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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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When I am dead and Sister to the Dust, by Elsa Barker
When I am dead and sister to the dust;
When no more avidly I drink the wine
Of human love; when the pale Proserpine
Has covered me with poppies, and cold rust
Has cut my lyre-strings, and the sun has thrust
Freedom of......, by Jennifer Kathleen Phillips
There are systems that dictate sounds
worlds that rule words
and judgements in observations.
Perhaps they 'shouldn't' be heard.
The boa constricts its prey
Mockery, by Louis Untermeyer
God, I return to You on April days
When along country roads You walk with me,
And my faith blossoms like the earliest tree
That shames the bleak world with its yellow sprays --
My faith revives, when through a rosy haze
The Child in Me, by May Riley Smith
She follows me about my House of Life
(This happy little ghost of my dead Youth!)
She has no part in Time's relentless strife
She keeps her old simplicity and truth --
And laughs at grim Mortality,
To a Lady, by William Dunbar
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,
Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,
Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,
And everie vertew that is wenit dear,
Except onlie that ye are mercyless
He whom a Dream hath possessed, by Shaemas O Sheel
He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of doubting,
For mist and the blowing of winds and the mouthing of words he scorns;
Not the sinuous speech of schools he hears, but a knightly shouting,
And never comes darkness down, yet he greeteth a million morns.
He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of roaming;
Ye Mariners of England, by Thomas Campbell
YE Mariners of England
That guard our native seas!
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
Jenny kiss'd Me, by Leigh Hunt
JENNY kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Fairy Song, by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
HE has conn'd the lesson now;
He has read the book of pain:
There are furrows on his brow;
I must make it smooth again.
Lo! I knock the spurs away;
Kew Gardens, by Julian Duffus
This a mystery of Moon
Where silver shadows cast by cactus burr
The shallow fish flash steam
Reflect the jungle ambience of place
Out side the lawn guarded by the Queen's Beasts
Lonely Burial, by Stephen Vincent Benet
There were not many at that lonely place,
Where two scourged hills met in a little plain.
The wind cried loud in gusts, then low again.
Three pines strained darkly, runners in a race
Unseen by any. Toward the further woods
The Artist, by Kathleen Dreckman
Smooth white canvas like pen to paper
Artists imagination set to roam free
Eliptical strokes dancing through mid air
Giving small glimpses of me
Looking glass into present and past
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