[Tom Jardine]

.



[This message has been edited by Tom Jardine (edited January 26, 2005).]

[Terese Coe]

The Eternal Search

My little maiden two years old, just able
To tower full half a head above the table,
With inquisition keen must needs explore
Whatever in my dwelling hath a door,
Whatever is behind a curtain hid,
Or lurks, a rich enigma, 'neath a lid.
So soon is the supreme desire confessed,
To probe the unknown! So soon begins the quest,
That never ends until asunder fall
The locks and bolts of the Last Door of All.

William Watson

[This is one of many favorites. I've deleted the reference to Lewis Carroll, as I'd confused the dates for William Watson with those for Thomas Watson...My search skills leave something to be desired!]



[This message has been edited by Terese Coe (edited September 13, 2002).]

[Henry Quince]

Two pages of favourite short poems and not a mention of Shakespeare's O Mistress Mine!

Here is R.S. Thomas’s NIGHT AND MORNING,from the Welsh traditional. A simple thought, but this has been praised as "a perfect lyric".


One night of tempest I arose and went
Along the Menai shore on dreaming bent;
The wind was strong, and savage swung the tide,
And the waves blustered on Caernarfon side.

But on the morrow, when I passed that way,
On Menai shore the hush of heaven lay;
The wind was gentle and the sea a flower,
And the sun slumbered on Caernarfon Tower.




[This message has been edited by Henry Quince (edited September 14, 2002).]

[Carl Sundell]

What is Hope? A smiling rainbow
Children follow through the wet;
'Tis not here, still yonder, yonder:
Never urchin found it yet.

What is Life? A thawing iceboard
On a sea with sunny shore; --
Gay we sail; it melts beneath us;
We are sunk, and seen no more.

What is Man? A foolish baby,
Vainly strives, and fights, and frets;
Demanding all, deserving nothing; --
One small grave is what he gets.

Thomas Carlyle

[Robt_Ward]

Mark Twain, epitaph on the death of his very young son:

Sweet summer breeze, blow softly here.
Soft summer rain, fall gently here.
Green grass above, grow light. Grow light!
Good night, dear heart. Good night. Good night.

From memory, but I think that's right.

Can you read it without the hairs raising on your arms?

(robt)

[Carl Sundell]

Robert,

According to my source, this is the epitaph, but it was written for Twain's wife.

"Warm summer sun, shine kindly here;
Warm southern winds, blow softly here;
Green sod above, lie light, lie light;
Good night, dear heart, good night, good night."

Even so, you have a great memory to come so close.

[Carl Sundell]

NIGHT THOUGHTS
Goethe

OH, unhappy stars! your fate I mourn,

You by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted,
Who with radiant beams the heav'ns adorn,

But by gods and men are unrequited:
For you love not,--ne'er have learnt to love!
Ceaselessly in endless dance you move,
In the spacious sky your charms displaying,

What far travels you have hasten'd through,
Since, within my loved one's arms delaying,

I've forgotten you and midnight too!

[Carl Sundell]

Francil William Bourdillon

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

[Carl Sundell]

Ernest Hemingway

THE AGE DEMANDED

The age demanded that we sing
And cut away our tongue.

The age demanded that we flow
And hammered in the bung.

The age demanded that we dance
And jammed us into iron pants.

And in the end the age was handed
The sort of shit that it demanded.

[hector]

Another, besides Rose Aylmer, bt Walter Savage Landor:

DIRCE

Stand close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Lest Charon seeing should forget
That he is old and she a shade.