Written by
Robert Frost |
It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
The flakes could find no landing place to form.
Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold,
And still they failed of any lasting hold.
They made no white impression on the black.
They disappeared as if earth sent them back.
Not till from separate flakes they changed at night
To almost strips and tapes of ragged white
Did grass and garden ground confess it snowed,
And all go back to winter but the road.
Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead.
The grass lay flattened under one great tread.
Borne down until the end almost took root,
The rangey bough anticipated fruit
With snowball cupped in every opening bud.
The road alone maintained itself in mud,
Whatever its secret was of greater heat
From inward fires or brush of passing feet.
In spring more mortal singers than belong
To any one place cover us with song.
Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng;
Some to go further north to Hudson's Bay,
Some that have come too far north back away,
Really a very few to build and stay.
Now was seen how these liked belated snow.
the field had nowhere left for them to go;
They'd soon exhausted all there was in flying;
The trees they'd had enough of with once trying
And setting off their heavy powder load.
They could find nothing open but the road.
Sot there they let their lives be narrowed in
By thousands the bad weather made akin.
The road became a channel running flocks
Of glossy birds like ripples over rocks.
I drove them under foot in bits of flight
That kept the ground. almost disputing right
Of way with me from apathy of wing,
A talking twitter all they had to sing.
A few I must have driven to despair
Made quick asides, but having done in air
A whir among white branches great and small
As in some too much carven marble hall
Where one false wing beat would have brought down all,
Came tamely back in front of me, the Drover,
To suffer the same driven nightmare over.
One such storm in a lifetime couldn't teach them
That back behind pursuit it couldn't reach them;
None flew behind me to be left alone.
Well, something for a snowstorm to have shown
The country's singing strength thus brought together,
the thought repressed and moody with the weather
Was none the less there ready to be freed
And sing the wildflowers up from root and seed.
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Written by
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz |
My Lady (Español)
Perdite, señora, quiero
de mi silencio perdón,
si lo que ha sido atención
le hace parecer grosero.
Y no me podrás culpar
si hasta aquí mi proceder,
por ocuparse en querer,
se ha olvidado de explicar.
Que en mi amorosa pasión
no fue desuido, ni mengua,
quitar el uso a la lengua
por dárselo al corazón.
Ni de explicarme dejaba:
que, como la pasión mía
acá en el alma te vía,
acá en el alma te hablaba.
Y en esta idea notable
dichosamenta vivía,
porque en mi mano tenia
el fingirte favorable.
Con traza tan peregrina
vivió mi esperanza vana,
pues te pudo hacer humana
concibiéndote divina.
¡Oh, cuán loca llegué a verme
en tus dichosos amores,
que, aun fingidos, tus favroes
pudieron enloquecerme!
¡Oh, cómo, en tu sol hermoso
mi ardiente afecto encendido,
por cebarse en lo lucido,
olvidó lo peligroso!
Perdona, si atrevimiento
fue atreverme a tu ardor puro;
que no hay sagrado seguro
de culpas de pensamiento.
De esta manera engañaba
la loca esperanza mía,
y dentro de mí tenía
todo el bien que deseaba.
Mas ya tu precepto grave
rompe mi silencio mudo;
que él solamente ser pudo
de mi respeto la llave.
Y aunque el amar tu belleza
es delito sin disculpa
castígueseme la culpa
primero que la tibieza.
No quieras, pues, rigurosa,
que, estando ya declarada,
sea de veras desdichada
quien fue de burlas dichosa.
Si culpas mi desacato,
culpa también tu licencia;
que si es mala mi obediencia,
no fue justo tu mandato
Y si es culpable mi intento,
será mi afecto precito,
porque es amarte un delito
de que nunca me arrepiento.
Esto en mis afectos hallo,
y más, que explicar no sé;
mas tú, de lo que callé,
inferirás lo que callo.
Top of page
My Lady (English)
My lady, I must implore
forgiveness for keeping still,
if what I meant as tribute
ran contrary to your will.
Please do not reproach me
if the course I have maintained
in the eagerness of my love
left my silence unexplained.
I love you with so much passion,
neither rudeness nor neglect
can explain why I tied my tongue,
yet left my heart unchecked.
The matter to me was simple:
love for you was so strong,
I could see you in my soul
and talk to you all day long.
With this idea in mind,
I lived in utter delight,
pretending my subterfuge
found favor in your sight.
In this strange, ingenious fashion,
I allowed the hope to be mine
that I still might see as human
what I really conceived as divine.
Oh, how mad I became
in my blissful love of you,
for even though feigned, your favor
made all my madness seem true!
How unwisely my ardent love,
which your glorious sun inflamed,
sought to feed upon your brightness,
though the risk of your fire was plain!
Forgive me if, thus emboldened,
I made bold with that sacred fire:
there's no sanctuary secure
when thought's transgressions conspire.
Thus it was I kept indulging
these foolhardy hopes of mine,
enjoying within myself
a happiness sublime.
But now, at your solemn bidding,
this silence I herewith suspend,
for your summons unlocks in me
a respect no time can end.
And, although loving your beauty
is a crime beyond repair,
rather the crime be chastised
than my fervor cease to dare.
With this confession in hand,
I pray, be less stern with me.
Do not condemn to distress
one who fancied bliss so free.
If you blame me for disrespect,
remember, you gave me leave;
thus, if obedience was wrong,
your commanding must be my reprieve.
Let my love be ever doomed
if guilty in its intent,
for loving you is a crime
of which I will never repent.
This much I descry in my feelings--
and more that I cannot explain;
but you, from what I've not said,
may infer what words won't contain.
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
A song for the fifth of November.
Had not the Lord, may Isr'el say,
Had not the Lord maintained our side,
When men, to make our lives a prey,
Rose like the swelling of the tide;
The swelling tide had stopped our breath,
So fiercely did the waters roll,
We had been swallowed deep in death;
Proud waters had o'erwhelmed our soul.
We leap for joy, we shout and sing,
Who just escaped the fatal stroke;
So flies the bird with cheerful wing,
When once the fowler's snare is broke.
For ever blessed be the Lord,
Who broke the fowler's cursed snare,
Who saved us from the murd'ring sword,
And made our lives and souls his care.
Our help is in Jehovah's name,
Who formed the earth and built the skies:
He that upholds that wondrous frame
Guards his own church with watchful eyes.
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
Ye sons of Mars, come list to me,
And I will relate to ye
A great and heroic naval fight,
Which will fill your hearts with delight.
The fight was between the French Frigate "Pique" and the British Frigate "Blanche,"
But the British crew were bold and staunch;
And the battle was fought in West Indian waters in the year of 1795,
And for to gain the victory the French did nobly strive.
And on the morning of the 4th of January while cruising off Gadulope,
The look-out man from the foretop loudly spoke,
And cried, "Sail ahoy!" "Where away ?"
"On the lee bow, close in shore, sir," was answered without delay.
Then Captain Faulkner cried, "Clear the decks!"
And the French vessel with his eyeglass he inspects;
And he told his men to hoist the British flag,
And "prepare my heroes to pull down that French rag."
Then the "Blanche" made sail and bore away
In the direction of the "Pique" without delay;
And Captain Fauikner cried, "Now, my lads, bear down on him,
And make ready quickly and begin."
It was about midnight when the Frenchman hove in sight,
And could be seen distinctly in the starlight;
And for an hour and a half they fired away
Broadsides into each other without dismay.
And with tne rapid flashes the Heavens were aflame,
As each volley from the roaring cannons came;
And the incessant roll of musketry was awful to hear,
As it broke over the silent sea and smote upon the ear.
The French vessel had nearly 400 men,
Her decks were literally crowded from stem to stern;
And the musketeers kept up a fierce fire on the " Blanche,"
But still the "Blanche" on them did advance.
And the "Blanche's" crew without dismay
Fired a broadside into the "Pique" without delay,
Which raked her fore and aft, and knocked her to smash,
And the mizzen mast fell overboard with a terrible crash.
Then the Frenohmen rushed forward to board the "Blanche,"
But in doing so they had a very poor chance,
For the British Tars in courage didn't lack,
Because thrice in succession on their own deck they were driven back.
Then "Brave, my lads!" Captain Faulkner loudly cries,
"Lash her bowsprit to our capstan, she's our prize";
And he seized some ropes to lash round his foe,
But a musket ball pierced his heart and laid him low.
Then a yell of rage burst from the noble crew,
And near to his fallen body they drew;
And tears for his loss fell fast on the deck,
Their grief was so great their tears they conldn 't check.
The crew was very sorry for their captain's downfall,
But the sight didn't their brave hearts appall;
Because they fastened the ropes to the "Pique" at the capstan,
And the "Pique" was dragged after the "Blanche," the sight was grand.
Yet the crew of the "Pique" maintained the fight,
Oh! most courageously they fought in the dead of night;
And for two hours they kept up firing without dismay,
But it was a sacrifice of human life, they had to give way.
And about five o'clock in the morning the French cried for quarter,
Because on board there had been a great slaughter;
Their Captain Consail was mortally wounded in the fight
Along with many officers and men; oh! it was a heartrending sight
To see the wounded and dead weltering in their gore
After the cannonading had ceased and the fighting was o'er.
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Written by
Ellis Parker Butler |
Was ever a maiden so worried?
I’ll admit I am partial to Jim,
For Jimmie has promised to wed me
When I’m old enough to wed him.
But then I love teacher, too, dearly,
She’s always so lovely to me,
And she’s pretty and kind and sweet-tempered,
And gentle as gentle can be.
I wouldn’t for worlds hurt Jim’s feelings,
For he never would like me again—
But there was my dearest, sweet teacher,
And I’d die if my words gave her pain.
“Two plus two equals what?” was the problem.
And I knew teacher thought it made “four”;
But Jimmie said “six,” and maintained it
As long as he stood on the floor.
And I saw I must soon choose between them,
For I was the next in the line.
Should I side with my teacher or Jimmie?
What a sad situation was mine!
And just as my heart with that problem
Of friendship was so sorely vexed
I was called on to answer the other,
For teacher had said, sharply, “Next!”
It was then that the brilliant thought struck me,
That by compromise I could contrive
To hurt neither teacher nor Jimmie,
And that’s how I came to say “five.”
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
'Twas about the beginning of the present century,
Bill Bowls was pressed, and sent to sea;
And conveyed on board the Waterwitch without delay,
Scarce getting time to bid farewell to the villagers of Fairway ·
And once on board the "Waterwitch," he resolved to do his duty,
And God willing, he'd marry Nelly Blyth, the village beauty;
And he'd fight for Old England, like a jolly British tar,
But he'd think of Nelly Blyth during the war.
The poor fellow little imagined what he had to go through,
But in ail his trials at sea, he never did rue;
No; the brave tar became reconciled to his fate,
And he felt proud of his commander, Captain Ward the great.
And on board the "Waterwitch" was Tom Riggles, his old comrade,
And with such a one as Tom Riggles he seldom felt afraid,
Because the stories they told on board made the time fly away,
And made the hearts of their messmates feel light and gay.
'Twas on a sunny morning, and clear to the view,
Captain Ward the close attention of his men he drew:
Look ! he cried, there's two Frenchmen of war on our right,
Therefore, prepare my men immediately to commence the fight.
Then the "Waterwitch" was steered to the ship most near,
While every man resolved to sell his life most dear;
But the French commander, disinclined to commence the fight,
Ordered his men to put on a press of canvas and take to flight.
But Captain Ward quickly gave the order to fire,
Then Bill Bowls cried, Now we'll get fighting to our heart's desire!
And for an hour and more a running fight was maintained,
Until the two ships of the enemy near upon the "Waterwitch" gained.
Captain Ward walked the deck with a firm tread,
When a shot from the enemy pierced the ship's side above his head;
And with a splinter Bill Bowls was wounded on the left arm,
And he cried, Death to the frog-eaters! they have done me little harm.
Then Captain Ward cried, Fear not, we will win the day,
Now, courage my men, pour in broadsides without delay;
Then they sailed round the "St. Denis" and the "Gloire,"
And in at their cabin windows they poured a deadly fire.
The effect on the two ships was fearful to behold,
But still the Frenchmen stuck to their guns with courage, be it told;
And the crash and din of artillery was deafening to the ear,
And the cries of the wounded men on deck were pitiful to hear.
Then Captain Ward to his men did say,
We must board these French ships without dismay;
Then he seized his cutlass, ashe fearlessly spoke,
And jumped on board the "St. Denis" in the midst of the smoke.
Then Bill Bowls and Tom Riggles quickly followed him,
Then hand to hand the battle in earnest did begin;
And the men sprang upon their foes and beat them back,
And they hauled down their colours, and hoisted the Union Jack.
But the men on board the "St. Denis" fought desperately hard,
But, alas! as the "St Denis" was captured, a ball struck Captain Ward
Right on the forehead, and he fell dead with a groan,
And for the death of Captain Ward the sailors did cry and moan.
Then the first lieutenant, who was standing by,
Loudly to the men did cry:
Come men, and carry your noble commander to his cabin below,
But there is one consolation, we have beaten the foe.
And thus fell Captain Ward in the prime of his life,
And I hope he is now in the better land, free from strife:
But, alas! 'tis sad to think he was buried in the mighty deep,
Where too many of our brave seamen do silently sleep.
The "St. Denis" and the "Gloire" were towed to Gibraltar, the nearest port,
But by capturing of them, they felt but little sport,
Because, for the loss of Captain Ward, the men felt woebegone,
Because in bravery, they said, he was next to Admiral Nelson.
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Written by
Vachel Lindsay |
(To a Man who maintained that the Mausoleum is the Stateliest Possible Manner of Interment)
I would be one with the dark, dark earth:--
Follow the plough with a yokel tread.
I would be part of the Indian corn,
Walking the rows with the plumes o'erhead.
I would be one with the lavish earth,
Eating the bee-stung apples red:
Walking where lambs walk on the hills;
By oak-grove paths to the pools be led.
I would be one with the dark-bright night
When sparkling skies and the lightning wed--
Walking on with the vicious wind
By roads whence even the dogs have fled.
I would be one with the sacred earth
On to the end, till I sleep with the dead.
Terror shall put no spears through me.
Peace shall jewel my shroud instead.
I shall be one with all pit-black things
Finding their lowering threat unsaid:
Stars for my pillow there in the gloom,--
Oak-roots arching about my head!
Stars, like daisies, shall rise through the earth,
Acorns fall round my breast that bled.
Children shall weave there a flowery chain,
Squirrels on acorn-hearts be fed:--
Fruit of the traveller-heart of me,
Fruit of my harvest-songs long sped:
Sweet with the life of my sunburned days
When the sheaves were ripe, and the apples red.
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Written by
Edmund Spenser |
By that he ended had his ghostly sermon,
The fox was well induc'd to be a parson,
And of the priest eftsoons gan to inquire,
How to a benefice he might aspire.
"Marry, there" (said the priest) "is art indeed:
Much good deep learning one thereout may read;
For that the ground-work is, and end of all,
How to obtain a beneficial.
First, therefore, when ye have in handsome wise
Yourself attired, as you can devise,
Then to some nobleman yourself apply,
Or other great one in the world{"e}s eye,
That hath a zealous disposition
To God, and so to his religion.
There must thou fashion eke a godly zeal,
Such as no carpers may contrare reveal;
For each thing feigned ought more wary be.
There thou must walk in sober gravity,
And seem as saint-like as Saint Radegund:
Fast much, pray oft, look lowly on the ground,
And unto every one do courtesy meek:
These looks (nought saying) do a benefice seek,
But be thou sure one not to lack or long.
And if thee list unto the court to throng,
And there to hunt after the hoped prey,
Then must thou thee dispose another way:
For there thou needs must learn to laugh, to lie,
To face, to forge, to scoff, to company,
To crouch, to please, to be a beetle-stock
Of thy great master's will, to scorn, or mock.
So may'st thou chance mock out a benefice,
Unless thou canst one conjure by device,
Or cast a figure for a bishopric;
And if one could, it were but a school trick.
These be the ways by which without reward
Livings in court be gotten, though full hard;
For nothing there is done without a fee:
The courtier needs must recompensed be
With a benevolence, or have in gage
The primitias of your parsonage:
Scarce can a bishopric forpass them by,
But that it must be gelt in privity.
Do not thou therefore seek a living there,
But of more private persons seek elsewhere,
Whereas thou may'st compound a better penny,
Ne let thy learning question'd be of any.
For some good gentleman, that hath the right
Unto his church for to present a wight,
Will cope with thee in reasonable wise;
That if the living yearly do arise
To forty pound, that then his youngest son
Shall twenty have, and twenty thou hast won:
Thou hast it won, for it is of frank gift,
And he will care for all the rest to shift,
Both that the bishop may admit of thee,
And that therein thou may'st maintained be.
This is the way for one that is unlearn'd
Living to get, and not to be discern'd.
But they that are great clerks, have nearer ways,
For learning sake to living them to raise;
Yet many eke of them (God wot) are driven
T' accept a benefice in pieces riven.
How say'st thou (friend), have I not well discourst
Upon this common-place (though plain, not worst)?
Better a short tale than a bad long shriving.
Needs any more to learn to get a living?"
"Now sure, and by my halidom," (quoth he)
"Ye a great master are in your degree:
Great thanks I yield you for your discipline,
And do not doubt but duly to incline
My wits thereto, as ye shall shortly hear."
The priest him wish'd good speed, and well to fare:
So parted they, as either's way them led.
But th' ape and fox ere long so well them sped,
Through the priest's wholesome counsel lately taught,
And through their own fair handling wisely wrought,
That they a benefice 'twixt them obtained;
And crafty Reynold was a priest ordained,
And th' ape his parish clerk procur'd to be.
Then made they revel rout and goodly glee;
But, ere long time had passed, they so ill
Did order their affairs, that th' evil will
Of all their parish'ners they had constrain'd;
Who to the Ordinary of them complain'd,
How foully they their offices abus'd,
And them of crimes and heresies accus'd,
That pursuivants he often for them sent;
But they neglected his command{"e}ment.
So long persisted obstinate and bold,
Till at the length he published to hold
A visitation, and them cited thether:
Then was high time their wits about to geather.
What did they then, but made a composition
With their next neighbour priest, for light condition,
To whom their living they resigned quite
For a few pence, and ran away by night.
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
'Twas about the beginning of the past century
Billy Bowls was pressed into the British Navy,
And conveyed on board the "Waterwitch" without delay,
Scarce getting time to bid farewell to the villagers of Fairway.
And once on board the "Waterwitch" he resolved to do his duty,
And if he returned safe home he'd marry Nelly Blyth, his beauty;
And he'd fight for old England like a jolly British tar,
And the thought of Nelly Blyth would solace him during the war.
Poor fellow, he little thought what he had to go through,
But in all his trials at sea he never did rue;
No, the brave tar became reconciled to his fate,
And felt proud of his commander, Captain Ward the Great.
And on board the "Waterwitch" was Tom Riggles, his old comrade,
And with such a comrade he seldom felt afraid;
Because the stories they told each other made the time pass quickly away,
And made their hearts feel light and gay.
'Twas on a Sunday morning and clear to the view,
Captain Ward the attention of his men he drew;
"Look!" he cried, "There's two French men-of-war our right,
Therefore prepare, my lads, immediately to begin the fight."
Then the " Waterwitch" was steered to the ship that was most near,
While every men resolved to sell their lives most dear;
But the French commander disinclined to engage in the fight,
And he ordered his men to put on a press of canvas and take to flight.
Then Captain Ward gave the order to fire,
Then Billy Bowls cried, "Now we'll get fighting to our hearts' desire";
And for an hour a running fight was maintained,
And the two ships of the enemy near upon the "Waterwitch" gained.
Captain Ward walked the deck with a firm tread,
When a shot from the enemy pierced the ship, yet he felt no dread;
But with a splinter Bill Bowls was wounded on the left arm,
And he cried, "Death to the frog-eaters, they have done me little harm."
Then Captain Ward cried, "Fear not, my men, we will win the day,
Now, men, pour in a broadside without delay
Then they sailed around the "St. Denis" and the "Gloire,"
And in their cabin windows they poured a deadly fire.
The effect on the two ships was tremendous to behold,
But the Frenchmen stuck to their guns with courage bold;
And the crash and din of artillery was deafening to the ear,
And the cries of the wounded men ware pitiful to hear.
Then Captain Ward to his men did say,
"We must board the Frenchman without delay";
Then he seized his cutlass as he spoke,
And jumped on board the " St. Denis " in the midst of the smoke.
Then Bill Bowls and Tom Riggles hastily followed him,
Then, hand to hand, the battle did begin;
And the men sprang upon their foe and beat them back,
And hauled down their colours and hoisted the Union Jack.
But the men on board the "St. Denis" fought desperately hard,
And just as the "St. Denis" was captured a ball struck Captain Ward
Right on the forehead, and he fell without a groan,
And for the death of Captain Ward the men did moan.
Then the first lieutenant who was standing near by,
Loudly to the men did cry,
"Come, men, and carry your noble commander below;
But there's one consolation, we have beaten the foe."
And thus fell Captain Ward in the prime of life,
But I hope he is now in the better world free from strife;
But, alas! 'tis sad to think he was buried in the mighty deep,
Where too many of our brave seamen silently sleep.
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
v.5,13-19,22,23
C. M.
Deliverance from death.
Unto thine hand, O God of truth,
My spirit I commit;
Thou hast redeemed my soul from death,
And saved me from the pit.
The passions of my hope and fear
Maintained a doubtful strife,
While sorrow, pain, and sin conspired
To take away my life.
"My times are in thine hand," I cried,
"Though I draw near the dust;
Thou art the refuge where I hide,
The God in whom I trust.
O make thy reconciled face
Upon thy servant shine,
And save me for thy mercy's sake,
For I'm entirely thine.
PAUSE.
['Twas in my haste my spirit said,
"I must despair and die,
I am cut off before thine eyes;
But thou hast heard my cry.]
Thy goodness how divinely free!
How wondrous is thy grace
To those that fear thy majesty,
And trust thy promises!
O love the Lord, all ye his saints,
And sing his praises loud;
He'll bend his ear to your complaints,
And recompense the proud.
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