Septembermorgen
by Eduard Mörike (1804-1875)

Im Nebel ruhet noch die Welt,
Noch träumen Wald und Wiesen:
Bald siehst du, wenn der Schleier fällt,
Den blauen Himmel unverstellt,
Herbstkräftig die gedämpfte Welt
Im warmen Golde fließen.

Views: 32

Simon Gerty
by Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)

By what appalling dim upheaval
      Demolishing some kinder plan,
Did you become incarnate evil
      Wearing the livery of man?

Perhaps you hated cheeks of tallow,
      Dead eyes, and lineaments of chalk,
Until a beauty came to hallow
      Even the bloodiest tomahawk.

Perhaps you loathed your brothers’ features
      Pallid and pinched, or greasy-fat;
Perhaps you loved these alien creatures
      Clean muscled as a panther cat.

Did you believe that being cruel
      Was that which made their foreheads lift
So proudly, gave their eyes a jewel,
      And turned their padding footsteps swift?

As one by one our faiths are shaken
      Our hatreds fall; so mine for you.
Of course I think you were mistaken;
      But still, I see your point of view.

Views: 30

The Pole Star
by George Leveson-Gower (1858-1951)

All moonless is the night of that bright day
Which gave her birth;
Through sorrow’s night how can I find my way
O’er this dark earth?

Though pathless be the world and winds be loud,
One silver star
Gleams steadfast through the rack of driving cloud:
—There memories are.

Views: 21

Sonnet on a Family Picture
by Thomas Edwards (1699-1757)

When pensive on that portraiture I gaze,
   Where my four brothers round about me stand,
   And four fair sisters smile with graces bland,
The goodly monument of happier days;
And think how soon insatiate death, who preys
   On all, has cropped the rest with ruthless hand,
   While only I survive of all that band,
Which one chaste bed did to my father raise;
It seems that, like a column left alone,
   The tott’ring remnant of some splendid fane,
      Scaped from the fury of the barb’rous Gaul
And wasting time, which has the rest o’erthrown,
   Amidst our house’s ruins I remain,
      Single, unpropped, and nodding to my fall.

Views: 31

Presentation de Paris à Notre Dame
by Charles Péguy (1873-1914)

Étoile de la mer, voici la lourde nef
Où nous ramons tout nuds sous vos commandements ;
Voici notre détresse et nos désarmements ;
Voici le quai du Louvre, et l’écluse, et le bief.

Voici notre appareil et voici notre chef.
C’est un gars de chez nous qui siffle par moments.
Il n’a pas son pareil pour les gouvernements.
Il a la tête dure et le geste un peu bref.

Reine qui vous levez sur tous les océans,
Vous penserez à nous quand nous serons au large.
Aujourd’hui c’est le jour d’embarquer notre charge.
Voici l’énorme grue et les longs meuglements.

S’il fallait le charger de nos pauvre vertus,
Ce vaisseau s’en irait vers votre auguste seuil
Plus creux que la noisette après que l’écureuil
L’a laissée retomber de ses ongles pointus.

Nuls ballots n’entreraient par les panneaux béants,
Et nous arriverions dans la mer de Sargasse
Traînant cette inutile et grotesque carcasse
Et les Anglais diraient : ils n’ont rien mis dedans.

Mais nous saurons l’emplir et nous vous le jurons
Il sera le plus beau dans cet illustre port
La cargaison ira jusque sur le plat-bord
Et quand il sera plein nous le couronnerons.

Nous n’y chargerons pas notre pauvre maïs,
Mais de l’or et du blé que nous emporterons.
Et il tiendra la mer : car nous le chargerons
Du poids de nos péchés payés par votre Fils.

Views: 25

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Earth has not any thing to shew more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Views: 31

The Little Peach
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

A little peach in the orchard grew,
A little peach of emerald hue;
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,
⁠                                    It grew.

One day, passing that orchard through,
That little peach dawned on the view
Of Johnny Jones and his Sister Sue —
⁠                                    Those two.

Up at that peach a club they threw;
Down from the stem on which it grew
Fell that peach of emerald hue —
⁠                                    Too true!

John took a bite and Sue a chew,
And then the trouble began to brew, —
Trouble the doctor couldn’t subdue, —
⁠                                    Paregoric too.

Under the turf where the daisies grew
They planted John and his Sister Sue,
And their little souls to the angels flew,—
⁠                                    Boo-hoo!

What of that peach of the emerald hue,
Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?
Ah, well! its mission on earth is through —
⁠                                    Adieu!

Views: 33

A Meditation for his Mistress
by Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

You are a tulip seen to-day,
But, dearest, of so short a stay
That where you grew scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower,
Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower
Will force you hence, and in an hour.

You are a sparkling rose i’ th’ bud,
Yet lost ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew or stood.

You are a full-spread, fair-set vine,
And can with tendrils love entwine,
Yet dried ere you distil your wine.

You are like balm enclosèd well
In amber or some crystal shell,
Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.

You are a dainty violet,
Yet withered ere you can be set
Within the virgin’s coronet.

You are the queen all flowers among;
But die you must, fair maid, ere long,
As he, the maker of this song.

Views: 34

“Gli occhi di ch’io parlai sí caldamente”
by Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374)

Gli occhi di ch’io parlai sí caldamente,
   E le braccia et le mani et i piedi e ’l viso,
   Che m’avean sí da me stesso diviso,
   E fatto singular da l’altra gente;
Le crespe chiome d’òr puro lucente
   E ’l lampeggiar de l’angelico riso,
   Che solean fare in terra un paradiso,
   Poca polvere son, che nulla sente.
Ed io pur vivo, onde mi doglio et sdegno,
   Rimaso senza ’l lume ch’amai tanto,
   In gran fortuna e ’n disarmato legno.
Or sia qui fine al mio amoroso canto:
   Secca è la vena de l’usato ingegno,
   E la cetera mia rivolta in pianto.

Views: 38

“Quand l’amant sortit”
by Maurice Maeterlinck (1862-1949)

Quand l’amant sortit
(J’entendis la porte)
Quand l’amant sortit
Elle avait souri…

Mais quand il rentra
(J’entendis la lampe)
Mais quand il rentra
Une autre était là…

Et j’ai vu la mort
(J’entendis son âme)
Et j’ai vu la mort
Qui l’attend encore…

Views: 29