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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Quis Separabit?, by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
All my life's short years had been stern and sterile --
I stood like one whom the blasts blow back --
As with shipmen whirled through the straits of Peril,
So fierce foes menaced my every track.
But I steeled my soul to a strong endeavour,
My Heart Is Like My Home, by Rachael Fernley
Age 13
My heart is like my home, broken yet loved.
I hold back the tears like a secret
they're kept hidden for a while, but soon released.
I stare at the mirror, so confused, since it reflects happiness and tranquility
`The Love in her Eyes lay Sleeping', by William Forster
The love in her eyes lay sleeping,
As stars that unconscious shine,
Till, under the pink lids peeping,
I wakened it up with mine;
And we pledged our troth to a brimming oath
The Outlaw of Loch Lene, from the Irish, by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan
O MANY a day have I made good ale in the glen,
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men:
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above;
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.
Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field,
The Odyssey, by Andrew Lang
AS one that for a weary space has lain
Lull'd by the song of Circe and her wine
In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,
Where that Aeaean isle forgets the main,
And only the low lutes of love complain,
Lament of the Irish Emigrant, by Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin
I'M sittin' on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side
On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springin' fresh and green,
The Dreamer, by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay
"~Why do you seek the sun,
In your Bubble-Crown ascending?
Your chariot will melt to mist,
Your crown will have an ending.~"
"Nay, sun is but a Bubble,
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,
The Resolve, by Alexander Brome
TELL me not of a face that 's fair,
Nor lip and cheek that 's red,
Nor of the tresses of her hair,
Nor curls in order laid,
Nor of a rare seraphic voice
To a Cabbage Rose, by Henry Lea Twisleton
Thy clustering leaves are steeped in splendour;
No evening red, no morning dun,
Can show a hue as rich and tender
As thine -- bright lover of the sun!
What wondrous hints of hidden glory,
When I am dead and Sister to the Dust, by Elsa Barker
When I am dead and sister to the dust;
When no more avidly I drink the wine
Of human love; when the pale Proserpine
Has covered me with poppies, and cold rust
Has cut my lyre-strings, and the sun has thrust
Let that love begin, by Todd Black
Love me in that special way
Keep me close at your heart,
Think of me as here to stay, and never far apart.
Come and take me by the hand
Walk with me through the park,
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