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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Bag-Pipes at Sea, by Clinton Scollard
Above the shouting of the gale,
The whipping sheet, the dashing spray,
I heard, with notes of joy and wail,
A piper play.
Along the dipping deck he trod,
Poetry To A Rose: The Rainy Day, by Deborah Berry
The day dawned gray, wet from the night's black rain
And she hung, heavily, her delicate limbs strained.
Bright petticoats ruined from the unmerciful, watery lash,
Rips running through her silks that the pelting onslaught slashed.
Only her leaves seem content under the wet, oppressive sky.
A Girl's Grave, by Patrick Edward Quinn
"Aged 17, OF A BROKEN HEART, January 1st, 1841."
What story is here of broken love,
What idyllic sad romance,
What arrow fretted the silken dove
That met with such grim mischance?
Bannerman of the Dandenong, by Alice Werner
I rode through the Bush in the burning noon,
Over the hills to my bride, --
The track was rough and the way was long,
And Bannerman of the Dandenong,
He rode along by my side.
Elena's Song, by Sir Henry Taylor
QUOTH tongue of neither maid nor wife
To heart of neither wife nor maid--
Lead we not here a jolly life
Betwixt the shine and shade?
Quoth heart of neither maid nor wife
The Water-Nymph and the Boy, by Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel
I FLUNG me round him,
I drew him under;
I clung, I drown'd him,
My own white wonder!...
Father and mother,
A Nosegay, by John Reynolds
SAY, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil,
With Violet blue;
Since you have seen the beauty of my saint,
And eke her view;
Did not her sight (fair sight!) you lonely fill,
A Lynmouth Widow, by Amelia Josephine Burr
He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue
As the summer meeting of sky and sea,
And the ruddy cliffs had a colder hue
Than flushed his cheek when he married me.
We passed the porch where the swallows breed,
The Clematis, by Alexander Bathgate
Fair crown of stars of purest ray,
Hung aloft on Mapau tree,
What floral beauties ye display,
Stars of snowy purity;
Around the dark-leaved mapau's head
Mother, by Theresa Helburn
I have praised many loved ones in my song,
And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
With empty hand.
Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
Dirge, by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Star Burden, by James Winer
The night my son appeared tattooed,
I knew things had changed.
There he was--tall, smiling, bearded, a bit lightheaded.
I saw him as if he had been born at that moment.
"Why did you do it?"
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