sábado, 3 de junho de 2017

The Sheik - Dorothy Parker

       












The Sheik - Dorothy Parker




Song Thomas Carew
The Spirit of Sound Ner Gardiner
Strange fits of passion have I known William Wordsworth
A Tom O' Bedlam Song Anonymous
The Twelve Months George Ellis
On The Wedding Of the Aeronaut Ambrose Bierce
The White Rose o' June Carolina Nairne





She dwelt among the untrodden ways - William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

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

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!








Self-Deceit - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

My neighbour's curtain, well I see,

Is moving to and fin.
No doubt she's list'ning eagerly,

If I'm at home or no.

And if the jealous grudge I bore

And openly confess'd,
Is nourish'd by me as before,

Within my inmost breast.

Alas! no fancies such as these

E'er cross'd the dear child's thoughts.
I see 'tis but the ev'ning breeze

That with the curtain sports.






A Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late Famous General - Jonathan Swift

His Grace! impossible! what, dead!
Of old age too, and in his bed!
And could that mighty warrior fall,
And so inglorious, after all?
Well, since he's gone, no matter how,
The last loud trump must wake him now;
And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
He'd wish to sleep a little longer.
And could he be indeed so old
As by the newspapers we're told?
Threescore, I think, is pretty high;
'Twas time in conscience he should die!
This world he cumber'd long enough;
He burnt his candle to the snuff;
And that's the reason, some folks think,
He left behind so great a s----k.
Behold his funeral appears.
Nor widow's sighs, nor orphan's tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
Attend the progress of his hearse.
But what of that? his friends may say,
He had those honours in his day.
True to his profit and his pride,
He made them weep before he died

Come hither, all ye empty things,
Ye bubbles rais'd by breath of kings;
Who float upon the tide of state;
Come hither, and behold your fate.
Let pride be taught by this rebuke,
How very mean a thing's a duke;
From all his ill-got honours flung,
Turn'd to that dirt from whence he sprung.









Returning, We Hear the Larks - Isaac Rosenberg

Sombre the night is:
And, though we have our lives, we know
What sinister threat lurks there.

Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know
This poison-blasted track opens on our camp—
On a little safe sleep.

But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.
Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:
Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

Death could drop from the dark
As easily as song—
But song only dropped,
Like a blind man's dreams on the sand
By dangerous tides;
Like a girl's dark hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,
Or her kisses where a serpent hides.








The Rebel - Anonymous

"A New Song, or Balade, shewing the naughty conceits of Traytours; that
all loial and true-hearted men may know and eschew the same.

    "_They counte Peace to be cause of ydelnes, and that it maketh
    men hodipekes and cowardes._"--Bp. Christopherson, _Exh. ag.
    Rebel._ 1554.

    "Tell me no more of Peace--
      'Tis cowardice disguised;
    The child of Fear and heartless Ease,
      A thing to be despised.

    "Let daffodills entwine
      The seely Shepherd's brow,
    A nobler wreath I'll win for mine,
      The Lawrel's manly bough.

    "May-garlands fitter shew
      On swains who dream of Love;
    And all their cherisance bestow
      Upon the whining dove--

    "I'll have no doves--not I--
      Their softness is disgrace;
    I love the Eagle's lightning eye,
      That stares in Phæbus' face.

    "I mark'd that noble thing                                    
      Bound on his upward flight,
    Scatter the clouds with mighty wing,
      And breast the tide of light--

    "And scorn'd the things that creep
      Prone-visaged on the Earth;
    To eat it's fruits, to play, to sleep,
      The purpose of their birth.

    "Such softlings take delight
      In Cynthia's sickly beam--
    Give me a heav'n of coal black night
      Slash'd with the watch-fire gleam.

    "They doat upon the lute,
      The cittern and the lyre--
    Such sounds mine eare do little sute,
      They match not my desire.

    "The trumpet-blast--let it come
      In shrieks on the fitful gale,
    The charger's hoof beat time to the drum,
      And the clank of the rider's mail.

    "Not for the heaps untold
      That swell the Miser's hoard,
    I claim the birthright of the bold,
      The dowry of the Sword--

    "Nor yet the gilded gem
      That coronets the slave--
    I clutch the spectre-diadem
      That marshals on the brave.

    "For that--be Sin and Woe--
      All priests and women tell--
    Be Fire and Sword--I pass not tho'
      This Earth be made a Hell.

    "Above the rest to shine
      Is all in all to me--
    It is, unto a soul like mine,
      To be or not to be.








Ode in May - William Watson

LET me go forth, and share
   The overflowing Sun
   With one wise friend, or one
Better than wise, being fair,
Where the pewit wheels and dips
   On heights of bracken and ling,
And Earth, unto her leaflet tips,
   Tingles with the Spring.

What is so sweet and dear
   As a prosperous morn in May,
   The confident prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing that asks for bliss,
   Asking aright, is denied,
And half of the world a bridegroom is,
   And half of the world a bride?

The Song of Mingling flows,
   Grave, ceremonial, pure,
   As once, from lips that endure,
The cosmic descant rose,
When the temporal lord of life,
   Going his golden way,
Had taken a wondrous maid to wife
   That long had said him nay.

For of old the Sun, our sire,
   Came wooing the mother of men,
   Earth, that was virginal then,
Vestal fire to his fire.
Silent her bosom and coy,
   But the strong god sued and press'd;
And born of their starry nuptial joy
   Are all that drink of her breast.

And the triumph of him that begot,
   And the travail of her that bore,
   Behold they are evermore
As warp and weft in our lot.
We are children of splendour and flame,
   Of shuddering, also, and tears.
Magnificent out of the dust we came,
   And abject from the Spheres.

O bright irresistible lord!
   We are fruit of Earth's womb, each one,
   And fruit of thy loins, O Sun,
Whence first was the seed outpour'd.
To thee as our Father we bow,
   Forbidden thy Father to see,
Who is older and greater than thou, as thou
   Art greater and older than we.

Thou art but as a word of his speech;
   Thou art but as a wave of his hand;
   Thou art brief as a glitter of sand
'Twixt tide and tide on his beach;
Thou art less than a spark of his fire,
   Or a moment's mood of his soul:
Thou art lost in the notes on the lips of his choir
   That chant the chant of the Whole.








My Boy Jack - Rudyard Kipling

“Have you news of my boy Jack? ”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind—
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!






Mood - Maxwell Bodenheim







Mad Maudlin - Anonymous








The Kraken - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.









The Japanese Anemone - Louise Imogen Guiney

All summer the breath of the roses around
Exhales with a delicate passionate sound;
And when from a trellis, in holiday places,
They croon and cajole, with their slumberous faces,
A lad in the lane must slacken his paces.

Fragrance of these is a voice from a bower:
But low by the wall is my odourless flower,
So pure, so controlled, not a fume is above her,
That poet or bee should delay there and hover;
For she is a silence, and therefore I love her.

And never a mortal by morn or midnight
Is called to her hid little house of delight;
And she keeps from the wind, on his pillages olden,
Upon a true stalk in rough weather upholden,
Her winter-white gourd with the hollow moon-golden.

While ardours of roses contend and increase,
Methinks she has found how noble is peace,
Like a spirit besought from the world to dissever,
Not absent to men, though resumed by the Giver,
Being dead long ago, and lovely for ever.







Grass - Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
                                          I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
                                          What place is this?
                                          Where are we now?

                                          I am the grass.
                                          Let me work.








Come not, when I am dead - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave to where I lie:
Go by, go by.






Christine - Richard Middleton








Carmen de Boheme - Hart Crane

Sinuously winding through the room
On smokey tongues of sweetened cigarettes, --
Plaintive yet proud the cello tones resume
The andante of smooth hopes and lost regrets.

Bright peacocks drink from flame-pots by the wall,
Just as absinthe-sipping women shiver through
With shimmering blue from the bowl in Circe's hall.
Their brown eyes blacken, and the blue drop hue.

The andante quivers with crescendo's start,
And dies on fire's birth in each man's heart.
The tapestry betrays a finger through
The slit, soft-pulling; -- -- -- and music follows cue.

There is a sweep, -- a shattering, -- a choir
Disquieting of barbarous fantasy.
The pulse is in the ears, the heart is higher,
And stretches up through mortal eyes to see.

Carmen! Akimbo arms and smouldering eyes; --
Carmen! Bestirring hope and lipping eyes; --
Carmen whirls, and music swirls and dips.
"Carmen!," comes awed from wine-hot lips.

Finale leaves in silence to replume
Bent wings, and Carmen with her flaunts through the gloom
Of whispering tapestry, brown with old fringe: --
The winers leave too, and the small lamps twinge.

Morning: and through the foggy city gate
A gypsy wagon wiggles, striving straight.
And some dream still of Carmen's mystic face, --
Yellow, pallid, like ancient lace.








A Conservative - Charlotte Perkins Gilman

THE garden beds I wandered by
  One bright and cheerful morn,
When I found a new-fledged butterfly,
  A-sitting on a thorn,
A black and crimson butterfly        
  All doleful and forlorn.

I thought that life could have no sting
  To infant butterflies,
So I gazed on this unhappy thing
  With wonder and surprise.
While sadly with his waving wing
  He wiped his weeping eyes.

Said I, "What can the matter be?
  Why weepest thou so sore?
With garden fair and sunlight free
  And flowers in goodly store,"—
But he only turned away from me
  And burst into a roar.

Cried he, "My legs are thin and few
  Where once I had a swarm!
Soft fuzzy fur—a joy to view—
  Once kept my body warm,
Before these flapping wing-things grew,
  To hamper and deform!"

At that outrageous bug I shot
  The fury of mine eye;
Said I, in scorn all burning hot,
  In rage and anger high,
"You ignominious idiot!
  Those wings are made to fly!"

"I do not want to fly," said he,
  "I only want to squirm!"
And he drooped his wings dejectedly,
  But still his voice was firm:
"I do not want to be a fly!
  I want to be a worm!

O yesterday of unknown lack
  To-day of unknown bliss!
I left my fool in red and black;
  The last I saw was this,—
The creature madly climbing back
  Into his chrysalis.





A Christmas Carol for 1862 - George MacDonald

The Year Of The Trouble In Lancashire

The skies are pale, the trees are stiff,
The earth is dull and old;
The frost is glittering as if
The very sun were cold.
And hunger fell is joined with frost,
To make men thin and wan:
Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost;
Be born, O child of man.

The children cry, the women shake,
The strong men stare about;
They sleep when they should be awake,
They wake ere night is out.
For they have lost their heritage-
No sweat is on their brow:
Come, babe, and bring them work and wage;
Be born, and save us now.

Across the sea, beyond our sight,
Roars on the fierce debate;
The men go down in bloody fight,
The women weep and hate;
And in the right be which that may,
Surely the strife is long!
Come, son of man, thy righteous way,
And right will have no wrong.

Good men speak lies against thine own-
Tongue quick, and hearing slow;
They will not let thee walk alone,
And think to serve thee so:
If they the children's freedom saw
In thee, the children's king,
They would be still with holy awe,
Or only speak to sing.

Some neither lie nor starve nor fight,
Nor yet the poor deny;
But in their hearts all is not right,-
They often sit and sigh.
We need thee every day and hour,
In sunshine and in snow:
Child-king, we pray with all our power-
Be born, and save us so.

We are but men and women, Lord;
Thou art a gracious child!
O fill our hearts, and heap our board,
Pray thee-the winter's wild!
The sky is sad, the trees are bare,
Hunger and hate about:
Come, child, and ill deeds and ill fare
Will soon be driven out.











Mentana: Third Anniversary - Algernon Charles Swinburne

1

Such prayers last year were put up for thy sake;
What shall this year do that hath lived to see
The piteous and unpitied end of thee?
What moan, what cry, what clamour shall it make,
Seeing as a reed breaks all thine empire break,
And all thy great strength as a rotten tree,
Whose branches made broad night from sea to sea,
And the world shuddered when a leaf would shake?
From the unknown deep wherein those prayers were heard,
From the dark height of time there sounds a word,
Crying, Comfort; though death ride on this red hour,
Hope waits with eyes that make the morning dim,
Till liberty, reclothed with love and power,
Shall pass and know not if she tread on him.

2

The hour for which men hungered and had thirst,
And dying were loth to die before it came,
Is it indeed upon thee? and the lame
Late foot of vengeance on thy trace accurst
For years insepulchred and crimes inhearsed,
For days marked red or black with blood or shame,
Hath it outrun thee to tread out thy name?
This scourge, this hour, is this indeed the worst?
O clothed and crowned with curses, canst thou tell?
Have thy dead whispered to thee what they see
Whose eyes are open in the dark on thee
Ere spotted soul and body take farewell
Or what of life beyond the worm's may be
Satiate the immitigable hours in hell?

1870.






The Major General - W. S. Gilbert - Sir William Schwenck Gilbert

I am the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral,
I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral;
I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical,
From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical;
I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,
I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical;
About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I'm very good at integral and differential calculus,
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous.
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
I know out mythic history -- KING ARTHUR'S and SIR CARADOC'S,
I answer hard acrostics, I've a pretty taste for paradox;
I quote in elegaics all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS,
In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.
I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES,
I know the croaking chorus from the 'Frogs' of ARISTOPHANES;
Then I can hum a fugue, of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense 'Pinafore.'
Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform,
And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS'S uniform.
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.
In fact, when I know what is meant by 'mamelon' and 'revelin,'
When I can tell at sight a Cassepôt rifle from a javelin,
When such affairs as sorties and surprises I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat,
When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,
When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,
In short, when I've a smattering of elementary strategy,
You'll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee --
For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.
But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.






Ad Infinitum - William Carlos Williams

Still I bring flowers
Although you fling them at my feet
Until none stays
That is not struck across with wounds:
Flowers and flowers
That you may break them utterly
As you have always done.

Sure happily
I still bring flowers, flowers,
Knowing how all
Are crumpled in your praise
And may not live
To speak a lesser thing.





The Yach - Thomas Fleming Day

How like a queen she walks the summer sea;
    Her canvas crowning well the comely mold
    Light loved until it lifts a spire of gold
  Outlined and inset by a tracery
    Of rig and spar. Hers is a witchery
    Of loveliness, that seems to draw and hold
    The wind to do its bidding. Fold on fold
  The seas charge in; then stricken by the free
    Quick lancing of her stem recoil to break
  Against the breeze; then rushing back they foam
    Along the rail, and swirl into the wake,
    And rave astern in many a wrinkled dome.
  For thus she doth her windward way betake
    Like one who lives to conquer and to roam.






The Trade Wind's Song - Thomas Fleming Day

Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love--
    I am steady, and strong, and true;
  They follow my track by the clouds above
    O'er the fathomless tropic blue.

  For close by the shores of the sunny Azores
    Their ships I await to convoy;
  When into their sails my constant breath pours
    They hail me with turbulent joy.

  Oh, I bring them a rest from the tiresome toil
    Of trimming the sail to the blast;
  For I love to keep gear all snug in the coil
    And the sheets and the braces all fast.

  From the deck to the truck I pour all my force,
    In spanker and jib I am strong;
  For I make every course to pull like a horse
    And worry the great ship along.

  As I fly o'er the blue I sing to the crew,
    Who answer me back with a hail;
  I whistle a note as I slip by the throat
    Of the buoyant and bellying sail.

  I laugh when the wave leaps over the head
    And the jibs thro' the spray-bow shine,
  For an acre of foam is broken and spread
    When she shoulders and tosses the brine.

  Thro' daylight and dark I follow the bark,
    I keep like a hound on her trail;
  I'm strongest at noon, yet under the moon
    I stiffen the bunt of her sail;

  The wide ocean thro' for days I pursue,
    Till slowly my forces all wane;
  Then in whispers of calm I bid them adieu
    And vanish in thunder and rain.

  Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love--
    I am steady, and strong, and true;
  They follow my track by the clouds above
    O'er the fathomless tropic blue.








I Remember, I Remember - Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heav'n
Than when I was a boy.









Why I am a Liberal - Robert Browning

"Why?" Because all I haply can and do,
      All that I am now, all I hope to be,--
      Whence comes it save from fortune setting free
    Body and soul the purpose to pursue,
    God traced for both? If fetters, not a few,
      Of prejudice, convention, fall from me,
      These shall I bid men--each in his degree
    Also God-guided--bear, and gayly, too?

    But little do or can the best of us:
      That little is achieved through Liberty.
    Who, then, dares hold, emancipated thus,
      His fellow shall continue bound? Not I,
    Who live, love, labor freely, nor discuss
      A brother's right to freedom.  That is "Why."









No Coward Soul is Mine - Emily Bronte

 No coward soul is mine,
     No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
     I see Heaven's glories shine,
     And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

     O God within my breast,
     Almighty, ever-present Deity!
     Life--that in me has rest,
     As I--undying Life--have power in thee!

     Vain are the thousand creeds
     That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
     Worthless as withered weeds,
     Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

     To waken doubt in one
     Holding so fast by thine infinity;
     So surely anchored on
     The stedfast rock of immortality.

     With wide-embracing love
     Thy spirit animates eternal years,
     Pervades and broods above,
     Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

     Though earth and man were gone,
     And suns and universes ceased to be,
     And Thou were left alone,
     Every existence would exist in Thee.

     There is not room for Death,
     Nor atom that his might could render void:
     Thou--THOU art Being and Breath,
     And what THOU art may never be destroyed.







Hawarden - George Meredith

WHEN comes the lighted day for men to read
   Life’s meaning, with the work before their hands
   Till this good gift of breath from debt is freed,
   Earth will not hear her children’s wailful bands
   Deplore the chieftain fall’n in sob and dirge;
   Nor they look where is darkness, but on high.
   The sun that dropped down our horizon’s verge
   Illumes his labours through the travelled sky,
   Now seen in sum, most glorious; and ’tis known
   By what our warrior wrought we hold him fast.
   A splendid image built of man has flown;
   His deeds inspired of God outstep a Past.
   Ours the great privilege to have had one
   Among us who celestial tasks has done.














The Flooded Hut of the Mississippi - Samuel Lover

On the wide-rolling river, at eve, set the sun,
And the long-toiling day of the woodman was done,
And he flung down the axe that had felled the huge tree,
And his own little daughter he placed on his knee;
She looked up, with smiles, at a dovecot o'er head-
Where, circling around, flew the pigeons she fed,
And more fondly the sire clasp'd his child to his breast-
As he kiss'd her-and called her the bird of his nest.

The wide-rolling river rose high in the night,
The wide-rolling river, at morn, show'd its might,
For it leap'd o'er its bounds, and invaded the wood
Where the humble abode of the wood-cutter stood.
All was danger around, and no aid was in view,
And higher and higher the wild waters grew,
And the child-looking up at the dovecot in air,
Cried, 'Father-oh father, I wish we were there!'

'My child,' said the father, 'that dovecot of thine
Should enliven our faith in the Mercy Divine;
'Twas a dove that brought Noah the sweet branch of peace,
To show him the anger of Heaven did cease:
Then kneel, my lov'd child, by thy fond father's side,
And pray that our hut may in safety abide,
And then, from all fear may our bosoms be proof-
While the dove of the deluge is over our roof.'












Ode 22 - Amir Khusrau-e-Dehlavi ( Amir Khusrow )

1. Oh Lord, what prosperity is this! what felicity has come to us, that the charming mistress has passed through the street of the forgotten ones?
2. To-night my (belted) beloved came forth laughing ; stay, oh stay, that for a moment at least. I may behold the Pleiades and the Orion (together).
3. God be praised, that my wakeful nights have not been fruitless; (for) I have seen that very cypress-like beauty sleeping in mv (very) embrace.
4. Oh drummer, distract thee not this night with anxieties for drum-beating, since, keepers of many a vigil are reposing in the embrace of their friends to-night.
5. Oh smiling rose-petal (i.e. rosy beloved), say truly, where have you been last night, since you have made this day a night for the rose-scented ones (i.e. girls emitting the odor of roses)?
6. You with me, (i.e. in my company)! God be glorified! How can this (friendship) proceed from thee? I with thee! Heaven forbid! How can I have boldness?
7. Oh Khusrau, why do you talks o much of union that is not? It’s an idle fancy, for thou hast given mania admittance unto thyself.









Ode 11 - Amir Khusrau-e-Dehlavi ( Amir Khusrow )

1. The rose has blossomed in the garden, where is that blooming (lit. smiling) bud (i.e. the beloved)? It is time for the enjoyment of friends, where is that tulip of the garden (i.e. the beloved)?
2. Every time that she laughed, a thousand like me became her slaves, and a hundred dead ones were revived by that lip: where, oh where! Is the soother (lit. remedy) of my pains?
3. They tell me to quit love, and devise means of comfort; where is a helpless man who can command contrivances, and where is the mad one who is possessed of comforts? (i.e. these are impossibilities).
4. Khizr moistened his lips and drank the water of life with joy through his luck and good fortune, whereas, Alexander ran in the search (of it) to find out where the fountain of life was.
5. Shouldst thou give up thy life, thou wouldst obtain security, so said she to me, every time. Here, with my life, I yield obedience to the command, but where is that disobedient friend?
6. I said, so long as I have that bright soul, it is you yourself in this frame of mine; you said, “indeed, it is I”; but if this is you, where is the soul itself?
7. You said to me, “Practise patience, assume unbounded humility, and make me thy own by this means; here, I have practiced this; but where is that (i.e. the promised reward)?
8. If in our lane, thou shouldst not pass openly even once a month, where is (i.e. why dost thou not make) a secret inquiry (after us), occasionally; with the point of thy eyelashes.
9. Ere this, I was always thy companion. Is not Khusrau after all the same? Where (then) are those promises and those pledges?







Ode 5 - Amir Khusrau-e-Dehlavi ( Amir Khusrow )

1. Once more, the heart of me - mad in (divine) love – has been lost in her street; why on earth did observe that drunken form ?
2. Oh breeze, at times when you happen to pass by those (lovely) spot, put that stranger in mind of her old friends.
3. Every night her thought enters my heart from every quarter; what side of this ruined abode (e, e, the heart) am I to keep, guard over.
4. Life has passed away, and the narrative of our love has not ended; the night has worn away, and I (must) therefore cut short my romance.
5. Tell the flames to envelope the soul, and the fire to burn away the heart; the candle is not of those who pity the moth.
6. Our very soul is ruined at her sight, whereas her coquetry is beyond all limits; we are intoxicated by the least smell (of wine), and I the cupbearer hands us too full a goblet.
7. Oh heart! after all, you did once frequent this lane of ours; have you so entirely forgotten this (old) abode?
8. I do not stand in need of thy asking me to abandon all reputation and good name, for no one teaches a lesson in notoriety to mad men.
9.  Khusrau is comfortable with the burnings of his heart (i. e. love) and he is unacquainted with the pleasures of this world; how can the fire eating bird (i.e. the salamander) relish a grain of earn.








Snow Birds - Louis Honoré Fréchette

    When the rude Equinox, with his cold train
      From our horizons drives accustomed cheer,
      Behold! a thousand winged sprites appear
    And flutter briskly round the frosty plain.
    No seeds are anywhere, save sleety rain,
      No leafage thick against the outlook drear;
      Rough winds to wildly whip them far and near;
    God's heart alone to feel their every pain.
    Dear little travelers through this icy realm,
    Fear not the tempest shall you overwhelm;
      The glad spring buds within your happy song.
    Go, whirl about the avalanche, and be,
    O birds of snow, unharmed, and so teach me:
      Whom God doth guard is stronger than the strong.







Legend - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

THERE lived in the desert a holy man

To whom a goat-footed Faun one day
Paid a visit, and thus began

To his surprise: "I entreat thee to pray
That grace to me and my friends may be given,
That we may be able to mount to Heaven,
For great is our thirst for heav'nly bliss."
The holy man made answer to this:
"Much danger is lurking in thy petition,
Nor will it be easy to gain admission;
Thou dost not come with an angel's salute;
For I see thou wearest a cloven foot."
The wild man paused, and then answer'd he:
"What doth my goat's foot matter to thee?
Full many I've known into heaven to pass
Straight and with ease, with the head of an ass!"







Short Poetry Collection 168



Mentana: Third Anniversary Algernon Charles Swinburne
The Major General W. S. Gilbert
Ad Infinitum William Carlos Williams
The Yacht Thomas Fleming Day
The Trade Wind's Song Thomas Fleming Day
I Remember, I Remember Thomas Hood
Why I am a Liberal Robert Browning
No Coward Soul is Mine Emily Brontë
Hawarden George Meredith
The Flooded Hut of the Mississippi Samuel Lover
Ode 11 Amir Khusrow
Ode 22 Amir Khusrow
Ode 5 Amir Khusrow
Snow Birds Louis-Honoré Fréchette
Legend Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



A Conservative Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Carmen de Boheme Hart Crane
Christine Richard Middleton
A Christmas Carol for 1862 George MacDonald
Come not, when I am dead Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Grass Carl Sandburg
The Japanese Anemone Louise Imogen Guiney
The Kraken Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Mad Maudlin Anonymous
Mood Maxwell Bodenheim
My Boy Jack Rudyard Kipling
Ode in May William Watson
The Rebel Anonymous
Returning, We Hear the Larks Isaac Rosenberg
A Satirical Elegy Jonathan Swift
Self-Deceit Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
She dwelt among the untrodden ways William Wordsworth
The Sheik Dorothy Parker
Song Thomas Carew
The Spirit of Sound Ner Gardiner
Strange fits of passion have I known William Wordsworth
A Tom O' Bedlam Song Anonymous
The Twelve Months George Ellis
On The Wedding Of the Aeronaut Ambrose Bierce
The White Rose o' June Carolina Nairne





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