6nowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe&
Studying in!entions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others2 lea!es, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting In!ention2s stay"
In!ention, #ature2s child, fled stepdame Study2s blows"
.nd others2 feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
)hus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite&
5Fool,5 said my +use to me, 5look in thy heart, and write.5

4"r -al!er /ale"1+ ((a) 1''2–1618)
$ Cision upon the 0air 1ueen
+ethought I saw the gra!e where aura lay,
'ithin that temple where the !estal flame
'as wont to burn" and, passing by that way,
)o see that buried dust of li!ing fame,
'hose tomb fair o!e, and fairer ;irtue kept&
.ll suddenly I saw the Fairy :ueen"
.t whose approach the soul of Getrarch wept,
.nd, from thenceforth, those %races were not seen&
For they this 8ueen attended" in whose stead
Obli!ion laid him down on aura2s hearse&
$ereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
.nd groans of buried ghosts the hea!ens did pierce&
'here $omer2s spright did tremble all for grief,
.nd cursed the access of that celestial thief,
T+o3as ,a3p"on (1'67–1620)
'o, #inter 'i"hts Enlar"e
#ow winter nights enlarge
)he number of their hours"
.nd clouds their storms discharge
=pon the airy towers.
et now the chimneys bla9e
.nd cups o2erflow with wine,
et well/tuned words ama9e
'ith harmony di!ine.
#ow yellow wa1en lights
Shall wait on honey lo!e
'hile youthful re!els, mas8ues, and courtly sights
Sleep2s leaden spells remo!e.
)his time doth well dispense
'ith lo!ers2 long discourse"
+uch speech hath some defense,
)hough beauty no remorse.
.ll do not all things well"
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
)he summer hath his -oys,
.nd winter his delights"
)hough lo!e and all his pleasures are but toys,
)hey shorten tedious nights.
T+o3as 9ardy (1840–1928)
If but some !engeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh& 5)hou suffering thing,
6now that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
)hat thy lo!e2s loss is my hate2s profiting,5
)hen would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited"
$alf/eased in that a Gowerfuller than I
$ad willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. $ow arri!es it -oy lies slain,
.nd why unblooms the best hope e!er sown0
(*rass *asualty obstructs the sun and rain,
.nd dicing )ime for gladness casts a moan. . . .
)hese purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

T+o3as 9ardy (1840–1928)
The )arklin" Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate
'hen Frost was spectre/gray,
.nd 'interJs dregs made desolate
)he weakening eye of day.
)he tangled bine/stems scored the sky
ike strings of broken lyres,
.nd all mankind that haunted nigh
$ad sought their household fires.
)he landJs sharp features seemed to be
)he *enturyJs corpse outleant,
$is crypt the cloudy canopy,
)he wind his death/lament.
)he ancient pulse of germ and birth
'as shrunken hard and dry,
.nd e!ery spirit upon earth
Seemed fer!ourless as I.
.t once a !oice arose among
)he bleak twigs o!erhead
In a full/hearted e!ensong
Of -oy illimited"
.n aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast/beruffled plume,
$ad chosen thus to fling his soul
=pon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
'as written on terrestrial things
.far or nigh around,
)hat I could think there trembled through
$is happy good/night air
Some blessed $ope, whereof he knew
.nd I was unaware.

T+o3as Moore (1779–18'2)
%elie(e !e, If $ll Those Endearin" >oun" Charms
Belie!e me, if all those endearing young charms,
'hich I ga9e on so fondly today,
'ere to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
ike fairy/gifts fading away,
)hou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
et thy lo!eliness fade as it will,
.nd around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
'ould entwine itself !erdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
.nd thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear
)hat the fer!or and faith of a soul can be known,
)o which time will but make thee more dear"
#o, the heart that has truly lo!ed ne!er forgets,
But as truly lo!es on to the close,
.s the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
)he same look which she turned when he rose.

T+o3as -ya!! (1'0&–1'42)
The 0lee from !e
)hey flee from me that sometime did me seek
'ith naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I ha!e seen them gentle tame and meek
)hat now are wild and do not remember
)hat sometime they put themsel!es in danger
)o take bread at my hand" and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
)hanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
)wenty times better" but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
'hen her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
.nd she me caught in her arms long and small"
.nd therewithal sweetly did me kiss,
.nd softly said, Dear heart, how like you this0
It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking"
.nd I ha!e lea!e to go of her goodness
.nd she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindely am ser!ed,
I would fain know what she hath deser!ed.

-) 4) 8"l$er! (18&6–1911)
If >ou*re $n;ious for to Shine in the Hi"h $esthetic Line
.m I alone
.nd unobser!ed0 I am,
)hen let me own
I2m an aesthetic sham,
)his air se!ere
Is but a mere
)his cynic smile
Is but a wile
Of guile,
)his costume chaste
Is but good taste
et me confess,
. languid lo!e for lilies does not blight me,
ank limbs and haggard cheeks do not delight me,
I do not care for dirty greens
By any means.
I do not long for all one sees
)hat2s >apanese.
I am not fond of uttering platitudes
In stained/glass attitudes.
In short, my medie!alism2s affectation,
Born of a morbid lo!e of admiration,
If you2re an1ious for to shine in the high aesthetic line as a man of culture rare,
?ou must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plant them
?ou must lie upon the daisies and discourse in no!el phrases of your complicated
state of mind.
)he meaning doesn2t matter if it2s only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.
.nd e!eryone will say,
.s you walk your mystic way,
5If this young man e1presses himself in terms too deep for me,
'hy, what a !ery singularly deep young man this deep young man must be,5
Be elo8uent in praise of the !ery dull old days which ha!e long since passed
.nd con!ince 2em, if you can, that the reign of good :ueen .nne was *ulture2s
palmiest day.
Of course you will pooh/pooh whate!er2s fresh and new, and declare it2s crude
and mean,
For .rt stopped short in the culti!ated court of the Empress >osephine.
.nd e!eryone will say,
.s you walk your mystic way,
5If that2s not good enough for him which is good enough for me,
'hy, what a !ery culti!ated kind of youth this kind of youth must be,5
)hen a sentimental passion of a !egetable fashion must e1cite your languid
.n attachment T la Glato for a bashful young potato, or a not/too/French French
)hough the Ghilistines may -ostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high
aesthetic band,
If you walk down Giccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medie!al hand.
.nd e!eryone will say,
.s you walk your flowery way,
5If he2s content with a !egetable lo!e which would certainly not suit me,
'hy, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be,5

-al! -+"!3an (1819–1892)
from &assa"e to India
Singing my days,
Singing the great achie!ements of the present,
Singing the strong light works of engineers,
Our modern wonders, 3the anti8ue ponderous Se!en out!ied,4
In the Old 'orld the east the Sue9 canal,
)he #ew by its mighty railroad spann2d,
)he seas inlaid with elo8uent gentle wires"
?et first to sound, and e!er sound, the cry with thee O soul,
)he Gast, the Gast, the Gast,
)he Gast(the dark unfathom2d retrospect,
)he teeming gulf(the sleepers and the shadows,
)he past(the infinite greatness of the past,
For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past0
3.s a pro-ectile form2d, impell2d, passing a certain line, still keeps on,
So the present, utterly form2d, impell2d by the past.4
Gassage O soul to India,
Eclaircise the myths .siatic, the primiti!e fables.
#ot you alone proud truths of the world,
#or you alone ye facts of modern science,
But myths and fables of eld, .sia2s, .frica2s fables,
)he far/darting beams of the spirit, the unloos2d dreams,
)he deep di!ing bibles and legends,
)he daring plots of the poets, the elder religions"
O you temples fairer than lilies pour2d o!er by the rising sun,
O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting
to hea!en,
?ou lofty and da99ling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish2d with gold,
)owers of fabled immortal fashion2d from mortal dreams,
?ou too I welcome and fully the same as the rest,
?ou too with -oy I sing.
Gassage to India,
o, soul, seest thou not %od2s purpose from the first0
)he earth to be spann2d, connected by network,
)he races, neighbors, to marry and be gi!en in marriage,
)he oceans to be cross2d, the distant brought near,
)he lands to be welded together.
. worship new I sing,
?ou captains, !oyagers, e1plorers, yours,
?our engineers, you architects, machinists, yours,
?ou, not for trade or transportation only,
But in %od2s name, and for thy sake O soul.
-"ll"a3 #la7e (17'7–1827)
The T"er
)yger, )yger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
'hat immortal hand or eye
*ould frame thy fearful symmetry0
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes0
On what wings dare he aspire0
'hat the hand dare sei9e the fire0
.nd what shoulder, and what art,
*ould twist the sinews of thy heart0
.nd when thy heart began to beat,
'hat dread hand0 and what dread feet0
'hat the hammer0 what the chain0
In what furnace was thy brain0
'hat the an!il0 what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp0
'hen the stars threw down their spears,
.nd watered hea!en with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see0
Did he who made the amb make thee0
)yger, )yger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
'hat immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry0

-"ll"a3 #%!ler @ea!s (186'–19&9)
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
.nd a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made"
#ine bean/rows will I ha!e there, a hi!e for the honey/bee,
.nd li!e alone in the bee/loud glade.
.nd I shall ha!e some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the !eils of the morning to where the cricket sings"
)here midnight2s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
.nd e!ening full of the linnet2s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore"
'hile I stand on the roadway, or on the pa!ements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart2s core.

-"ll"a3 #%!ler @ea!s (186'–19&9)
#hen >ou $re Old
'hen you are old and gray and full of sleep,
.nd nodding by the fire, take down this book,
.nd slowly read, and dream of the soft look
?our eyes had once, and of their shadows deep"
$ow many lo!ed your moments of glad grace,
.nd lo!ed your beauty with lo!e false or true,
But one man lo!ed the pilgrim soul in you,
.nd lo!ed the sorrows of your changing face"
.nd bending down beside the glowing bars,
+urmur, a little sadly, how o!e fled
.nd paced upon the mountains o!erhead
.nd hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-"ll"a3 Lan1land ((a)1&&0–1&87)
from &iers &lo,man
In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,
In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
'ente wide in this world wondres to here.
.c on a +ay morwenynge on +al!erne $illes
+e bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
I was wery UofV wandred and wente me to reste
=nder a brood bank by a bournes syde"
.nd as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
)hanne gan UmeV to meten a mer!eillous swe!ene(
)hat I was in a wildernesse, wiste I ne!ere where.
.s I biheeld into the eest an heigh to the sonne,
I seigh a tour on a toft trieliche ymaked,
. deep dale bynethe, a dongeon therinne,
'ith depe diches and derke and dredfulle of sighte.
. fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene(
Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
'erchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.
-"ll"a3 4+a7espeare (1'64–1616)
Sonnet 5D
'hen, in disgrace with fortune and men2s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
.nd trouble deaf hea!en with my bootless cries,
.nd look upon myself, and curse my fate,
'ishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man2s art and that man2s scope,
'ith what I most en-oy contented least"
?et in these thoughts myself almost despising,
$aply I think on thee(and then my state,
ike to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at hea!en2s gate"
For thy sweet lo!e rememb2red such wealth brings
)hat then I scorn to change my state with kings.

-"ll"a3 4+a7espeare (1'64–1616)
Sonnet EE
#ot marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outli!e this powerful rhyme"
But you shall shine more bright in these cont<nts
)han unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
'hen wasteful war shall statues o!erturn,
.nd broils root out the work of masonry,
#or +ars his sword nor war2s 8uick fire shall burn
)he li!ing record of your memory.
2%ainst death and all/obli!ious enmity
Shall you pace forth" your praise shall still find room
E!en in the eyes of all posterity
)hat wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the -udgment that yourself arise,
?ou li!e in this, and dwell in lo!ers2 eyes.

-"ll"a3 -ordswor!+ (1770–18'0)
Lines Composed a 0e, !iles a6o(e Tintern $66e
Fi!e years ha!e passed" fi!e summers, with the length
Of fi!e long winters, and again I hear
)hese waters, rolling from their mountain/springs
'ith a soft inland murmur. Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
)hat on a wild secluded scene impress
)houghts of more deep seclusion" and connect
)he landscape with the 8uiet of the sky.
)he day is come when I again repose
$ere, under this dark sycamore, and !iew
)hese plots of cottage/ground, these orchard/tufts,
'hich at this season, with their unripe fruits,
.re clad in one green hue, and lose themsel!es
2+id gro!es and copses. Once again I see
)hese hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines
Of sporti!e wood run wild" these pastoral farms,
%reen to the !ery door" and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees,
'ith some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of !agrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some $ermit2s ca!e, where by his fire
)he $ermit sits alone.
)hese beauteous forms,
)hrough a long absence, ha!e not been to me
.s is a landscape to a blind man2s eye"
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 2mid the din
Of towns and cities, I ha!e owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart"
.nd passing e!en into my purer mind
'ith tran8uil restoration(feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure" such, perhaps,
.s ha!e no slight or tri!ial influence
On that best portion of a good man2s life,
$is little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of lo!e. #or less, I trust,
)o them I may ha!e owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime" that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the hea!y and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened(that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on(
=ntil, the breath of this corporeal frame
.nd e!en the motion of our human blood
.lmost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a li!ing soul"
'hile with an eye made 8uiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of -oy,
'e see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a !ain belief, yet, oh, how oft(
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of -oyless daylight" when the fretful stir
=nprofitable, and the fe!er of the world,
$a!e hung upon the beatings of my heart(
$ow oft, in spirit, ha!e I turned to thee,
O syl!an 'ye, thou wanderer through the woods,
$ow often has my spirit turned to thee,
.nd now, with gleams of half/e1tinguished thought,
'ith many recognitions dim and faint,
.nd somewhat of a sad perple1ity,
)he picture of the mind re!i!es again"
'hile here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
)hat in this moment there is life and food
For future years. .nd so I dare to hope,
)hough changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills" when like a roe
I bounded o2er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep ri!ers, and the lonely streams,
'here!er nature led(more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads than one
'ho sought the thing he lo!ed. For nature then
3)he coarser pleasures of my boyish days
.nd their glad animal mo!ements all gone by4
)o me was all in all.(I cannot paint
'hat then I was. )he sounding cataract
$aunted me like a passion" the tall rock,
)he mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
)heir colors and their forms, were then to me
.n appetite" a feeling and a lo!e,
)hat had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, not any interest
=nborrowed from the eye.()hat time is past,
.nd all its aching -oys are now no more,
.nd all its di99y raptures. #ot for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur" other gifts
$a!e followed" for such loss, I would belie!e,
.bundant recompense. For I ha!e learned
)o look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth" but hearing oftentimes
)he still sad music of humanity,
#or harsh nor grating, though of ample power
)o chasten and subdue. .nd I ha!e felt
. presence that disturbs me with the -oy
Of ele!ated thoughts" a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
'hose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
.nd the round ocean and the li!ing air,
.nd the blue sky, and in the mind of man&
. motion and a spirit, that impels
.ll thinking things, all ob-ects of all thought,
.nd rolls through all things. )herefore am I still
. lo!er of the meadows and the woods,
.nd mountains" and of all that we behold
From this green earth" of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear(both what they half create,
.nd what percei!e" well pleased to recogni9e
In nature and the language of the sense
)he anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
)he guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
#or perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay&
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair ri!er" thou my dearest Friend,
+y dear, dear Friend" and in thy !oice I catch
)he language of my former heart, and read
+y former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh, yet a little while
+ay I behold in thee what I was once,
+y dear, dear Sister, and this prayer I make,
6nowing that #ature ne!er did betray
)he heart that lo!ed her" 2tis her pri!ilege,
)hrough all the years of this our life, to lead
From -oy to -oy& for she can so inform
)he mind that is within us, so impress
'ith 8uietness and beauty, and so feed
'ith lofty thoughts, that neither e!il tongues,
7ash -udgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
#or greetings where no kindness is, nor all
)he dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e2er pre!ail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. )herefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk"
.nd let the misty mountain winds be free
)o blow against thee& and, in after years,
'hen these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure" when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lo!ely forms,
)hy memory be as a dwelling place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies" oh, then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender -oy wilt thou remember me,
.nd these my e1hortations, #or, perchance(
If I should be where I no more can hear
)hy !oice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past e1istence(wilt thou then forget
)hat on the banks of this delightful stream
'e stood together" and that I, so long
. worshipper of #ature, hither came
=nwearied in that ser!ice" rather say
'ith warmer lo!e(oh, with far deeper 9eal
Of holier lo!e. #or wilt thou then forget,
)hat after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
.nd this green pastoral landscape, were to me
+ore dear, both for themsel!es and for thy sake,

-"ll"a3 -ordswor!+ (1770–18'0)
The Ta6les Turned
.n E!ening Scene on the Same Sub-ect
=p, up, my Friend, and 8uit your books"
Or surely you2ll grow double&
=p, up, my Friend, and clear your looks"
'hy all this toil and trouble0
)he sun, abo!e the mountain2s head,
. freshening lustre mellow
)hrough all the long green fields has spread,
$is first sweet e!ening yellow.
Books, 2tis a dull and endless strife&
*ome, hear the woodland linnet,
$ow sweet his music, on my life,
)here2s more of wisdom in it.
.nd hark, how blithe the throstle sings,
$e, too, is no mean preacher&
*ome forth into the light of things,
et #ature be your )eacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless(
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
)ruth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a !ernal wood
+ay teach you more of man,
Of moral e!il and of good,
)han all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which #ature brings"
Our meddling intellect
+is/shapes the beauteous forms of things&(
'e murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of .rt"
*lose up those barren lea!es"
*ome forth, and bring with you a heart
)hat watches and recei!es.

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