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Archive for the ‘Random Poetry’ Category

There is a silence in the world
Since we have said farewell;
And beauty with an alien speech
An alien tale would tell.

There is a silence in the world,
Which is not peace nor quiet:
Ever I seek to flee therefrom,
And walk the ways of riot.

But when I hear the music moan
In rooms of thronging laughter,
A tongueless demon drives me forth,
And silence follows after.

Clark Ashton Smith

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Why is it, in the verse I write,

That never do I mention you?

It is so that, myself, I might

From yours be ever absent too.

Clement Marot

trans. Norman R. Shapiro

2002

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Under the beechful eye,
When causeless brandlings bring,
Let the froddering crooner cry,
And the braddled sapster sing.
For never and never again
Will the tottering bauble bray,
For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

The wrackling globe unstrung,
Unstrung in the frittering light
Of a moon that knows no day!
Of a day that knows no night!
Diving away in the crowd
Of sparkling frets of spray,
The bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

Hasten, O hapful blue,
Blue of the thimmering brow,
Hasten to meet your crew,
They’ll clamour to pelt thee now!
For never again shall a cloud
Out-thribble the babbling day,
When bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

W. S. Gilbert

1862

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The Rain was grey before it fell
        And through a world where light had died
There ran a mournful little wind
That shook the trees and cried.
 
The rain was brown upon the earth,
    In turbid stream and tiny seas—”
In swift and slender shafts that beat
    The flowers to their knees.
 
The rain is mirror to the sky,
    To leaning grass in image clear,
And drifting in the shining pools
    The clouds are white and near.

 

Nora May French

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She I love (alas in vain!)
Floats before my slumbering eyes:
When she comes she lulls my pain,
When she goes what pangs arise!
Thou whom love, whom memory flies,
Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!
If even thus she soothe my sighs,
Never let me wake again!
Walter Savage Landor

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As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;

And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,

A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear;

Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed

As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.

‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘but newly born in fiery heats I fry,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, and mercy blows the coals,

The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls,

For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.’

With this he vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.

Robert Southwell – 1595

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See for yourself…IJS.

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