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Best Famous Thomas Edward Brown Poems

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by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Pain

 MEN have made them gods of love,
Sun-gods, givers of the rain,
Deities of hill and grove:
I have made a god of Pain.
Of my god I know this much, And in singing I repeat, Though there’s anguish in his touch, Yet his soul within is sweet.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

If Thou Couldst Empty All Thyself Of Self

 If thou could'st empty all thyself of self, 
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf, 
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou are all replete with very thou And hast such shrewd activity, That when He comes He says, "This is enow Unto itself - 'twere better let it be, It is so small and full, there is no room for me.
"


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Specula

 When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth— 
It matters not 
If south or north, 
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
Nor think, if haply He thou seek’st be late, He does thee wrong.
To stile or gate Lean thou thy head, and long! It may be that to spy thee He is mounting Upon a tower, Or in thy counting Thou hast mista’en the hour.
But, if He comes not, neither do thou go Till Vesper chime.
Belike thou then shalt know He hath been with thee all the time.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

My Garden

 A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot--
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not--
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
'Tis very sure God walks in mine.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Dora

 SHE knelt upon her brother's grave, 
 My little girl of six years old-- 
He used to be so good and brave, 
 The sweetest lamb of all our fold; 
He used to shout, he used to sing, 
Of all our tribe the little king-- 
And so unto the turf her ear she laid, 
To hark if still in that dark place he play'd.
No sound! no sound! Death's silence was profound; And horror crept Into her aching heart, and Dora wept.
If this is as it ought to be, My God, I leave it unto Thee.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Jessie

 WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast, 
 And yields the golden keys, 
Then is it as if God caress'd 
 Twin babes upon His knees-- 
Twin babes that, each to other press'd, 
Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are bless'd.
But when I think if we must part, And all this personal dream be fled-- O then my heart! O then my useless heart! Would God that thou wert dead-- A clod insensible to joys and ills-- A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills!


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

I bended unto me a Bough

 I bended unto me a bough of May,
That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way,
It bore it very well.
But, when I let it backward sway, Then it were hard to tell With what a toss, with what a swing, The dainty thing Resumed its proper level, And sent me to the devil.
I know it did--you doubt it? I turned, and saw them whispering about it.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Ibant Obscur?

 To-night I saw three maidens on the beach,
Dark-robed descending to the sea,
So slow, so silent of all speech,
And visible to me
Only by that strange drift-light, dim, forlorn,
Of the sun's wreck and clashing surges born.
Each after other went, And they were gathered to his breast-- It seemed to me a sacrament Of some stern creed unblest: As when to rocks, that cheerless girt the bay, They bound thy holy limbs, Andromeda.


by Thomas Edward Brown | |

Salve!

 TO live within a cave--it is most good; 
 But, if God make a day, 
 And some one come, and say, 
'Lo! I have gather'd faggots in the wood!' 
 E'en let him stay, 
And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood! 

So sit till morning! when the light is grown 
 That he the path can read, 
 Then bid the man God-speed! 
His morning is not thine: yet must thou own 
They have a cheerful warmth--those ashes on the stone.