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Best Famous William Vaughn Moody Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous William Vaughn Moody poems. This is a select list of the best famous William Vaughn Moody poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous William Vaughn Moody poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of william vaughn moody poems.

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Written by William Vaughn Moody |

The Quarry

 Between the rice swamps and the fields of tea
I met a sacred elephant, snow-white.
Upon his back a huge pagoda towered Full of brass gods and food of sacrifice.
Upon his forehead sat a golden throne, The massy metal twisted into shapes Grotesque, antediluvian, such as move In myth or have their broken images Sealed in the stony middle of the hills.
A peacock spread his thousand dyes to screen The yellow sunlight from the head of one Who sat upon the throne, clad stiff with gems, Heirlooms of dynasties of buried kings,-- Himself the likeness of a buried king, With frozen gesture and unfocused eyes.
The trappings of the beast were over-scrawled With broideries--sea-shapes and flying things, Fan-trees and dwarfed nodosities of pine, Mixed with old alphabets, and faded lore Fallen from ecstatic mouths before the Flood, Or gathered by the daughters when they walked Eastward in Eden with the Sons of God Whom love and the deep moon made garrulous Between the carven tusks his trunk hung dead; Blind as the eyes of pearl in Buddha's brow His beaded eyes stared thwart upon the road; And feebler than the doting knees of eid, His joints, of size to swing the builder's crane Across the war-walls of the Anakim, Made vain and shaken haste.
Good need was his To hasten: panting, foaming, on the slot Came many brutes of prey, their several hates Laid by until the sharing of the spoil.
Just as they gathered stomach for the leap, The sun was darkened, and wide-balanced wings Beat downward on the trade-wind from the sea.
A wheel of shadow sped along the fields And o'er the dreaming cities.
Suddenly My heart misgave me, and I cried aloud, "Alas! What dost thou here? What dost thou here? " The great beasts and the little halted sharp, Eyed the grand circler, doubting his intent.
Straightway the wind flawed and he came about, Stooping to take the vanward of the pack; Then turned, between the chasers and the chased, Crying a word I could not understand,-- But stiller-tongued, with eyes somewhat askance, They settled to the slot and disappeared.

Written by William Vaughn Moody |

A Grey Day

 Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape, 
Rain whitens the dead sea, 
From headland dim to sullen cape 
Grey sails creep wearily.
I know not how that merchantman Has found the heart; but 'tis her plan Seaward her endless course to shape.
Unreal as insects that appall A drunkard's peevish brain, O'er the grey deep the dories crawl, Four-legged, with rowers twain: Midgets and minims of the earth, Across old ocean's vasty girth Toiling--heroic, comical! I wonder how that merchant's crew Have ever found the will! I wonder what the fishers do To keep them toiling still! I wonder how the heart of man Has patience to live out its span, Or wait until its dreams come true.

Written by William Vaughn Moody |

On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines

 Streets of the roaring town, 
Hush for him, hus, be still! 
He comes, who was stricken down 
Doing the word of our will.
Hush! Let him have his state, Give him his soldier's crown.
The grists of trade can wait Their grinding at the mill, But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown.
Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of stone.
Toll! Let the great bells toll Till the clashing air is dim.
Did we wrong this parted soul? We will make it up to him.
Toll! Let him never guess What work we set him to.
Laurel, laurel, yes; He did waht we bade him do.
Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good; Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's own heart's-blood.
A flag for the soldier's bier Who dies that his land may live; O, banners, banners here, That he doubt not nor misgive ! That he heed not from the tomb The evil days draw near When the nation, robed in gloom, With its faithless past shall strive.
Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its island mark, Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled and sinned in the dark.

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