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Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
William Butler Yeats
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again!
Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards aback and full-
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
"Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.
Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!"
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by,
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.'
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
But see! . . . the body does not sink;
It rides upon the tide
(A starbeam on the dagger's haft),
With staring eyes and wide . . .
Lower New York'a Storm
White wing'd below the darkling clouds
The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
The towers of stone and steel.
Moist and humid clouds,
Move over the vale and,
Higher it climbs,
Condense to form water,
Just for a day you crossed my life's dull track,
Put my ignobler dreams to sudden shame,
Went your bright way, and left me to fall back
On my own world of poorer deed and aim;
Ring Of Grass
Rings of grass crowns of flowers they're gone gone gone gone
Furs that I woven of whispering hours gone gone gone gone
She's gone away where the rings are real
And the furs have warmth that a woman can feel
In A Country
My love and I are inventing a country, which we
can already see taking shape, as if wheels were
passing through yellow mud. But there is a prob-
lem: if we put a river in the country, it will thaw
Circle Of Life
Ignorance is the center point of life circle,
Obscuring our mind from knowing virtues,
Walking rough path thus preventing from enlightenment,
Never letting to go beyond the circle of life.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took it away,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.
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
Beauty And Files
I don't know what is the vice I 'er own
Yet, forbidden stars'-light can't shed my light
Mine own is all too heavy, I swen
So a ministerial marked the school
My country, My home,
My King, My Leader,
My Parents, My Teacher
My name, My identity.
The Young British Soldier
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
You'd have men's hearts up from the dust
And tell their secrets, Messire Cino,
Rigkt enough? Then read between the lines of Uc St. Circ,
When, with a pain he desires to explain to the multitude, Baby
Howls himself black in the face, toothlessly striving to curse;
And the six-months-old Mother begins to enquire of the Gods if it may be
Tummy, or Temper, or Pins, what does the adequate Nurse?
The Sun at noon to higher air,
Unharnessing the silver Pair
That late before his chariot swam,
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.
A. E. Housman
The Iliad: Book 23
Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the
Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his
own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to
his brave comrades saying, “Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own
A Tender Morning
The morning is so tender with me,
The sun beams are caressing my face,
I opened my eyes in dawn bells chant,
The wheel of life turns, enchanting my being.
The Vanishing Red
He is said to have been the last Red man
In Acton. And the Miller is said to have laughed-
If you like to call such a sound a laugh.
But he gave no one else a laugher's license.
SOJOURNER, set down
Your skimming wheel;
Nothing is sharp
That we have of steel:
I say, I am quite done,
quite done with this;
Ballade Of The Tweed
The ferox rins in rough Loch Awe,
A weary cry frae ony toun;
The Spey, that loups o'er linn and fa',
They praise a' ither streams aboon;
Birds Of Prey March
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies.
Front! -- eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses
Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship.
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day,
The curless quat their roarin play,
And hunger'd maukin taen her way,
To kail-yards green,
Another On The Same
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could move,
So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,
Aims At Happiness
HOW oft has sounded whip and wheel,
How oft is buckled spur to heel,
How many a steed in short relay
Stands harnessed on the king's highway,
CAPTAIN Dobbin, having retired from the South Seas
In the dumb tides of , with a handful of shells,
A few poisoned arrows, a cask of pearls,
And five thousand pounds in the colonial funds,
Nature, what heart may here by thee,
Most truly brave be styled?
The tender mother's it must be,
When struggling for her child!
The Deserted Village
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
“After the men were ordered to lie down, a white rabbit,
which had been hopping hither and thither over the field
swept by grape and musketry, took refuge among the
skirmishers, in the breast of a corporal.”-Report
In The Factory
Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,
That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,
I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult;
And void is my soul… I am but a machine.
Address To The Sunset
Exquisite stillness! What serenities
Of earth and air! How bright atop the wall
The stonecropâ??s fire and beyond the precipice
How huge, how hushed the primrose evenfall!
The Queen's Demand
Rama shall be crowned at sunrise, so did royal bards proclaim,
Every rite arranged and ordered, Dasa-ratha homeward came,
To the fairest of his consorts, dearest to his ancient heart,