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If the sun sets for me at dawn
So that the white in me turns black
Before I shed off a single milk teeth
If I vacate that soothsome seat
‘Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
Said he, ‘the milk I need,'
I wanted to spit in his eye
Of selfishness and greed;
The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room
bouncing from typewriter to piano
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
We And They
Father and Mother, and Me,
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The Prodigal Son
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
I miss the distant sounds of crickets,
The melody formed by hummingbirds.
Nature's whispers, such calming voices,
The water dripping towards my eardrums
I Died To Live Again
Evening smile must be worn,
Tonight's dinner is served
With the drumming of their guns.
Battalion of thirsty soldiers are on the verge
Along the wind-swept platform, pinched and white,
The travellers stand in pools of wintry light,
Offering themselves to morn's long, slanting arrows.
The train's due; porters trundle laden barrows.
Ah, had you seen the Coolun,
Walking down by the cuckoo's street,
With the dew of the meadow shining
On her milk-white twinkling feet.
Sir Samuel Ferguson
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
The Holy Fair
A note of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation;
And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of defamation:
In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find,
That Passion can depress or raise
The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
The Odyssey: Book 09
And Ulysses answered, “King Alcinous, it is a good thing to hear a
bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better
or more delightful than when a whole people make merry together,
with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded
Fast by his wild resounding River
The listless Coran lingers ever;
Still drives his heifers forth to feed,
Soothed by the gorrah's humming reed;
Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
From Water-Tower Hill to the brick prison
The shingle booms, bickering under
The sea's collapse.
Snowcakes break and welter. This year
By the gate with star and moon
Worked into the peeled orange wood
The bronze snake lay in the sun
Light silken curtain, colorless and soft,
Dreamlike before me floating! what abides
Behind thy pearly veil's
Opaque, mysterious woof?
No Better Land Than This
If I knew a better country in this glorious world today
Where a man's work hours are shorter and he's drawing bigger pay,
If the Briton or the Frenchman had an easier life than mine,
I'd pack my goods this minute and I'd sail across the brine.
Edgar Albert Guest
Epitaph On A Hare
Here lies, whom hound did neâ??er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot neâ??er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsmanâ??s halloâ??,
I am jet black, as you may see,
The son of pitch and gloomy night:
Yet all that know me will agree,
I'm dead except I live in light.
If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.
The Naughty Day
I've had a naughty day to-day.
I scrunched a biscuit in my hair,
And dipped my feeder in the milk,
And spread my rusk upon a chair.
Oh in the deep blue night
The fountain sang alone;
It sang to the drowsy heart
Of a satyr carved in stone.
A Hidden Life
Proudly the youth, sudden with manhood crowned,
Went walking by his horses, the first time,
That morning, to the plough. No soldier gay
Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt
wild animals become divinely rare
their habitats wild homes are soft earth & tree
cannot flee before the bulldozer concrete
flame and smoke desert where only wheat
S. K. Kelen
Kail Yard Bard
A very humble pen I ply
Beneath a cottage thatch;
And in the sunny hours I try
To till my cabbage patch;
The Odyssey: Book 11
Then, when we had got down to the sea shore we drew our ship into
the water and got her mast and sails into her; we also put the sheep
on board and took our places, weeping and in great distress of mind.
Circe, that great and cunning goddess, sent us a fair wind that blew
To my friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson.
He who could beard the lion in his lair,