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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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The Sea Gypsy, by Richard Hovey
I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.
There's a schooner in the offing,
Expiration, by Judith Pordon
The country of your first breath
haunts every one
except your last.
That last breath
will take you beyond
The Blind Boy's Pranks, by William Thom
MEN grew sae cauld, maids sae unkind,
Love kentna whaur to stay:
Wi' fient an arrow, bow, or string--
Wi' droopin' heart an' drizzled wing,
He faught his lonely way.
Maureen, by John Todhunter
O, YOU plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes,
Girl of my choice, Maureen!
Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies,
Maureen?
Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo,
Lament for Chaucer, by Thomas Hoccleve
ALLAS! my worthi maister honorable,
This landes verray tresor and richesse!
Deth by thy deth hath harme irreparable
Unto us doon: hir vengeable duresse
Despoiled hath this land of the swetnesse
Nirvana, by John Hall Wheelock
Sleep on -- I lie at heaven's high oriels,
Over the stars that murmur as they go
Lighting your lattice-window far below;
And every star some of the glory spells
Whereof I know.
Silence, by Thomas Hood
THERE is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave--under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
At Gibraltar, by George Edward Woodberry
I
England, I stand on thy imperial ground,
Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,
I feel within my blood old battles flow --
The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found
The Land o' the Leal, by Carolina, Lady Nairne
I'M wearin' awa', John
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There 's nae sorrow there, John,
The Enchanted Sheepfold, by Josephine Preston Peabody
The hills far-off were blue, blue,
The hills at hand were brown;
And all the herd-bells called to me
As I came by the down.
The briars turned to roses, roses;
Ubique, by Joshua Sylvester
WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain,
Ascend to heaven in honour of my love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
The Abominations of Yoni, by Frederick J. Mayer
Dedicated to Clark Ashton Smith
Virgin dream in your rawed mind's matter
grows till it is a brain's flawed jewel,
a still-born wisdom's pearl -
The Dreamer's nightmare.
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