All Poems

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The Equipage

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Since the Road of Life's so ill;
I, to pass it, use this Skill,
My frail Carriage driving home
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.

Changed Voices

© William Watson

Last night the seawind was to me
A metaphor of liberty,
And every wave along the beach
A starlit music seemed to be.

The Snow

© Emile Verhaeren

Uninterruptedly falls the snow,
Like meagre, long wool-strands, scant and slow,
O'er the meagre, long plain disconsolate.
Cold with lovelessness, warm with hate.

Jim And Bill

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Bill Jones was cynical and sad;
He thought sincerity was rare;
Most people, Bill believed, were bad
And few were fair.

NO better Dog e'er kept his Master's Door
Than honest Snarl, who spar'd nor Rich nor Poor;
But gave the Alarm, when any one drew nigh,
Nor let pretended Friends pass fearless by:
For which reprov'd, as better Fed than Taught,
He rightly thus expostulates the Fault.

The Islet And The Palm

© Archibald Lampman

O gentle sister spirit, when you smile
My soul is like a lonely coral isle,
An islet shadowed by a single palm,
Ringed round with reef and foam, but inly calm.

The Critick and the Writer of Fables

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

But here, the Critick bids me check this Vein.
Fable, he crys, tho' grown th' affected Strain,
But dies, as it was born, without Regard or Pain.
Whilst of his Aim the lazy Trifler fails,
Who seeks to purchase Fame by childish Tales.

Love, The Interpreter

© Madison Julius Cawein

Thou art the music that I hear in sleep,

The poetry that lures me on in dreams;

The Change

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

No lusty Tree that near thee grows,
(Tho' it beneath thy Shelter rose)
Will to thy Age a Staff become.
Fall, wretched Building! to thy Tomb.
Thou, and thy painted Roofs, in Ruin mixt,
Fall to the Earth, for That alone is fixt.

The First Black Flag

© Victor Marie Hugo

JOB. Hast thou ne'er heard men say

That, in the Black Wood, 'twixt Cologne and Spire,

The Cautious Lovers

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire;
For, What to you and me
(Who but each other do desire)
Is all that here we see?

The Gaberlunzie's Walk

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

The Laird is dead, the laird is dead,
An' dead is cousin John,
His henchmen ten, an' his sax merrie men,
Forbye the steward's son.

The Bird and the Arras

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

But we degresse and leaue th' imprison'd wretch
Now sinking low now on a loftyer stretch
Flutt'ring in endless cercles of dismay
Till some kind hand directs the certain way
Which through the casement an escape affoards
And leads to ample space the only Heav'n of Birds.

The Old Oak Tree

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough:
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'd protect it now.

The Atheist And The Acorn

Methinks this World is oddly made,
And ev'ry thing's amiss,
A dull presuming Atheist said,
As stretch'd he lay beneath a Shade;
And instanced in this:

At Peace

Very near my setting sun, I bless you, Life
because you never gave me neither unfilled hope
nor unfair work, nor undeserved sorrow/pain

The Appology

'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
I am alone forbid to play the fool
To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse