Smile poems

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth

© George Gordon Byron

I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!

II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers

Loss of the S.S. Regulus

© Burke Johnny

Ye daring sons of Newfoundland, That fear not storm or seaPlease hearken for a moment And attention give to me,While I explain in language plain, That filled hearts with dismay,Of how the Regulus got lost In Petty Harbor Bay

Geert

© Buckton Alice Mary

They brought him in at midnight, Across the saddle-bow --Geert of the ripe and chestnut hair, Geert of the sunny brow!

The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story

© Robert Browning

(Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger)

Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXIV

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

With the same heart, I said, I'll answer theeAs those, when thou shalt call me by my name-Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?When called before, I told how hastilyI dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,To run and answer with the smile that cameAt play last moment, and went on with meThrough my obedience

Sonnets from the Portuguese: XLIII

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

Sonnets from the Portuguese: XL

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth:I have heard love talked in my early youth,And since, not so long back but that the flowersThen gathered, smell still

Sonnets from the Portuguese: XIV

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me, let it be for noughtExcept for love's sake only

Sonnets from the Portuguese: IX

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Can it be right to give what I can give?To let thee sit beneath the fall of tearsAs salt as mine, and hear the sighing yearsRe-sighing on my lips renunciativeThrough those infrequent smiles which fail to liveFor all thy adjurations? O my fears,That this can scarce be right! We are not peersSo to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,That givers of such gifts as mine are, mustBe counted with the ungenerous

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I Love thee?

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

Aurora Leigh

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Book I I am like,They tell me, my dear father

Lilith

© Christopher John Brennan

(i)

Each day I see the long ships coming into port

© Christopher John Brennan

Each day I see the long ships coming into portand the people crowding to their rail, glad of the shore:because to have been alone with the sea and not to have knownof anything happening in any crowded way,and to have heard no other voice than the crooning sea'shas charmed away the old rancours, and the great windshave search'd and swept their hearts of the old irksome thoughts:so, to their freshen'd gaze, each land smiles a good home

The Execution of Karla Faye

Of course they've been cheering death forever, askLorca or Antigone, an execution a day in the USthey say, something to work for, that guy in the Stop 'N' Gowhen they bombed Gaddafi's kid, cheering atthe thought of pain, but that's the neighbourhood'sdark end anyway, get used to it, light your candlesmarch around the lake, don't lose sight of Amelia(how they ever could have thought that smile lessthan all their clutching--Wordsworth had that downalright--then here we are, maybe that's what they hopeto drown out cheering the news she died when the statewhatever the hell that is plunged or pulled whatever technéecstasis extension holding it to crucial distance, still somewhereflesh touches some thing, and we'd better be preparedfor the whole bloody mess because even if homeof ourselves is a rumoured infrapsychisme from whichundisputed program is accessible to, say, rejig the worksthru poem's possible modulations, there's still northof that, south, east, west and when you get homeguess who's waiting

LXX

My lady's senses are so pure and fine,She takes small pleasure in the close embraceThat love and nature in me coarsely traceAs the great end to which all hearts incline

CLXXXVIII

My darling's features, painted by the light;As in the convex of a mirror, seeHer face diminished so fantasticallyIt scarcely hints her lovely self aright

Kelly's Conversion

Kelly the Rager half opened an eyeTo wink at the Army passing by,While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer,Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer

Métis

Speak the great names: Fort Qu'Appelle,St Isidore de Bellevue, Grand Coteau,Batoche, Fort Walsh, Frog Lake and Cut Knife Hill,Seven Oaks and the rest of Rupert's Land,and say what lies there between: bonesthe wind gives back, bones of buffalo, bonesof the hunters, bones of Blackfoot, Cree and Blood,the prairie piled white with hunts, allbone brothers under sun