ROTATION POEMS

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Answer To Tait

The mounted disk of ebonite
Has whirled before, nor whirled in vain;
Rowland of Troy, that doughty knight,
Convection currents did obtain
.....

James Clerk Maxwell
Four Quartets 1: Burnt Norton

I

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
.....
T. S. Eliot

T. S. Eliot
Frequently The Wood Are Pink

6

Frequently the wood are pink-
Frequently are brown.
.....
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson
Allégorie

A Jules Valadon.


Despotique, pesant, incolore, l'Été,
.....
Paul Verlaine

Paul Verlaine
The Battle Of Atbara

Ye Sons of Great Britain, pray list to me,
And I'll tell ye of a great victory.
Where the British defeated the Dervishes, without delay,
At the Battle of Atbara, without dismay.
.....

William Topaz Mcgonagall
The Ashantee War

'Twas in the year of 1874, and on New Year's Day,
The British Army landed at Elmina without dismay,
And numbering in all, 1400 bayonets strong,
And all along the Cape Coast they fearlessly marched along,
.....

William Topaz Mcgonagall
Always Mine!

839

Always Mine!
No more Vacation!
.....
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson
Childish Recollections

“I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.”
‘Macbeth'

.....
George Gordon Lord Byron

George Gordon Lord Byron
It's Lifted Up

It's lifted up - this iron pole -
Over our cursed heads, And we
Are flying o'er the abyss, awful,
Through space where none can something see.
.....

Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
To Enjoy The Time

While fates permit us, let's be merry;
Pass all we must the fatal ferry;
And this our life, too, whirls away,
With the rotation of the day.
.....

Robert Herrick
Frequently The Woods Are Pink,

Frequently the woods are pink,
Frequently are brown;
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.
.....

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Georgic 1

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
.....

Publius Vergilius Maro
The Georgics

GEORGIC I What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer; What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;- Such are my themes. O universal lights Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild, If by your bounty holpen earth once changed Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear, And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift, The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing. And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke, Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes, The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power, Thy native forest and Lycean lawns, Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too, Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung; And boy-discoverer of the curved plough; And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn, Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses, Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse The tender unsown increase, and from heaven Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain: And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon, Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will, Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge, That so the mighty world may welcome thee Lord of her increase, master of her times, Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow, Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come, Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son With all her waves for dower; or as a star Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer, Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt- For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king, Nor may so dire a lust of sovereignty E'er light upon thee, howso Greece admire Elysium's fields, and Proserpine not heed Her mother's voice entreating to return- Vouchsafe a prosperous voyage, and smile on this My bold endeavour, and pitying, even as I, These poor way-wildered swains, at once begin, Grow timely used unto the voice of prayer. In early spring-tide, when the icy drip Melts from the mountains hoar, and Zephyr's breath Unbinds the crumbling clod, even then 'tis time; Press deep your plough behind the groaning ox, And teach the furrow-burnished share to shine. That land the craving farmer's prayer fulfils, Which twice the sunshine, twice the frost has felt; Ay, that's the land whose boundless harvest-crops Burst, see! the barns. But ere our metal cleave An unknown surface, heed we to forelearn The winds and varying temper of the sky, The lineal tilth and habits of the spot, What every region yields, and what denies. Here blithelier springs the corn, and here the grape, There earth is green with tender growth of trees And grass unbidden. See how from Tmolus comes The saffron's fragrance, ivory from Ind, From Saba's weakling sons their frankincense, Iron from the naked Chalybs, castor rank From Pontus, from Epirus the prize-palms O' the mares of Elis. Such the eternal bond And such the laws by Nature's hand imposed On clime and clime, e'er since the primal dawn When old Deucalion on the unpeopled earth Cast stones, whence men, a flinty race, were reared. Up then! if fat the soil, let sturdy bulls Upturn it from the year's first opening months, And let the clods lie bare till baked to dust By the ripe suns of summer; but if the earth Less fruitful just ere Arcturus rise With shallower trench uptilt it- 'twill suffice; There, lest weeds choke the crop's luxuriance, here, Lest the scant moisture fail the barren sand. Then thou shalt suffer in alternate years The new-reaped fields to rest, and on the plain A crust of sloth to harden; or, when stars Are changed in heaven, there sow the golden grain Where erst, luxuriant with its quivering pod, Pulse, or the slender vetch-crop, thou hast cleared, And lupin sour, whose brittle stalks arise, A hurtling forest. For the plain is parched By flax-crop, parched by oats, by poppies parched In Lethe-slumber drenched. Nathless by change The travailing earth is lightened, but stint not With refuse rich to soak the thirsty soil, And shower foul ashes o'er the exhausted fields. Thus by rotation like repose is gained, Nor earth meanwhile uneared and thankless left. Oft, too, 'twill boot to fire the naked fields, And the light stubble burn with crackling flames; Whether that earth therefrom some hidden strength And fattening food derives, or that the fire Bakes every blemish out, and sweats away Each useless humour, or that the heat unlocks New passages and secret pores, whereby Their life-juice to the tender blades may win; Or that it hardens more and helps to bind The gaping veins, lest penetrating showers, Or fierce sun's ravening might, or searching blast Of the keen north should sear them. Well, I wot, He serves the fields who with his harrow breaks The sluggish clods, and hurdles osier-twined Hales o'er them; from the far Olympian height Him golden Ceres not in vain regards; And he, who having ploughed the fallow plain And heaved its furrowy ridges, turns once more Cross-wise his shattering share, with stroke on stroke The earth assails, and makes the field his thrall. Pray for wet summers and for winters fine, Ye husbandmen; in winter's dust the crops Exceedingly rejoice, the field hath joy; No tilth makes Mysia lift her head so high, Nor Gargarus his own harvests so admire. Why tell of him, who, having launched his seed, Sets on for close encounter, and rakes smooth The dry dust hillocks, then on the tender corn Lets in the flood, whose waters follow fain; And when the parched field quivers, and all the blades Are dying, from the brow of its hill-bed, See! see! he lures the runnel; down it falls, Waking hoarse murmurs o'er the polished stones, And with its bubblings slakes the thirsty fields? Or why of him, who lest the heavy ears O'erweigh the stalk, while yet in tender blade Feeds down the crop's luxuriance, when its growth First tops the furrows? Why of him who drains The marsh-land's gathered ooze through soaking sand, Chiefly what time in treacherous moons a stream Goes out in spate, and with its coat of slime Holds all the country, whence the hollow dykes Sweat steaming vapour? But no whit the more For all expedients tried and travail borne By man and beast in turning oft the soil, Do greedy goose and Strymon-haunting cranes And succory's bitter fibres cease to harm, Or shade not injure. The great Sire himself No easy road to husbandry assigned, And first was he by human skill to rouse The slumbering glebe, whetting the minds of men With care on care, nor suffering realm of his In drowsy sloth to stagnate. Before Jove Fields knew no taming hand of husbandmen; To mark the plain or mete with boundary-line- Even this was impious; for the common stock They gathered, and the earth of her own will All things more freely, no man bidding, bore. He to black serpents gave their venom-bane, And bade the wolf go prowl, and ocean toss; Shook from the leaves their honey, put fire away, And curbed the random rivers running wine, That use by gradual dint of thought on thought Might forge the various arts, with furrow's help The corn-blade win, and strike out hidden fire From the flint's heart. Then first the streams were ware Of hollowed alder-hulls: the sailor then Their names and numbers



.....
Virgil

Virgil
Underground System

Set the foot down with distrust upon the crust of the
world—it is thin.
Moles are at work beneath us; they have tunneled the
sub-soil
.....
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay
To A Moralist

Are the sports of our youth so displeasing?
Is love but the folly you say?
Benumbed with the winter, and freezing,
You scold at the revels of May.
.....

Friedrich Schiller
Verses Inspired By 'my Old Black Pipe'

Aye ! Many a sport old Homer names.
By Achilles held ' at his little games ',
On the banks of the swift Scamander ;
And Pindar sings the Olympian deeds
.....
Adam Lindsay Gordon

Adam Lindsay Gordon
The Myth Of Innocence

One summer she goes into the field as usual
stopping for a bit at the pool where she often
looks at herself, to see
if she detects any changes. She sees
.....
Louise Gluck

Louise Gluck
Childish Recollections

'I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.'

WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains,
.....

George Gordon Byron
Hope

Doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas.
- Virg. Aen. 6.


.....
William Cowper

William Cowper
Moral Essays. Epistle I.--to Sir Richard Temple, Lord Cobham

ARGUMENT.

OF THE KNOWLEDGE AND CHARACTERS OF MEN.

.....
Alexander Pope

Alexander Pope
Blue And Red: Or, The Discontented Lobster

Permit me, Reader, to make my bow,
And allow
Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies
The hero of these simple verses.
.....

Juliana Horatia Ewing
Hesperus: A Legend Of The Stars

PRELUDE.

The Stars are heaven's ministers;
Right royally they teach
.....

Charles Sangster
Nursery Rhyme. Cclxvii. Gaffers And Gammers

[The following is part of a comic song called 'Success to the Whistle and Wig,' intended to be sung in rotation by the members of a club.]

There was an old woman had three sons,
Jerry, and James, and John:
.....

Unknown
21st Century

Rotation,
images of flower,
is it about photosynthesis and others?.

.....
Bamanga Bashir

Bamanga Bashir
Town

Mostly in a dull rotation
We bear our loads and eat and drink and sleep.
Feeling no tears, knowing no meditation,
Too tired to think, too clogged with earth to weep.
.....

John Collings Squire, Sir