Poetry Books
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Stephen Hawes
The prologe. WHan I aduert in my remembraunce The famous draughtes of poetes eloquent Whiche theyr myndes dyd well enhaunce Bokes to contryue that were expedyent To be remembred without Impedyment For the profyte of humanyte This was the custume of antyquyte. I now symple and moost rude And naked in depured eloquence For dulnes rethoryke doth exclude Wherfore in makynge I lake intellygence Also...
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Edward Thomas
THE TRUMPET RISE up, rise up,And, as the trumpet blowingChases the dreams of men,As the dawn glowingThe stars that left unlitThe land and water,Rise up and scatterThe dew that coversThe print of last night's lovers—Scatter it, scatter it! While you are listeningTo the clear horn,Forget, men, everythingOn this earth newborn,Except that it is lovelierThan any mysteries.Open your eyes to the...
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GUARDS! A Review in Hyde Park 1913.The Crowd Watches. WHERE the trees rise like cliffs, proud and blue-tinted in the distance,Between the cliffs of the trees, on the grey- green parkRests a still line of soldiers, red motionless range of guardsSmouldering with darkened busbies beneath the bay- onets' slant rain. Colossal in nearness a blue police sits still on his horseGuarding the...
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Adam Mickiewicz
ADAM MICKIEWICZ (1798-1855) The last of the eighteenth century was an important period for Russia and Poland, not only politically, but in letters and art. It marked the birth of statesmen, patriots, poets and writers. It was into a Poland of great names and greater activities that Adam Mickiewicz was born in 1798, as son of an impoverished family of the old nobility. Three years before, the third and...
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LITTLE ENGEL. It was the little Engel, he So handsome was and gay;To Upland rode he on a tide And bore a maid away. In ill hour he to Upland rode And made a maid his prize;The first night they together lay Was down by Vesteryse. It was the little Engel he Awoke at black midnight,And straight begins his dream to state In terror and affright. “Methought the wolf-whelp and his...
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The present Anthology is intended to serve as a companion volume to the Poetical Miscellanies published in England at the close of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries. A few of the lyrics here collected are, it is true, included in “England’s Helicon,” Davison’s “Poetical Rhapsody,” and “The Phœnix’ Nest”; and some are to be found in the modern collections of...
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George Eliot
How Lisa loved the King. Six hundred years ago, in Dante’s time,Before his cheek was furrowed by deep rhyme;When Europe, fed afresh from Eastern story,Was like a garden tangled with the gloryOf flowers hand-planted and of flowers air-sown,Climbing and trailing, budding and full-blown,Where purple bells are tossed amid pink stars,And springing blades, green troops in innocent wars,Crowd every shady...
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Alfred Noyes
MIST IN THE VALLEYIMist in the valley, weeping mistBeset my homeward way.No gleam of rose or amethystHallowed the parting day;A shroud, a shroud of awful greyWrapped every woodland brow,And drooped in crumbling disarrayAround each wintry bough.IIAnd closer round me now it clungUntil I scarce could seeThe stealthy pathway overhungBy silent tree and treeWhich floated in that mysteryAs—poised in...
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UP AND DOWN Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England On Temple Bar must beat For leave to ride to Ludgate Down the Hill of Fleet. MRS. EARTH Mrs. Earth makes silver black, Mrs. Earth makes iron red But Mrs. Earth can not stain gold, Nor...
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Darkly you sweep on, Eternal Fugitive, round whose bodiless rush stagnant space frets into eddying bubbles of light. Is your heart lost to the Lover calling you across his immeasurable loneliness? Is the aching urgency of your haste the sole reason why your tangled tresses break into stormy riot and pearls of fire roll along your path as from a broken necklace? Your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this...
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