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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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I do not love Thee, by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
I DO not love thee!--no! I do not love thee!
And yet when thou art absent I am sad;
And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.
I do not love thee!--yet, I know not why,
Early Scare, by Tom Young
Lets terrorize baby.
Make him think he's in a cradle in a tree top,
swinging in the wind.
Hanging from a brittle bough ready to break,
moments from falling to the ground,
The Rival, by James Whitcomb Riley
I so loved once, when Death came by I hid
Away my face,
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid
To make my hiding-place.
The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
Romance, by Robert Louis Stevenson
I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me,
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Sunset, by George Charles Whitney
Behind the golden western hills
The sun goes down, a founder'd bark,
Only a mighty sadness fills
The silence of the dark.
O twilight sad with wistful eyes,
To a Cabbage Rose, by Henry Lea Twisleton
Thy clustering leaves are steeped in splendour;
No evening red, no morning dun,
Can show a hue as rich and tender
As thine -- bright lover of the sun!
What wondrous hints of hidden glory,
Mooni, by Henry Clarence Kendall
HE that is by Mooni now
Sees the water-sapphires gleaming
Where the River Spirit, dreaming,
Sleeps by fall and fountain streaming
Under lute of leaf and bough!--
He fell among Thieves, by Henry Newbolt
'YE have robb'd,' said he, 'ye have slaughter'd and made an end,
Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead:
What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?'
'Blood for our blood,' they said.
He laugh'd: 'If one may settle the score for five,
O sleep, my Babe, by Sara Coleridge
O SLEEP, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,
Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling'ring strays
To drink thy balmy breath,
And sigh one long farewell.
Soon shall it mourn above thy wat'ry bed,
The Sun rises bright in France, by Allan Cunningham
THE sun rises bright in France,
And fair sets he;
But he has tint the blythe blink he had
In my ain countree.
O, it 's nae my ain ruin
The Wardens of the Seas, by Edwin James Brady
Like star points in the ether to guide a homing soul
Towards God's Eternal Haven; above the wash and roll,
Across and o'er the oceans, on all the coasts they stand
Tall seneschals of commerce, High Wardens of the Strand --
The white lights slowly turning
The Birds of the North, by Zaynab Armstrong-Jones
Here comes the birds of the North
they fly in the dark
and walk in the day
nothing special at all,
just the normal lifestyle achieved by birds.
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