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These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Edna St. Vincent Millay
A Servant To Servants
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
It was a' for our rightfu' King
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' King
We e'er saw Irish land,
Wave Of Tears
The water that silently moves to the shore
reminds me of what I used to live for.
The sleepless nights
created the fire that burns, but never lights.
Pray For Me
She rushed into a house
darkghost where haltup
evildims where hiddown
Her room was tumultly dreadful
Saviour A Willie
"Oh, show me how a rose can shut and be a bud again!"
Nay, watch my Lords of the Admiralty, for they have the work in train.
They have taken the men that were careless lads at Dartmouth in 'Fourteen
And entered them at the landward schools as though no war had been.
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:-'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
And your English summer's done.'
But see! . . . the body does not sink;
It rides upon the tide
(A starbeam on the dagger's haft),
With staring eyes and wide . . .
Auguries Of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
Where run your colts at pasture?
Where hide your mares to breed?
'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap
Or wove Sargasso weed;
The Trail Of Ninety-eight
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
Gold! We wheeled in the furrow, fired with the faith of fools.
Fearless, unfound, unfitted, far from the night and the cold,
Heard we the clarion summons, followed the master-lure-Gold!
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 Female Exile
Written at Brighthelmstone in Nov. 1792.
NOVEMBER'S chill blast on the rough beach is howling,
The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore,
Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling,
O happy soul, forget thy self!
This that has haunted all the past,
That conjured disappointments fast,
That never could let well alone;
Thomas Sturge Moore
Since There Is No Escape
Since there is no escape, since at the end
My body will be utterly destroyed,
This hand I love as I have loved a friend,
This body I tended, wept with and enjoyed;
The Fraternal Duel
‘Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
Burning Like A Candle
My emotions are hard to handle
cause now i am burning like a candle.
I showed you light even in the darkest turn
but i never asked something in return.
‘O cruel Death, give three things back,'
Sang a bone upon the shore;
‘A child found all a child can lack,
Whether of pleasure or of rest,
William Butler Yeats
Always At Sea
Always at sea I think about the dead.
On barques invisible they seem to sail
The self-same course; and from the decks cry ‘Hail'!
Then I recall old words that they have said,
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,
Through a woodland where the music of a streamlet's gentle flow
Commingled with the rustling of the yellow golden leaves,
And the idling breeze's sighing as it floated through the trees,
George W. Doneghy
He didn’t pen it with his own hands,
Your lord did inspire it.
By involving forty writers.
He made a fishermen loose the shore site,
Letter To Maria Gisborne
The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
Percy Bysshe Shelley
There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
Edgar Allan Poe
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
Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre;
Views Of Life
When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom,
And life can shew no joy for me;
And I behold a yawning tomb,
Where bowers and palaces should be;
The Songs Of Selma
ARGUMENTAddress to the evening star:
An apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minonasings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians.