Friendship

I send you two kisses
    Wrapped up in a rhyme;
From Love's warm abysses
I send you two kisses;
If one of them misses
    Please wait till next time,
And I'll send you three kisses
    Wrapped up in a rhyme.

    POETS, like lawful monarchs, ruled the stage,
    Till critics, like damn'd Whigs, debauch'd our age.
    Mark how they jump: critics would regulate
    Our theatres, and Whigs reform our state:
    Both pretend love, and both (plague rot them!) hate.
    The critic humbly seems advice to bring;
    The fawning Whig petitions to the king:
    But one's advice into a satire slides;
    The other's petition a remonstrance hides.
    These will no taxes give, and those no pence;
    Critics would starve the poet, Whigs the prince.
    The critic all our troops of friends discards;
    Just so the Whig would fain pull down the guards.
    Guards are illegal, that drive foes away,
    As watchful shepherds, that fright beasts of prey.
    Kings, who disband such nee...

Ill strives the will, 'gainst will more wise that strives
His pleasure therefore to mine own preferr'd,
I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave.

Onward I mov'd: he also onward mov'd,
Who led me, coasting still, wherever place
Along the rock was vacant, as a man
Walks near the battlements on narrow wall.
For those on th' other part, who drop by drop
Wring out their all-infecting malady,
Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou!
Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey,
Than every beast beside, yet is not fill'd!
So bottomless thy maw!--Ye spheres of heaven!
To whom there are, as seems, who attribute
All change in mortal state, when is the day
Of his appearing, for whom fate reserves
To chase her hence?--With wary steps and slow
We pass'...

O aye! they had woone child bezide,
An' a finer your eyes never met,
Twer a dear little fellow that died
In the summer that come wi' such het;
By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun,
He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes,
Vrom the light ov the dew-dryen zun,
Aye! vrom days under the blue-hollow'd skies.

He went out to the mowers in meade,
When the zun wer a-rose to his height,
An' the men wer a-swingen the snead,
Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an' right;
An' out there, as they rested at noon,
O! they drench'd en vrom eale-horns too deep,
Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon;
Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep.

Then they laid en there-right on the ground,
On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi'het,
Wi' his heair all a-wetted around...

Once on a time a friend of mine prevailed on me to go
To see the dazzling splendors of a sinful ballet show,
And after we had reveled in the saltatory sights
We sought a neighboring cafe for more tangible delights;
When I demanded of my friend what viands he preferred,
He quoth: "A large cold bottle and a small hot bird!"

Fool that I was, I did not know what anguish hidden lies
Within the morceau that allures the nostrils and the eyes!
There is a glorious candor in an honest quart of wine--
A certain inspiration which I cannot well define!
How it bubbles, how it sparkles, how its gurgling seems to say:
"Come, on a tide of rapture let me float your soul away!"

But the crispy, steaming mouthful that is spread upon your plate--
How it discounts human sapience and sa...

Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom.
The spectres of the forest, dark and dim,
And shadows of vast death environ him
Onward he spurs victorious over doom.
Before his eyes that love's far fires illume
Where courage sits, impregnable and grim
The form and features of her beauty swim,
Beckoning him on with looks that fears consume.
The thought of her distress, her lips to kiss,
Mails him with triple might; and so at last:
To Lust's huge keep he comes; its giant wall,
Wild-towering, frowning from the precipice;
And through its gate, borne like a bugle blast,
O'er night and hell he thunders to his all.

O you chorus of indolent reviewers,
Irresponsible, indolent reviewers,
Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem
All composed in a metre of Catullus,
All in quantity, careful of my motion,
Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him,
Lest I fall unawares before the people,
Waking laughter in indolent reviewers.
Should I flounder awhile without a tumble
Thro' this metrification of Catullus,
They should speak to me not without a welcome,
All that chorus of indolent reviewers.
Hard, hard, hard it is, only not to tumble,
So fantastical is the dainty meter.
Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me
Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers.
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather -
Since I blush to belaud myself a moment -
As some rare little rose, a piece of ...

Bedecked in fashion trim,
With every curl a-quiver;
Or leaping, light of limb,
O'er rivulet and river;
Or skipping o'er the lea
On daffodil and daisy;
Or stretched beneath a tree,
All languishing and lazy;
Whatever be her mood -
Be she demurely prude
Or languishingly lazy -
My lady drives me crazy!
In vain her heart is wooed,
Whatever be her mood!

What profit should I gain
Suppose she loved me dearly?
Her coldness turns my brain
To VERGE of madness merely.
Her kiss - though, Heaven knows,
To dream of it were treason -
Would tend, as I suppose,
To utter loss of reason!
My state is not amiss;
I would not have a kiss
Which, in or out of season,
Might tend to loss of reason:
What profit in such bliss?
A ...

When I set out for Lyonnesse,
    A hundred miles away,
    The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
    A hundred miles away.

What would bechance at Lyonnesse
    While I should sojourn there
    No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
    While I should sojourn there.

When I came back from Lyonnesse
    With magic in my eyes,
    None managed to surmise
What meant my godlike gloriousness,
When I came back from Lyonnesse
    With magic in my eyes.

Don't look for the flaws as you go through life;
    And even when you find them,
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind,
    And look for the virtue behind them;
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
    Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It's better by far to hunt for a star,
    Than the spots on the sun abiding.

The current of life runs ever away
    To the bosom of God's great ocean.
Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course,
    And think to alter its motion.
Don't waste a curse on the universe,
    Remember, it lived before you;
Don't butt at the storm with your puny form,
    But bend and let it go o'er you.

The world will never adjust itself
    To suit your whims to the letter,
Some things must go wrong your whole li...

Why do the bells of Christmas ring?
Why do little children sing?

Once a lovely shining star,
Seen by shepherds from afar,
Gently moved until its light
Made a manger's cradle bright.

There a darling baby lay,
Pillowed soft upon the hay;
And its mother sung and smiled:
"This is Christ, the holy Child!"

Therefore bells for Christmas ring,
Therefore little children sing.

Man says that He is jealous,
Man says that He is wise,
Man says that He is watching
From His throne beyond the skies.

But perchance the arch above us
Is one great mirror's span,
And the Figure seen so dimly
Is a vast reflected man.

If it is love that gave us
A thousand blossoms bright,
Why should that love not save us
From poisoned aconite?

If this man blesses sunshine
Which sets his fields aglow,
Shall that man curse the tempest
That lays his harvest low?

If you may sing His praises
For health He gave to you,
What of this spine-curved cripple,
Shall he sing praises too?

If you may justly thank Him
For strength in mind and limb,
Then what of yonder weakling —
Must he give thanks to Him?

I go away this blessed day,
To sail across the sea, Matilda!
My vessel starts for various parts
At twenty after three, Matilda.
I hardly know where we may go,
Or if it's near or far, Matilda,
For Captain Hyde does not confide
In any 'fore-mast tar, Matilda!

Beneath my ban that mystic man
Shall suffer, coute qui coute, Matilda!
What right has he to keep from me
The Admiralty route, Matilda?
Because, forsooth! I am a youth
Of common sailors' lot, Matilda!
Am I a man on human plan
Designed, or am I not, Matilda?

But there, my lass, we'll let that pass!
With anxious love I burn, Matilda.
I want to know if we shall go
To church when I return, Matilda?
Your eyes are red, you bow your head;
It's pretty clear you thirst, Matilda,

    A violet by a mossy stone,
    Half hidden from the eye,
Fair as a star, when only one,
    Is shining in the sky.                            Wordsworth


I have found violets. April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer time.
You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful bright neck, and from the hills,
A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea
Tells the release of waters, and the earth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
Are lifted by the grass - and so I know
That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
Smell of my violets! I foun...

How good it is, when overwrought,
To seek the woods and find a thought,
That to the soul's attentive sense
Delivers much in evidence
Of truths for which man long has sought
Truths, which no vulture years contrive
To rob the heart of, holding it
To all the glory infinite
Of beauty that shall aye survive.
Still shall it lure us. Year by year
Addressing now the spirit ear
With thoughts, and now the spirit eye
With visions that like gods go by,
Filling the mind with bliss and fear
In spite of modern man who mocks
The Loveliness of old, nor minds
The ancient myths, gone with the winds,
And dreams that people woods and rocks.

1

"There is no God," one said,
    And love is lust;
When I am dead I'm dead,
    And all is dust.

"Be merry while you can
    Before you're gray;
With some wild courtesan
    Drink care away."


2

One said, "A God there is,
    And God is love;
Death is not death, but bliss,
    And life above.

"Above all flesh is mind;
    And faith and truth
God's gifts to poor mankind
    That make life youth."


3

One from a harlot's side
Arose at morn;
One cursing God had died
That night forlorn.

Thou art my morning, twilight, noon, and eve,
    My Summer and my Winter, Spring and Fall;
    For Nature left on thee a touch of all
The moods that come to gladden or to grieve
The heart of Time, with purpose to relieve
    From lagging sameness. So do these forestall
    In thee such o'erheaped sweetnesses as pall
Too swiftly, and the taster tasteless leave.

Scenes that I love to me always remain
    Beautiful, whether under summer's sun
Beheld, or, storm-dark, stricken across with rain.
    So, through all humors, thou 'rt the same sweet one:
Doubt not I love thee well in each, who see
Thy constant change is changeful constancy.

    Wer't granted me to choose,
How I would end my dayes;
    Since I this life must loose,
It should be in Your praise;
For there is no Bayes
    Can be set aboue you.

    S' impossibly I loue You,
And for you sit so hie,
    Whence none may remoue You
In my cleere Poesie,
That I oft deny
    You so ample Merit.

    The freedome of my Spirit
Maintayning (still) my Cause,
    Your Sex not to inherit,
Vrging the Salique Lawes;
But your Vertue drawes
    From me euery due.

    Thus still You me pursue,
That no where I can dwell,
    By Feare made iust to You,
Who naturally rebell,
Of You that excell
    That should I still Endyte,

    Yet will You want some Ryte.
That lost in your high praise