Written by
Wystan Hugh (W H) Auden |
Among pelagian travelers,Lost on their lewd conceited wayTo Massachusetts, Michigan,Miami or L.A., An airborne instrument I sit,Predestined nightly to fulfillColumbia-Giesen-Management'sUnfathomable will, By whose election justified,I bring my gospel of the MuseTo fundamentalists, to nuns,to Gentiles and to Jews, And daily, seven days a week,Before a local sense has jelled,From talking-site to talking-siteAm jet-or-prop-propelled. Though warm my welcome everywhere,I shift so frequently, so fast,I cannot now say where I wasThe evening before last, Unless some singular eventShould intervene to save the place,A truly asinine remark,A soul-bewitching face, Or blessed encounter, full of joy,Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,With, here, an addict of Tolkien,There, a Charles Williams fan. Since Merit but a dunghill is,I mount the rostrum unafraid:Indeed, 'twere damnable to askIf I am overpaid. Spirit is willing to repeatWithout a qualm the same old talk,But Flesh is homesick for our snugApartment in New York. A sulky fifty-six, he findsA change of mealtime utter hell,Grown far too crotchety to likeA luxury hotel. The Bible is a goodly bookI always can peruse with zest,But really cannot say the sameFor Hilton's Be My Guest. Nor bear with equanimityThe radio in students' cars,Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!--Girl-organists in bars. Then, worst of all, the anxious thought,Each time my plane begins to sinkAnd the No Smoking sign comes on:What will there be to drink?Is this a milieu where I mustHow grahamgreeneish! How infra dig!Snatch from the bottle in my bagAn analeptic swig? Another morning comes: I see,Dwindling below me on the plane,The roofs of one more audienceI shall not see again. God bless the lot of them, althoughI don't remember which was which:God bless the U.S.A., so large,So friendly, and so rich.
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Written by
Andrew Marvell |
Cernis ut Eio descendat Gemmula Roris,
Inque Rosas roseo transfluat orta sinu.
Sollicita Flores stant ambitione supini,
Et certant foliis pellicuisse suis.
Illa tamen patriae lustrans fastigia Sphaerae,
Negligit hospitii limina picta novi.
Inque sui nitido conclusa voluminis orbe,
Exprimit aetherei qua licet Orbis aquas.
En ut odoratum spernat generosior Ostrum,
Vixque premat casto mollia strata pede.
Suspicit at longis distantem obtutibus Axem,
Inde & languenti lumine pendet amans,
Tristis, & in liquidum mutata dolore dolorem,
Marcet, uti roseis Lachryma fusa Genis.
Ut pavet, & motum tremit irrequieta Cubile,
Et quoties Zephyro fluctuat Aura, fugit .
Qualis inexpertam subeat formido Puellam,
Sicubi nocte redit incomitata domum.
Sic & in horridulas agitatur Gutta procellas,
Dum prae virgineo cuncta pudore timet.
Donec oberrantem Radio clemente vaporet,
Inq; jubar reducem Sol genitale trahat.
Talis, in humano si possit flore videri,
Exul ubi longas Mens agit usq; moras;
Haec quoque natalis meditans convivia Coeli,
Evertit Calices, purpureosque Thoros.
Fontis stilla sacri, Lucis scintilla perennis,
Non capitur Tyria veste, vapore Sabae.
Tota sed in proprii secedens luminis Arcem,
Colligit in Gyros se sinuosa breves.
Magnorumque sequens animo convexa Deorum,
Sydereum parvo fingit in Orbe Globum.
Quam bene in aversae modulum contracta figurae
Oppositum Mundo claudit ubiq; latus.
Sed bibit in speculum radios ornata rotundum;
Et circumfuso splendet aperta Die.
Qua Superos spectat rutilans, obscurior infra;
Caetera dedignans, ardet amore Poli.
Subsilit, hinc agili Poscens discedere motu,
Undique coelesti cincta soluta Viae.
Totaque in aereos extenditur orbita cursus;
Hinc punctim carpens, mobile stringit iter.
Haud aliter Mensis exundans Manna beatis
Deserto jacuit Stilla gelata Solo:
Stilla gelata Solo, sed Solibus hausta benignis,
Ad sua qua cecidit purior Aftra redit.
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Written by
Robert William Service |
When I was young I was too proud
To wheel my daughter in her pram.
"It's infra dig," I said aloud,--
Bot now I'm old, behold I am
Perambulating up and down
Grand-daughter through the town.
And when I come into the Square,
Beside the fountain I will stop;
And as to rest I linger there,
The dames will say: "How do, Grand-pop!
Lucindy Jane with eyes so blue
Looks more and more like you."
And sure it's pleased as Punch I get,
And take Lucindy on my knee;
Aye, at the risk of getting wet,
I blether to the girls a wee:
Then as we have a bottle date
Home we perambulate.
Gosh! That's the joy of all my day;
And as I play the part of nurse:
"She's got your nose," I hear them say.
Thinks I: "Well now, she might have worse."
And how I dream I'll live to see
A great-grandchild upon my knee,
Whom folks say looks like me!
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