All Poems
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Mine Own John Poynz
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know
The cause why that homeward I me draw,
And flee the press of courts, whereso they go,
Rather than to live thrall under the awe
Madam, Withouten Many Words
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Madam, withouten many words
Once I am sure ye will or no ...
And if ye will, then leave your bourds
And use your wit and show it so,
Herod's Lament For Mariamne
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart of which thou bled'st is bleeding;
Lux, My Fair Falcon
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Lux, my fair falcon, and your fellows all,
How well pleasant it were your liberty.
Ye not forsake me that fair might ye befall,
But they that sometime liked my company,
Ballad of Autumn
© Marie E J Pitt
DOWN harvest headlands the fairy host
Of the poppy banners have flashed and fled,
Is it Possible
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Is it possibleThat so high debate,So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,Should end so soon and was begun so late?Is it possible?
In Spain
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Tagus, farewell! that westward with thy streams
Turns up the grains of gold already tried
With spur and sail, for I go to seek the Thames
Gainward the sun that shewth her wealthy pride,
Bellman's Verses For 1814
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
Huzza, my boys! our friends the Dutch have risen,
Our good old friends, and burst the Tyrant's prison!
I Find No Peace
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
I Abide and Abide and Better Abide
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
I abide and abide and better abide,
And after the old proverb, the happy day;
And ever my lady to me doth say,
'Let me alone and I will provide.'
Perhaps not to be is to be without your being.
© Pablo Neruda
Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
Forget Not Yet
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.
Twenty-Third Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Farewell Love and all thy Laws for ever
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Farewell love and all thy laws forever;Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more
The Planet On The Table
© Wallace Stevens
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
Avising The Bright Beams
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
Avising the bright beams of these fair eyes
Where he is that mine oft moisteth and washeth,
The wearied mind straight from the heart departeth
For to rest in his worldly paradise
LXXXIV From: Cien sonetos de amor
© Pablo Neruda
One time more, my love, the net of light extinguishes
work, wheels, flames, boredoms and farewells,
and we surrender the swaying wheat to night,
the wheat that noon stole from earth and light.
And Wilt Thou Leave me Thus?
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay, for shame,
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame;
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!
The Sisters
© Judith Wright
In the vine-shadows on the veranda;
under the yellow leaves, in the cooling sun,
sit two sisters. Their slow voices run
like little winter creeks, dwindled by frost and wind,
and the square of sunlight moves on the veranda.
