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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Trust Thou Thy Love, by John Ruskin
TRUST thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?
Trust thou thy Love: if she be mute, is she not pure?
Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet;
Fail, Sun and Breath!--yet, for thy peace, She shall endure.
Yankees, by Caitlin Collier
Once I met a girl
Who drank her tea in a mug
(without ice!),
Who had never said "y'all" in her life,
And who thought an armadillo was a Spanish dinner.
The Kings, by Louise Imogen Guiney
A man said unto his Angel:
"My spirits are fallen low,
And I cannot carry this battle:
O brother! where might I go?
"The terrible Kings are on me
Beauty Bathing, by Anthony Munday
BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring,
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
Amantium Irae, by Richard Edwardes
IN going to my naked bed as one that would have slept,
I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept;
She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to bring the babe to rest,
That would not cease but cried still, in sucking at her breast.
She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child,
Scum o' the Earth, by Robert Haven Schauffler
I
At the gate of the West I stand,
On the isle where the nations throng.
We call them "scum o' the earth";
Stay, are we doing you wrong,
The Breaking, by Margaret Steele Anderson
(The Lord God speaks to a youth)
Bend now thy body to the common weight!
(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn!
Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight!
How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?)
A Night in Italy, by Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton, Earl of Lytton
SWEET are the rosy memories of the lips
That first kiss'd ours, albeit they kiss no more:
Sweet is the sight of sunset-sailing ships,
Altho' they leave us on a lonely shore:
Sweet are familiar songs, tho' Music dips
Overnight, a Rose, by Caroline Giltinan
That overnight a rose could come
I one time did believe,
For when the fairies live with one,
They wilfully deceive.
But now I know this perfect thing
Song, by Richard Le Gallienne
SHE 's somewhere in the sunlight strong,
Her tears are in the falling rain,
She calls me in the wind's soft song,
And with the flowers she comes again.
Yon bird is but her messenger,
The Bells of Shandon, by Francis Mahony
WITH deep affection,
And recollection,
I often think of
Those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
Left Behind, by Daniel Driscoll
After the War, after everyone fled to the stars
We were left behind.
We were known as the Lost Ones.
As the sky rained down and the oceans boiled off,
We continued warring
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