All Poems

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Zummer An' Winter

© William Barnes

When I led by zummer streams
The pride o' Lea, as naighbours thought her,
While the zun, wi' evenen beams,
Did cast our sheades athirt the water;

Arakoon

© Henry Kendall

There the East hums loud and surly,
Late and early,
Through the chasms and the caves,
And across the naked verges
Leap the surges!
White and wailing waifs of waves.

Digging

© Edward Thomas

What matter makes my spade for tears or mirth,

Letting down two clay pipes into the earth?

"As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades"

© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam

As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades
In a translucent forest in Persephone's tracks,
A blind swallow falls at her feet
With Stygian tenderness and a green branch.

The Weaver

© Edgar Albert Guest

The patter of rain on the roof,

The glint of the sun on the rose;

Then I heard human accents answering:
"I am a god, made god by all thy prayers;
Wach stone becomes a god by worshipping;
I am a man who loves thee: in thy town
Many have loved thee, I am one of these."

Trilce

© Cesar Vallejo

Hay un lugar que yo me sé
en este mundo, nada menos,
adonde nunca llegaremos.

The Weeping Garden

© Boris Pasternak

Its terrible! all drip and listening.
Whether, as ever, its loneliness,
splashing a branch, like lace, on the window,
or whether perhaps theres a witness.

The Red-Men

© Charles Sangster

I

My footsteps press where, centuries ago,

A Renunciation

© Henry King

WE, that did nothing study but the way

To love each other, with which thoughts the day

One Crucifixion is recordedonly

© Emily Dickinson

One Crucifixion is recordedonly
How many be
Is not affirmed of Mathematics
Or History

Tis Finished

© Henry Clay Work

'Tis finished! 'tis ended!
The dread and awful task is done;
Tho' wounded and bleeding,
'tis ours to sing the vict'ry won,
Our nation is ransom'd-our enemies are overthrown
And now, now commoners, the brightest era ever known.

The Aungeles Song On Pask Day.

© Thomas Hoccleve

The grevous iourney þat thu took on hande, hath clerly maad, to eueri wight appere,In sothfastnesse to see & vnderstonde,To þat only was thi talent & thi chiereSo suffisaunt, lo,that oure raunsoum were Superhabundaunt over þat was due;Honured be thu, blisseful lord Ihesu!
On thursday, a noble soper þou made, Where thu ordeyned first thi sacrament;But muchë more it doth oure hertës glade,The worthi dyner of this day present,In which þou schewest thi self omnipotent, Rising from deth to lyve, it is ful trewe:Honured be thu, blisful lord Ihesu!
Now for this festë schal we say the graces, And worthi is, with alle oure diligence,And thank the here, & [eke] in allë places,Of thi ful bountevous benevolence,Thi myght, thi grace, thi souereyn excellence: Thu art the ground & welle of alle vertue:Honured be thu, blisfull lord Ihesu!

March days return with their covert light

© Pablo Neruda

March days return with their covert light,
and huge fish swim through the sky,
vague earthly vapours progress in secret,
things slip to silence one by one.

The Lust of the Eyes

I care not for my Ladys soul
Though I worship before her smile;
I care not where be my Ladys goal
When her beauty shall lose its wile.

Parsifal

Rose of the garden's roses, what pale wind
Has scattered those flushed petals in an hour,
And the close leaves of all the alleys thinned,
What re-awakening wind,
O sad enchantress banished to a flower?