All Poems
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To The Poet
© Thomas William Heney
WHAT cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
Be plucked for the breast of the dead or the hands of a bride?
The Ghosts' High Noon
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the
moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies -
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs
bay the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday - then is the ghosts' high noon!
Amidst the Flowers a Jug of Wine
© Li Po
Amidst the flowers a jug of wine,
I pour alone lacking companionship.
So raising the cup I invite the Moon,
Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us.
Waterfall at Lu-shan
© Li Po
Sunlight streams on the river stones.
From high above, the river steadily plunges--
A Problem In Dynamics
© James Clerk Maxwell
An inextensible heavy chain
Lies on a smooth horizontal plane,
An impulsive force is applied at A,
Required the initial motion of K.
Green Mountain
© Li Po
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.
Love
© Czeslaw Milosz
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Quiet Night Thoughts
© Li Po
Before my bed
there is bright moonlight
So that it seems
Like frost on the ground:
On A Young Poetesss Grave
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
UNDER her gentle seeing,
In her delicate little hand,
ThreeWith the Moon and His Shadow
© Li Po
With a jar of wine I sit by the flowering trees.
I drink alone, and where are my friends?
Ah, the moon above looks down on me;
I call and lift my cup to his brightness.
On Hearing The News From Venice
© George Meredith
(The Death Of Robert Browning)
Now dumb is he who waked the world to speak,
About Tu Fu
© Li Po
I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad--in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
April
© Rémy Belleau
April, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,
To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time;
The Sea-Limits
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
CONSIDER the sea's listless chime:
Time's self it is, made audible,
Alone Looking at the Mountain
© Li Po
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.
Good Old Moon
© Li Po
When I was a boy I called the moon a
white plate of jade, sometimes it looked
like a great mirror hanging in the sky,
first came the two legs of the fairy
Elegy XV. In Memory of a Private Family in Worcestershire
© William Shenstone
From a lone tower, with reverend ivy crown'd,
The pealing bell awaked a tender sigh;
Still, as the village caught the waving sound,
A swelling tear distream'd from every eye.
Drinking Alone
© Li Po
I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.But the moon doesn't drink,
and my shadow silently follows.I will travel with moon and shadow,
