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Don’t send me PM, it irks me..
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Emperor Tang -- Skeptic
CLOSER than my body's shadow
Follows the blind nameless One,
Carrying in his tightened, yellow fist
Time, the thin sputtering candle,
And in his swollen cheeks
Death, the grey wind.
So fill and refill my deep, golden horn
With the strongest wine,
O wise men of China,
Before declaiming in magnificent verse
My immortality,
That I may nod,
My eyes glittering with dreams,
And believe --
Paul EldridgeComment
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Serenade in Firelight
from Five Serenades
SIT here where I could touch your hand
If that should be my sudden will:
Among the shadows where we wait
I shall not stir.
Sit here where I could feel your lips
If they should breathe the faintest sound:
As the slow-moving midnight slips
I ask no speech.
Sit here where I could lay my head
Wearily down upon your knees:
I shall sit upright as I watch
The tangled fire.
Arthur Davison FickeComment
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An Epilogue
GHOSTS of my fathers, while you keep
On ghostly hills your ghostly sleep,
If for a moment you should turn
The pages of this book to learn
What trade your offspring's taken to,
Forgive me that my flocks and herds
Are only barren bleating words.
Wilfred Wilson GibsonComment
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Earth and Sea
IT does me good to see the ships
Back safely from the deep sea main;
To see the slender mizzen tips
And all the ropes that stood the strain;
To hear the old men shout, "Ahoy!"
Glad-hearted at the journey done,
Who fix the favourite to the buoy
Of sea and wind and moon and sun.
To meet, when sails are lashed to spars,
The men for whom earth's free from care,
And heaven a clock with certain stars,
And hell a word by which to swear.
Oliver St. John GogartyComment
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On the World
THE world's an Inn; and I her guest.
I eat; I drink; I take my rest.
My hostess, nature, does deny me
Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;
Where, having stayed a while, I pay
Her lavish bills, and go my way.
Francis QuarlesComment
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Again, I warn you No PM, ok…It irks me.Comment
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Epitaph on a Vagabond
CARELESS I lived, accepting day by day
The lavish benison of sun and rain,
Watching the changing seasons pass away
And come again.
Now the great harvester has stilled my breath;
In this cold house I neither hear nor see.
Though in my life I never thought of death,
Death thought of me.
Alexander GrayComment
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Let's count it again shall we. 9984Comment
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A Good-night
CLOSE now thine eyes and rest secure;
Thy soul is safe enough, thy body sure;
He that loves thee, He that keeps
And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps.
The smiling conscience in a sleeping breast
Has only peace, has only rest;
The music and the mirth of kings
Are all but very discords, when she sings;
Then close thine eyes and rest secure;
No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure.
Francis QuarlesComment
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The Dromedary
IN dreams I see the Dromedary still,
As once in a gay park I saw him stand:
A thousand eyes in vulgar wonder scanned
His humps and hairy neck, and gazed their fill
At his lank shanks and mocked with laughter shrill.
He never moved: and if his Eastern land
Flashed on his eye with stretches of hot sand,
It wrung no mute appeal from his proud will.
He blinked upon the rabble lazily;
And still some trace of majesty forlorn
And a coarse grace remained: his head was high,
Though his gaunt flanks with a great mange were worn:
There was not any yearning in his eye,
But on his lips and nostril infinite scorn.
A.Y. CampbellComment
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You won't take it.Twistin' by the pool.Comment
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Lay of Ancient Rome
OH, the Roman was a rogue,
He erat was, you bettum;
He ran his automobilis
And smoked his cigarettum;
He wore a diamond studibus
And elegant cravattum,
A maxima cum laude shirt,
And stylish hattum!
He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc,
And bet on games and equi;
At times he won, at others, though,
He got it in the necqui;
He winked (quo usque tandem?)
At puellas on the Forum,
And sometimes even made
Those goo-goo oculorum!
He frequently was seen
At combats gladitorial,
And ate enough to feed
Ten boarders at Memorial;
He often went on sprees
And said, on starting homus,
"Hic labor --- opus est,
Oh, where's my hic--hic--domus?"
Although he lived in Rome--
Of all the arts the middle--
He was (excuse the phrase)
A horrid individ'l;
Ah! what a diff'rent thing
Was the homo (dative, hominy)
Of far-away B.C.
From us of Anno Domini.
Thomas YbarraComment
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You won't get it.Twistin' by the pool.Comment
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Preludes
I
THE winter's evening settles down
With smells of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves across your feet
And newpapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On empty blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
T. S. EliotComment
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