On Newton
by Alexander Pope (1688-1744)

Nature, and Nature’s laws lay hid in night.
God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.

Views: 41

Dover Beach
by Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast, the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched sand,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery: we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The sea of faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Views: 68

The Time Draws Near the Birth of Christ
In Memorian, Section XXVIII
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

The time draws near the birth of Christ:
      The moon is hid; the night is still;
      The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,
      From far and near, on mead and moor,
      Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind,
      That now dilate, and now decrease,
      Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain,
      I almost wish’d no more to wake,
      And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:

But they my troubled spirit rule,
      For they controll’d me when a boy;
      They bring me sorrow touch’d with joy,
The merry merry bells of Yule.

Views: 41

Ancient Music
by Ezra Pound (1885-1972)

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, ’tis why I am, Goddamm,
So ‘gainst the winter’s balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

Views: 28

Death
by Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

Death! that struck when I was most confiding
         In my certain faith of joy to be—
Strike again, Time’s withered branch dividing
         From the fresh root of Eternity!

Leaves, upon Time’s branch, were growing brightly,
         Full of sap, and full of silver dew;
Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
         Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
         Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;
But, within its parent’s kindly bosom,
         Flowed for ever Life’s restoring tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness,
         For the vacant nest and silent song—
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
         Whispering, “Winter will not linger long!”

And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,
         Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,
         Lavished glory on that second May!

High it rose—no winged grief could sweep it;
         Sin was scared to distance with its shine;
Love, and its own life, had power to keep it
         From all wrong—from every blight but thine!

Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;
         Evening’s gentle air may still restore—
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish—
         Time, for me, must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
         Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
         That from which it sprung—Eternity.

Views: 47

If All the Voices of Man
by Horace L. Traubel (1858-1919)

If all the voices of man called out warning you, and you could not join your voice with their voices,
If all the faces of men were turned one way and you met them face to face, you going another—
You still must not be persuaded to capitulation; you will remember that the road runs east as well as west.

Views: 121

Maud Muller
by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

Maud Muller, on a summer’s day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast—

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse’s chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

“Thanks!” said the Judge, “a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed.”

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleasant surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,

Continue reading …

Views: 48

Mock Panegyric on a Young Friend
by Jane Austen (1775-1817)

In measured verse I’ll now rehearse
The charms of lovely Anna:
And, first, her mind is unconfined
Like any vast savannah.

Ontario’s lake may fitly speak
Her fancy’s ample bound:
Its circuit may, on strict survey
Five hundred miles be found.

Her wit descends on foes and friends
Like famed Niagara’s fall;
And travellers gaze in wild amaze,
And listen, one and all.

Her judgment sound, thick, black, profound,
Like transatlantic groves,
Dispenses aid, and friendly shade
To all that in it roves.

If thus her mind to be defined
America exhausts,
And all that’s grand in that great land
In similes it costs —

Oh how can I her person try
To image and portray?
How paint the face, the form how trace,
In which those virtues lay?

Another world must be unfurled,
Another language known,
Ere tongue or sound can publish round
Her charms of flesh and bone.

Views: 78

Ho, mia kor’
by Ludwik Łazarz Zamenhof (1869-1917)
because today is Zamanhof Day

Ho, mia kor’, ne batu maltrankvile,
El mia brusto nun ne saltu for!
Jam teni min ne povas mi facile,
Ho, mia kor’!

Ho, mia kor’! Post longa laborado
Ĉu mi ne venkos en decida hor’!
Sufiĉe! trankviliĝu de l’ batado,
Ho, mia kor’!

Views: 28

La Courbe de tes yeux
by Paul Éluard (1895-1952)

La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon cœur,
            Un rond de danse et de douceur,
   Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr,
      Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j’ai vécu
   C’est que tes yeux ne m’ont pas toujours vu.

      Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée,
      Roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés,
      Ailes couvrant le monde de lumière,
      Bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer,
Chasseurs des bruits et sources des couleurs,

      Parfums éclos d’une couvée d’aurores
      Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres,
      Comme le jour dépend de l’innocence
   Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs
   Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.

Views: 26