Poem of the day

At a Solemn Musick
by John Milton (1608-1674)

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais’d phantasie present,
That undisturbed Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour’d throne
To him that fits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubick host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires.
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion’d sin
Jarr’d against natures chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair musick that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway’d
In perfect Diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that Song,
And keep in tune with Heav’n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endles morn of light.

Views: 46

Poem of the day

Carpe Diem
by Quintus Horatius Flaccus (“Horace”) (65-8 B.C.E.)

Tu ne quaesieris (scire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. Ut melius quicquid erit pati!
Seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum, sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Views: 55

Poem of the day

Bonnie Lady Ann
by Allan Cunningham (1784-1842)

There’s kames o’ hinnie ’tween my luve’s lips,
⁠      And gowd amang her hair:
Her breists are lapt in a holy veil;
⁠      Nae mortal een keek there.
What lips daur kiss, or what hand daur touch,
⁠      Or what arm o’ luve daur span,
The hinnie lips, the creamy lufe,
⁠      Or the waist o’ Lady Ann?

She kisses the lips o’ her bonnie red rose,
⁠      Wat wi’ the blobs o’ dew;
But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,
⁠      Maun touch her ladie mou’.
But a broider’d belt, wi’ a buckle o’ gowd,
⁠      Her jimpy waist maun span:
Oh, she’s an armfu’ fit for heeven—
⁠      My bonnie Lady Ann!

Her bower casement is latticed wi’ flowers.
⁠      Tied up wi’ siller thread;
And comely sits she in the midst,
⁠Men’s langing een to feed.
She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,
⁠      Wi’ her milky milky han’;
And her cheeks seem touch’d wi’ the finger o’ God,
⁠      My bonnie Lady Ann.

The mornin’ clud is tasselt wi’ gowd,
⁠      Like my luve’s broider’d cap;
And on the mantle that my luve wears,
⁠      Is mony a gowden drap.
Her bonnie ee-bree’s a holy arch,
⁠      Cast by nae earthly han’,
And the breath o’ heaven is atween the lips
⁠      O’ my bonnie Lady Ann.

I wonderin’ gaze on her stately steps,
⁠      And I beet a hopeless flame!
To my luve, alas! she maunna stoop;
⁠      It wad stain her honour’d name.
My een are bauld, they dwall on a place
⁠      Where I daurna mint my han’;
But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers
⁠      O’ my bonnie Lady Ann.

I am but her father’s gardener lad,
⁠      And puir puir is my fa’,
My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,
⁠      Wi’ fatherless bairnies twa.
My lady comes, my lady gaes,
⁠      Wi’ a fou and kindly han’;
O, the blessin’ o’ God maun mix wi’ my love,
⁠      And fa’ on Lady Ann.

Views: 44

Poem of the day

As Winds That Blow Against a Star
      (For Aline)
by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

Now by what whim of wanton chance⁠
⁠      Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance
⁠      Walk weary and laborious ways?

But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
⁠      May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul,
⁠      The glory of celestial mirth.

The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
⁠      Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
⁠      As winds that blow against a star.

Views: 55

Poem of the day

A Daughter of Eve
by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
   And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
   A fool to snap my lily.

My garden-plot I have not kept;
   Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
   It’s winter now I waken.

Talk what you please of future spring
   And sun-warm’d sweet to-morrow:—
Stripp’d bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
   I sit alone with sorrow.

Views: 35

Poem of the day

Mein Geburtshaus
by Rainer Maria Rilke (1873-1926)

Der Erinnrung ist das traute
Heim der Kindheit nicht entflohn,
wo ich Bilderbogen schaute
im blauseidenen Salon.

Wo ein Puppenkleid, mit Strähnen
dicken Silbers reich betreßt,
Glück mir war; wo heiße Tränen
mir das ‛Rechnen’ ausgepreßt.

Wo ich, einem dunklen Rufe
folgend, nach Gedichten griff,
und auf einer Fensterstufe
Tramway spielte oder Schiff.

Wo ein Mädchen stets mir winkte
drüben in dem Grafenhaus …
Der Palast, der damals blinkte,
sieht heut’ so verschlafen aus.

Und das blonde Kind, das lachte,
wenn der Knab’ ihm Küsse warf,
ist nun fort; fern ruht es sachte,
wo es nie mehr lächeln darf.

Views: 41

Poem of the day

The Wind took up the Northern Things
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

The Wind took up the Northern Things
And piled them in the south —
Then gave the East unto the West
And opening his mouth

The four Divisions of the Earth
Did make as to devour
While everything to corners slunk
Behind the awful power —

The Wind — unto his Chambers went
And nature ventured out —
Her subjects scattered into place
Her systems ranged about

Again the smoke from Dwellings rose
The Day abroad was heard —
How intimate, a Tempest past
The Transport of the Bird —

Views: 33

Poem of the day

The Portent (1859)
by Herman Melville (1819-1891)

Hanging from the beam,
      Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
      Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
      (Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap
      Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
      Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
      (Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war.

Views: 34

Poem of the day

Emmihez
by Vörösmarty Mihály (1800-1855)

Fogadd el, édes Emmim,
      Virágaim szebbikét:
Szerelmem ülteté ezt,
      Szerelmem ápolá.
Az ótta sok fagy ellen,
      Forró nap ellen is;
Az adta színe fényét,
      S az nyújtja most neked,
Neked! kit életemnél
      Hüvebben kedvelek.
O nézzed, szép ölében
      Egy gyenge könny remeg:
Az én könnyűm az, Emmi,
      S utánad sírtam ezt!

Views: 97

Poem of the day

Then and Now
by John McCrae (1872-1918)

Beneath her window in the fragrant night
I half forget how truant years have flown
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves
Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
When all is still, as if the very trees
Were listening for the coming of her feet
That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze
Sings some forgotten song of those old years
Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.

Views: 44