All Poems
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Justification
© William Strode
See how the Rainbow in the skie
Seems gaudy through the Suns bright eye;
Harke how an Eccho answere makes,
Feele how a board is smooth'd with waxe,
Jacke-On-Both-Sides
© William Strode
I hold as fayth
What Rome's Church sayth
Where the King's head,
That flock's misled
The Swamp Fox
© William Gilmore Simms
What! 't is the signal! start so soon,
And through the Santee swamp so deep,
Without the aid of friendly moon,
And we, Heaven help us! half asleep!
Why We Are Truly A Nation
© William Matthews
Because we rage inside
the old boundaries,
like a young girl leaving the Church,
scared of her parents.
Her Epitaph
© William Strode
Happy Grave, thou dost enshrine
That which makes thee a rich mine:
Remember yet, 'tis but a loane;
And wee must have it back, Her owne,
Fragments
© John Masefield
Troy Town is covered up with weeds,
The rabbits and the pismires brood
On broken gold, and shards, and beads
Where Priam's ancient palace stood.
For A Gentleman, Who, Kissinge His Friend At His Departure Left A Signe Of Blood On Her
© William Strode
What mystery was this; that I should finde
My blood in kissing you to stay behinde?
'Twas not for want of color that requirde
My blood for paynt: No dye could be desirde
Epitaph On Mr. Bridgeman
© William Strode
One pitt containes him now that could not dye
Before a thousand pitts in him did lye;
Soe many spotts upon his flesh were shewne
'Cause on his soule sinne fastned almost none.
Sonnet 40: As Good To Write
© Sir Philip Sidney
As good to write as for to lie and groan,
Oh Stella dear, how much thy power hath wrought,
That hast my mind, none of the basest, brought
My still-kept course, while others sleep, to moan.
Consolatorium, Ad Parentes
© William Strode
Lett her parents then confesse
That they beleeve her happinesse,
Which now they question. Thinke as you
Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you:
Chloris in the Snow
© William Strode
I SAW fair Chloris walk alone,
When feather'd rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
To The Merchants Of Bought Dreams
© Arthur Symons
I buy no more from merchants of bought dreams,
For I have greater memories than these bring
Anthem For Good Fryday
© William Strode
O let thy Death secure my soul from fears,
And I will wash thy wounds with brinish tears:
Grant me, sweet Jesu, from thy pretious store
One cleansing drop, with grace to sin no more.
An Epitaph On Sr John Walter, Lord Cheife Baron
© William Strode
Farewell Example, Living Rule farewell;
Whose practise shew'd goodness was possible,
Who reach'd the full outstretch'd perfection
Of Man, of Lawyer, and of Christian.
An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great London Benefactor, And His Executor
© William Strode
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly
Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity
Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme
Thousands out of the grave: though cold hee seeme
The Dictators
© Pablo Neruda
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
Moonlight
© John Kenyon
Not alway from the lessons of the schools,
Taught evermore by those who trust them not,
An Antheme
© William Strode
O sing a new song to the Lord,
Praise in the hight and deeper strayne;
Come beare your parts with one accord,
Which you in Heaven may sing againe.
