All Poems
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Fragment. "Crotchetsodd mixings up of soul and sense"
© John Kenyon
Crotchetsodd mixings up of soul and sense
(Sense, if the truth were told, oft mastering Soul)
Saddest Poem
© Pablo Neruda
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
Walking Around
© Pablo Neruda
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII)
© Pablo Neruda
Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Sonnet 19
© Richard Barnfield
Ah no; nor I my selfe : though my pure loue
(Sweete Ganymede) to thee hath still beene pure,
XVII (I do not love you...)
© Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
The Fable Of Midas
© Jonathan Swift
Midas, we are in story told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
If You Forget Me
© Pablo Neruda
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
Love Sonnet XVII
© Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Epitaph Of Constantine Kanaris
© William Edmondstoune Aytoun
I am Constantine Kanaris:
I, who lie beneath this stone,
Twice into the air in thunder
Have the Turkish galleys blown.
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
© Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
III. O Thou, whose stern command and precepts pure...
© William Lisle Bowles
O THOU, whose stern command and precepts pure
(Tho' agony in every vein should start,
And slowly drain the blood-drops from the heart)
Have bade the patient spirit still endure;
Apparitions
© Robert Browning
Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!
On the Funeral of Charles the First
© William Lisle Bowles
The castle clock had tolled midnight:
With mattock and with spade,
And silent, by the torches' light,
His corse in earth we laid.
Experience.
© Robert Crawford
Experience is a stern pace-maker, and
'Tis on the road to wisdom, that rough way,
So many fall.
Wrongs unrepented and unpunished breed
XIII. O Time! Who Know'st a Lenient Hand to Lay...
© William Lisle Bowles
O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence,
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
Stealest the long-forgotten pang away;
In Winter
© Alice Guerin Crist
Golden and white in the garden walk,
Chrysanthemums gather their bravest show,
Mid withered blossom and wilted stalk
Where never a rosebud dares to blow.
IV. To the River Wenbeck
© William Lisle Bowles
AS slowly wanders thy forsaken stream,
Wenbeck! the mossy-scatter'd rocks among,
In fancy's ear still making plaintive song
To the dark woods above: ah! sure I seem
Sonnet. On A Picture Of Leander
© John Keats
Come hither all sweet Maidens soberly
Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light
