All Poems
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A British PHILIPPIC
© Mark Akenside
Occasion'd by the Insults of the Spaniards, and the present Preparations for War, 1738.
L'oiseau bleu
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
The lake lay blue below the hill.
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.
The Story of Ung
© Rudyard Kipling
Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago,
Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow.
Fashioned the form of a tribesman -- gaily he whistled and sung,
Working the snow with his fingers. Read ye the Story of Ung!
The Naked Land
© Kenneth Patchen
I cook my senses in a dark fire.
The old wombs rot and the new mother
Approaches with the footsteps of a world.
A St. Helena Lullaby
© Rudyard Kipling
"A Priest in Spite of Himself"
"How far is St. Helena from a little child at play!"
What makes you want to wander there with all the world
between.
Oh, Mother, call your son again or else he'll run away.
(No one thinks of winter when the grass is green!)
To C. Lloyd, On His Proposing To Domesticate With The Author
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
A mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep
Or colored lichens with slow oozing weep;
South Africa
© Rudyard Kipling
Christian gentlemen a few
From Berwick unto Dover;
For she was South Africa,
Ana she was South Africa,
She was Our South Africa,
Africa all over!
The Domestic Affections
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Favor'd of Heav'n! O Genius! are they thine,
When round thy brow the wreaths of glory shine;
While rapture gazes on thy radiant way,
'Midst the bright realms of clear and mental day?
The Sons of Martha
© Rudyard Kipling
The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.
The Vineyard Of Dionysus
© Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov
Dionysus walks his vineyard, his beloved;
Two women in dark clothing - two vintagers - follow him.
The Songs of the Lathes
© Rudyard Kipling
1918Being the Words of the Tune Hummed at Her Lathe by Mrs. L. Embsay, Widow
The fans and the beltings they roar round me.
The power is shaking the floor round me
Till the lathes pick up their duty and the midnight-shift takes over.
It is good for me to be here!
The Song of the Women
© Rudyard Kipling
How shall she know the worship we would do her?
The walls are high, and she is very far.
How shall the woman's message reach unto her
Above the tumult of the packed bazaar?
Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing,
Bear thou our thanks, lest she depart unknowing.
Love Well The Hour
© Edith Nesbit
HEART of my heart, my life and light,
If you were lost what should I do?
I dare not let you from my sight,
Lest Death should fall in love with you.
Song of the Wise Children
© Rudyard Kipling
When the darkened Fifties dip to the North,
And frost and the fog divide the air,
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth,
Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!
Robert Browning
© Henry Van Dyke
The blazons on his coat-of-arms are these:
The flaming sign of Shelley's heart on fire,
The golden globe of Shakespeare's human stage,
The staff and scrip of Chaucer's pilgrimage,
The rose of Dante's deep, divine desire,
The tragic mask of wise Euripides.
A Song of the White Men
© Rudyard Kipling
1899Now, this is the cup the White Men drink
When they go to right a wrong,
And that is the cup of the old world's hate--
Cruel and strained and strong.
A Song of Travel
© Rudyard Kipling
Where's the lamp that Hero lit
Once to call Leander home?
Equal Time hath shovelled it
'Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.
Neither wait we any more
That worn sail which Argo bore.
Autograph Verses
© Joseph Furphy
"Prove what Life can give of gladness;
Seek for aught that merits trust
The Song of the Sons
© Rudyard Kipling
One from the ends of the earth -- gifts at an open door --
Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more!
From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed,
Turn, and the world is thine. Mother, be proud of thy seed!
