Famous Long Anniversary Poems

Famous Long Anniversary Poems. Long Anniversary Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Anniversary long poems

See also: Long Member Poems

 Up yonder in Buena Park
There is a famous spot,
In legend and in history
Yclept the Waller Lot.

There children play in daytime
And lovers stroll by dark,
For 't is the goodliest trysting-place
In all Buena Park.

Once on a time that beauteous maid,
Sweet little Sissy Knott,
Took out her pretty doll to walk
Within the Waller Lot.

While thus she fared, from Ravenswood
Came Injuns o'er the plain,
And seized upon that beauteous maid
And rent her doll in twain.

Oh, 't was a piteous thing to hear
Her lamentations wild;
She tore her golden curls and cried:
"My child! My child! My child!"

Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs
How bitterly wailed she?
They never had been mothers,
And they could not hope to be!

"Have done with tears," they rudely quoth,
And then they bound her hands;
For they proposed to take her off
To distant border lands.

But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn
Doth Willie Clow behold
The sight that makes his hair rise up
And all his blood run cold.

He put his fingers in his mouth
And whistled long and clear,
And presently a goodly horde
Of cow-boys did appear.

Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold,
Haste to the Waller Lot,
And rescue from that Injun band
Our charming Sissy Knott!"

"Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw,
But smite them hide and hair!
Spare neither sex nor age nor size,
And no condition...
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 Some people find out they are Jews.
They can't believe it.
Thy had always hated Jews.
As children they had roamed in gangs on winter nights in the old
 neighborhood, looking for Jews.
They were not Jewish, they were Irish.
They brandished broken bottles, tough guys with blood on their
 lips, looking for Jews.
They intercepted Jewish boys walking alone and beat them up.
Sometimes they were content to chase a Jew and he could elude
 them by running away. They were happy just to see him run
 away. The coward! All Jews were yellow.
They spelled Jew with a small j jew.
And now they find out they are Jews themselves.
It happened at the time of the Spanish Inquisition.
To escape persecution, they pretended to convert to Christianity.
They came to this country and settled in the Southwest.
At some point oral tradition failed the family, and their
 secret faith died.
No one would ever have known if not for the bones that turned up
 on the dig.
A disaster. How could it have happened to them?
They are in a state of panic--at first.
Then they realize that it is the answer to their prayers.
They hasten to the synagogue or build new ones.
They are Jews at last!
They are free to marry other Jews,...
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 I. Ribh at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn

Because you have found me in the pitch-dark night
With open book you ask me what I do.
Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar
To those that never saw this tonsured head
Nor heard this voice that ninety years have cracked.
Of Baile and Aillinn you need not speak,
All know their tale, all know what leaf and twig,
What juncture of the apple and the yew,
Surmount their bones; but speak what none have heard.

The miracle that gave them such a death
Transfigured to pure substance what had once
Been bone and sinew; when such bodies join
There is no touching here, nor touching there,
Nor straining joy, but whole is joined to whole;
For the intercourse of angels is a light
Where for its moment both seem lost, consumed.

Here in the pitch-dark atmosphere above
The trembling of the apple and the yew,
Here on the anniversary of their death,
The anniversary of their first embrace,
Those lovers, purified by tragedy,
Hurry into each other's arms; these eyes,
By water, herb and solitary prayer
Made aquiline, are open to that light.
Though somewhat broken by the leaves, that light
Lies in a circle on the grass; therein
I turn the pages of my holy book.

II. Ribh denounces Patrick

An abstract Greek absurdity has...
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 Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis, 
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies. 
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O C?sar, we who are about to die 
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry 
In the arena, standing face to face 
With death and with the Roman populace. 
O ye familiar scenes,--ye groves of pine, 
That once were mine and are no longer mine,-- 
Thou river, widening through the meadows green 
To the vast sea, so near and yet unseen,-- 
Ye halls, in whose seclusion and repose 

Phantoms of fame, like exhalations, rose 
And vanished,--we who are about to die, 
Salute you; earth and air and sea and sky, 
And the Imperial Sun that scatters down 
His sovereign splendors upon grove and town. 

Ye do not answer us! ye do not hear! 
We are forgotten; and in your austere 
And calm indifference, ye little care 
Whether we come or go, or whence or where. 
What passing generations fill these halls, 
What passing voices echo from these walls, 
Ye heed not; we are only as the blast, 
A moment heard, and then forever past. 

Not so the teachers who in earlier days 
Led our bewildered feet through learning's maze; 
They answer us--alas! what have I said?...
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 UPON that night, when fairies light
 On Cassilis Downans 2 dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
 On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta’en,
 Beneath the moon’s pale beams;
There, up the Cove, 3 to stray an’ rove,
 Amang the rocks and streams
 To sport that night;


Amang the bonie winding banks,
 Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
Where Bruce 4 ance rul’d the martial ranks,
 An’ shook his Carrick spear;
Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
 Together did convene,
To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks,
 An’ haud their Halloween
 Fu’ blythe that night.


The lasses feat, an’ cleanly neat,
 Mair braw than when they’re fine;
Their faces blythe, fu’ sweetly kythe,
 Hearts leal, an’ warm, an’ kin’:
The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs
 Weel-knotted on their garten;
Some unco blate, an’ some wi’ gabs
 Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin
 Whiles fast at night.


Then, first an’ foremost, thro’ the kail,
 Their stocks 5 maun a’ be sought ance;
They steek their een, and grape an’ wale
 For muckle anes, an’ straught anes.
Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift,
 An’ wandered thro’ the bow-kail,
An’ pou’t for want o’ better shift
 A runt was like a sow-tail
 Sae bow’t that night.


Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
 They roar...
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 Like the vain Curlings of the Watry maze,
Which in smooth streams a sinking Weight does raise;
So Man, declining alwayes, disappears.
In the Weak Circles of increasing Years;
And his short Tumults of themselves Compose,
While flowing Time above his Head does close.
Cromwell alone with greater Vigour runs,
(Sun-like) the Stages of succeeding Suns:
And still the Day which he doth next restore,
Is the just Wonder of the Day before.
Cromwell alone doth with new Lustre spring,
And shines the Jewel of the yearly Ring.
'Tis he the force of scatter'd Time contracts,
And in one Year the Work of Ages acts:
While heavy Monarchs make a wide Return,
Longer, and more Malignant then Saturn:
And though they all Platonique years should raign,
In the same Posture would be found again.
Their earthly Projects under ground they lay,
More slow and brittle then the China clay:
Well may they strive to leave them to their Son,
For one Thing never was by one King don.
Yet some more active for a Frontier Town
Took in by Proxie, beggs a false Renown;
Another triumphs at the publick Cost,
And will have Wonn, if he no more have Lost;
They fight by Others, but in Person wrong,
And only are against their Subjects strong;
Their other Wars seem but a feign'd contest,
This Common Enemy is still...
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 Like the vain curlings of the watery maze, 
Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise, 
So Man, declining always, disappears 
In the weak circles of increasing years; 
And his short tumults of themselves compose, 
While flowing Time above his head does close. 

Cromwell alone with greater vigour runs, 
(Sun-like) the stages of succeeding suns: 
And still the day which he doth next restore, 
Is the just wonder of the day before. 
Cromwell alone doth with new lustre spring, 
And shines the jewel of the yearly ring. 

'Tis he the force of scattered time contracts, 
And in one year the work of ages acts: 
While heavy monarchs make a wide return, 
Longer, and more malignant than Saturn: 
And though they all Platonic years should reign, 
In the same posture would be found again. 
Their earthy projects under ground they lay, 
More slow and brittle than the China clay: 
Well may they strive to leave them to their son, 
For one thing never was by one king done. 
Yet some more active for a frontier town, 
Taken by proxy, beg a false renown; 
Another triumphs at the public cost, 
And will have won, if he no more have lost;...
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 Let Dew, house of Dew rejoice with Xanthenes a precious stone of an amber colour. 

Let Round, house of Round rejoice with Myrmecites a gern having an Emmet in it. 

Let New, house of New rejoice with Nasamonites a gem of a sanguine colour with black veins. 

Let Hook, house of Hook rejoice with Sarda a Cornelian -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus by hook. 

Let Crook, house of Crook rejoice with Ophites black spotted marble -- Blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus by crook. The Lord enable me to shift. 

Let Lime, house of Lime rejoice with Sandareses a kind of gem in Pliny's list. 

Let Linnet, house of Linnet rejoice with Tanos, which is a mean sort of Emerald. 

Let Hind, house of Hind rejoice with Paederos Opal -- God be gracious to Mrs Hind, that lived at Canbury. 

Let Tyrrel, house of Tyrrel rejoice with Sardius Lapis an Onyx of a black colour. God speed Hawke's Fleet. 

Let Moss, house of Moss rejoice with the Pearl-Oyster behold how God has consider'd for him that lacketh. 

Let Ross, house of Ross rejoice with the Great Flabber Dabber Flat Clapping Fish with hands....
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Copyright Anna Akhmatova
Copyright English translation by Ilya Shambat (ilya_shambat@yahoo.com)
Origin: http://www.geocities.com/ilya_shambat/akhmatova.html

 * I * 

We thought we were beggars, we thought we had nothing at all
But then when we started to lose one thing after another,
Each day became
A memorial day --
And then we made songs
Of great divine generosity
And of our former riches.


Unification

I'll leave your quiet yard and your white house -
Let life be empty and with light complete.
I'll sing the glory to you in my verse
Like not one woman has sung glory yet.
And that dear girlfriend you remember
In heaven you created for her sight,
I'm trading product that is very rare -
I sell your tenderness and loving light.



Song about Song

So many stones have been thrown at me
That I don't fear them any longer
Like elegant tower the westerner stands free
Among tall towers, the taller.
I'm grateful to their builders -- so be gone
Their sadness and their worry, go away,
Early from here I can see the dawn
And here triumphant lives the sun's last ray.
And frequently into my room's window
The winds from northern seas begin to blow
And pigeon from my palms eats wheat..
The pages that I did not complete
Divinely light she is and calm,
Will finish Muse's suntanned arm.



x x x

Just like a cold noreaster
At first she'll...
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