The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes (1902-1849)

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
   flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
   went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
   bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Views: 36

Wordsworth Unread
by Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)

He lived amidst the untrodden ways
      To Rydal Lake that lead;
A bard whom there were none to praise,
      And very few to read.

Behind a cloud his mystic sense,
      Deep hidden, who can spy?
Bright as the night when not a star
      Is shining in the sky.

Unread his works—his ‛Milk White Doe’
      With dust is dark and dim;
It’s still in Longman’s shop, and oh!
      The difference to him!

Views: 58

The Dragon-Fly
by Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864)

Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath a cool syringa’s scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,
Wanders as careless and content as I.

Thanks for this fancy, insect king,
Of purple crest and filmy wing,
Who with indifference givest up
The water-lily’s golden cup,
To come again and overlook
What I am writing in my book.
Believe me, most who read the line
Will read with hornier eyes than thine;
And yet their souls shall live for ever,
And thine drop dead into the river!
God pardon them, O insect king,
Who fancy so unjust a thing!

Views: 61

Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Some say the world will end in fire,
      Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
      But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
      To know that for destruction ice
Is also great,
      And would suffice.

Views: 46

La perla de la mora
by José Martí (1853-1895)

Una mora de Trípoli tenía
Una perla rosada, una gran perla:
Y la echó con desdén al mar un día:
-«¡Siempre la misma! ¡ya me cansa verla!»

Pocos años después, junto a la roca
De Trípoli… ¡la gente llora al verla!
Así le dice al mar la mora loca:
-«¡Oh mar! ¡oh mar! ¡devuélveme mi perla!»

Views: 45

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat
by Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Views: 51

If Thou Wilt Ease Thine Heart
by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1849)

If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love, and all its smart,-
            Then sleep, dear, sleep!
And not a sorrow
      Hang any tear on your eyelashes;
            Lie still and deep,
      Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o’ the sun to-morrow,
            In eastern sky,

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love, and all its smart,-
            Then die, dear, die!
’T is deeper, sweeter,
      Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming
            With folded eye;
      And then alone, amid the beaming
Of love’s stars, thou’lt meet her
            In eastern sky.

Views: 55

False Though She Be
by William Congreve (1670-1729)

False though she be to me and love,
I’ll ne’er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met:
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I’m grateful for the past.

Views: 45

The Last Buccaneer
by Charles Kingsley (1819-1875)

Oh, England is a pleasant place for those that’s rich and high;
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
And such a port for Mariners I ne’er shall see again,
As the pleasant Isle of Avés, beside the Spanish main.

There were forty craft in Avés that were both swift and stout,
All furnish’d well with small arms and cannons round about;
And a thousand men in Avés made laws so fair and free
To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.

Thence we sail’d against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold,
Which he wrung by cruel tortures from the Indian folk of old;
Likewise the merchant captains; with hearts as hard as stone,
Which flog men and keel-haul them and starve them to the bone.

Oh, the palms grew high in Avés and fruits that shone like gold,
And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;
And the negro maids to Avés from bondage fast did flee,
To welcome gallant sailors a-sweeping in from the sea.

Oh, sweet it was in Avés to hear the landward breeze,
A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,
With a negro lass to fan you while you listen’d to the roar
Of the breakers on the reef outside that never touched the shore.

But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be,
So the King’s ships sail’d on Avés and quite put down were we.
All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night;
And I fled in a piragua sore wounded from the flight.

Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,
Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;
But as I lay a-gasping a Bristol sail came by,
And brought me home to England here to beg until I die.

And now I’m old and going I’m sure I can’t tell where;
One comfort is, this world’s so hard I can’t be worse off there:
If I might be but a sea-dove I’d fly across the main,
To the pleasant Isle of Avés, to look at it once again.

Views: 55

Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed
by John Donne (1572-1631)

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glistering
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there:
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now ’tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown’s going off such beauteous state reveals
As when from flowery meads th’hills shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow.
Off with those shoes: and then safely tread
In this love’s hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven’s angels used to be
Received by men; thou Angel bring’st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these Angels from an evil sprite:
They set out hairs, but these the flesh upright.
   License my roving hands, and let them go
Behind before, above, between, below.
Oh my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my Empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee.
To enter in these bonds is to be free,
Then where my hand is set my seal shall be.
   Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee.
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are as Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem
His earthly soul may covet theirs not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally as to a midwife show
Thyself; cast all, yea this white linen hence.
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
   To teach thee, I am naked first: why then
What need’st thou have more covering than a man.

Views: 41