Famous Long Career Poems

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

See also: Long Member Poems

 TERRIFIC FIEND! thou Monster fell, 
Condemn'd in haunts profane to dwell, 
Why quit thy solitary Home, 
O'er wide Creation's paths to roam? 
Pale Tyrant of the timid Heart, 
Whose visionary spells can bind 
The strongest passions of the mind, 
Freezing Life's current with thy baneful Art. 

Nature recoils when thou art near, 
For round thy form all plagues are seen; 
Thine is the frantic tone, the sullen mien, 
The glance of petrifying fear, 
The haggard Brow, the low'ring Eye, 
The hollow Cheek, the smother'd Sigh, 
When thy usurping fangs assail, 
The sacred Bonds of Friendship fail. 
Meek-bosom'd Pity sues in vain; 
Imperious Sorrow spurns relief, 
Feeds on the luxury of Grief, 
Drinks the hot Tear, and hugs the galling Chain. 

AH! plunge no more thy ruthless dart, 
In the dark centre of the guilty Heart; 
The POW'R SUPREME, with pitying eye, 
Looks on the erring Child of Misery; 
MERCY arrests the wing of Time; 
To expiate the wretch's crime; 
Insulted HEAV'N consign'd thy brand 
To the first Murd'rer's crimson hand. 
Swift o'er the earth the Monster flew, 
And round th' ensanguin'd Poisons threw, 
By CONSCIENCE goaded­driven by FEAR, 
Till the meek Cherub HOPE subdued his fell career. 

Thy Reign...
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 Hear me, Lord of the Stars!
For thee I have worshipped ever
With stains and sorrows and scars,
With joyful, joyful endeavour.
Hear me, O lily-white goat!
O crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for Thy throat,
A scarlet bow for Thy horns!

Here, in the dusty air,
I build Thee a shrine of yew.
All green is the garland I wear,
But I feed it with blood for dew!
After the orange bars
That ribbed the green west dying
Are dead, O Lord of the Stars,
I come to Thee, come to Thee crying.

The ambrosial moon that arose
With breasts slow heaving in splendour
Drops wine from her infinite snows.
Ineffably, utterly, tender. 
O moon! ambrosial moon!
Arise on my desert of sorrow
That the Magical eyes of me swoon
With lust of rain to-morrow!

Ages and ages ago
I stood on the bank of a river
Holy and Holy and holy, I know,
For ever and ever and ever!
A priest in the mystical shrine
I muttered a redeless rune,
Till the waters were redder than wine
In the blush of the harlot moon.

I and my brother priests
Worshipped a wonderful woman
With a body lithe as a beast's
Subtly, horribly human.
Deep in the pit of her eyes
I saw the image of death,
And I drew the water of sighs
From the well of her lullaby...
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 Hence, vain deluding Joys,
............The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bested
............Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
............And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
............As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
............The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!
Hail, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended:
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain.
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come; but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There, held in holy...
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 THOUGHTS ON JESUS CHRIST'S DESCENT INTO HELL.

[THE remarkable Poem of which this is a literal 
but faint representation, was written when Goethe was only sixteen 
years old. It derives additional interest from the fact of its being 
the very earliest piece of his that is preserved. The few other 
pieces included by Goethe under the title of Religion and Church 
are polemical, and devoid of interest to the English reader.]

WHAT wondrous noise is heard around!
Through heaven exulting voices sound,

A mighty army marches on
By thousand millions follow'd, lo,
To yon dark place makes haste to go

God's Son, descending from His throne!
He goes--the tempests round Him break,

As Judge and Hero cometh He;
He goes--the constellations quake,

The sun, the world quake fearfully.

I see Him in His victor-car,
On fiery axles borne afar,

Who on the cross for us expired.
The triumph to yon realms He shows,--
Remote from earth, where star ne'er glows,

The triumph He for us acquired.
He cometh, Hell to extirpate,

Whom He, by dying, wellnigh kill'd;
He shall pronounce her fearful fate

Hark! now the curse is straight fulfill'd.

Hell sees the victor come at last,
She feels that now her reign is past,

She quakes and fears to meet His sight;
She knows His thunders' terrors dread,
In vain she seeks to hide...
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 I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start
Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall­
The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart
Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;
Over against my bed, there shone a gleam
Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. 

It sunk, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; 
How far is night advanced, and when will day
Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom,
And fill this void with warm, creative ray ? 
Would I could sleep again till, clear and red,
Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! 

I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, 
Because my own is broken, were unjust; 

They've wrought all day, and well-earned slumbers steep
Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; 
Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, 
Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. 

Yet, Oh, for light ! one ray would tranquilise 
My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; 
I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: 
These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, 
Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear 
Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. 

All black­one great cloud, drawn from east to...
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 1
AS a strong bird on pinions free, 
Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, 
Such be the thought I’d think to-day of thee, America, 
Such be the recitative I’d bring to-day for thee. 

The conceits of the poets of other lands I bring thee not,
Nor the compliments that have served their turn so long, 
Nor rhyme—nor the classics—nor perfume of foreign court, or indoor library; 
But an odor I’d bring to-day as from forests of pine in the north, in Maine—or
 breath
 of an Illinois prairie, 
With open airs of Virginia, or Georgia, or Tennessee—or from Texas uplands, or
 Florida’s glades, 
With presentment of Yellowstone’s scenes, or Yosemite;
And murmuring under, pervading all, I’d bring the rustling sea-sound, 
That endlessly sounds from the two great seas of the world. 

And for thy subtler sense, subtler refrains, O Union! 
Preludes of intellect tallying these and thee—mind-formulas fitted for
 thee—real, and
 sane, and large as these and thee; 
Thou, mounting higher, diving deeper than we knew—thou transcendental Union!
By thee Fact to be justified—blended with Thought; 
Thought of Man justified—blended with God: 
Through thy Idea—lo! the immortal Reality! 
Through thy Reality—lo! the immortal Idea! 

2
Brain of the New World! what a task is thine!
To...
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 Shall the great soul of Newton quit this earth, 
To mingle with his stars; and every muse,
Astonish'd into silence, shun the weight
Of honours due to his illustrious name?
But what can man?--Even now the sons of light,
In strains high-warbled to seraphic lyre,
Hail his arrival on the coast of bliss.
Yet am not I deterr'd, though high the theme,
And sung to harps of angels, for with you,
Ethereal flames! ambitious, I aspire
In Nature's general symphony to join. 

And what new wonders can ye show your guest!
Who, while on this dim spot, where mortals toil
Clouded in dust, from motion's simple laws,
Could trace the secret hand of Providence,
Wide-working through this universal frame. 

Have ye not listen'd while he bound the suns
And planets to their spheres! th' unequal task
Of humankind till then. Oft had they roll'd
O'er erring man the year, and oft disgrac'd
The pride of schools, before their course was known
Full in its causes and effects to him,
All-piercing sage! who sat not down and dream'd
Romantic schemes, defended by the din
Of specious words, and tyranny of names;
But, bidding his amazing mind attend,
And with heroic patience years on years
Deep-searching, saw at last the system dawn,
And shine, of all his race, on him alone. 

What were his raptures then!...
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THE TRIUMPH OF TIME. Dell' aureo albergo con l' Aurora innanzi.  Behind Aurora's wheels the rising sunHis voyage from his golden shrine begun,With such ethereal speed, as if the HoursHad caught him slumb'ring in her rosy bowers.[Pg 395]With lordly eye, that reach'd the world's extreme,Methought he look'd, when, gliding on his beam,That wingèd power approach'd that wheels his carIn its wide annual range from star to star,Measuring vicissitude; till, now more near,Methought these thrilling accents met my ear:—"New laws must be observed if mortals claim,Spite of the lapse of time, eternal fame.Those laws have lost their force that Heaven decreed,And I my circle run with fruitless speed;If fame's loud breath the slumb'ring dust inspire,And bid to live with never-dying fire,My power, that measures mortal things, is cross'd,And my long glories in oblivion lost.If mortals on yon planet's shadowy face,Can match the tenor of my heavenly race,I strive with fruitless speed from year to yearTo keep precedence o'er a lower sphere.In vain yon flaming coursers I prepare,In vain the watery...
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The Introit

Let from its dream the soul awaken,
And reason mark with open eyes
The scene unfolding,—
How lightly life away is taken,
How cometh Death in stealthy guise,—
At last beholding;

What swiftness hath the flight of pleasure
That, once attained, seems nothing more
Than respite cold;
How fain is memory to measure
Each latter day inferior
To those of old.

Beholding how each instant flies
So swift, that, as we count, 'tis gone
Beyond recover,
Let us resolve to be more wise
Than stake our future lot upon
What soon is over.

Let none be self-deluding, none,—
Imagining some longer stay
For his own treasure
Than what today he sees undone;
For everything must pass away
In equal measure.

Our lives are fated as the rivers
That gather downward to the sea
We know as Death;
And thither every flood delivers
The pride and pomp of seigniory
That forfeiteth;

Thither, the rivers in their splendor;
Thither, the streams of modest worth,—
The rills beside them;
Till there all equal they surrender;
And so with those who toil on earth,
And those who guide them.


The Invocation

I turn me from the praise and singing
Of panegyrists, and the proud
Old poets' stories;
I would not have them hither bringing
Their artful potions that but cloud
His honest glories;

On Him Alone I lay my burden—
Him only do I now implore
In my distress,—
Who came on earth and had for guerdon
The scorn of...
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[Pg 400] THE TRIUMPH OF ETERNITY. Da poi che sotto 'l ciel cosa non vidi.  When all beneath the ample cope of heavenI saw, like clouds before the tempest driven,In sad vicissitude's eternal round,Awhile I stood in holy horror bound;And thus at last with self-exploring mind,Musing, I ask'd, "What basis I could findTo fix my trust?" An inward voice replied,"Trust to the Almighty: He thy steps shall guide;He never fails to hear the faithful prayer,But worldly hope must end in dark despair."Now, what I am, and what I was, I know;I see the seasons in procession goWith still increasing speed; while things to come,Unknown, unthought, amid the growing gloomOf long futurity, perplex my soul,While life is posting to its final goal.Mine is the crime, who ought with clearer lightTo watch the winged years' incessant flight;And not to slumber on in dull delayTill circling seasons bring the doomful day.But grace is never slow in that, I trust,To wake the mind, before I sink to dust,With those strong energies that lift the...
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 I 
O THOU, that sit'st upon a throne, 
With harp of high majestic tone, 
 To praise the King of kings; 
And voice of heav'n-ascending swell, 
Which, while its deeper notes excell, 
 Clear, as a clarion, rings: 

 II 
To bless each valley, grove and coast, 
And charm the cherubs to the post 
 Of gratitude in throngs; 
To keep the days on Zion's mount, 
And send the year to his account, 
 With dances and with songs: 

 III 
O Servant of God's holiest charge, 
The minister of praise at large, 
 Which thou may'st now receive; 
From thy blest mansion hail and hear, 
From topmost eminence appear 
 To this the wreath I weave. 

 IV 
Great, valiant, pious, good, and clean, 
Sublime, contemplative, serene, 
 Strong, constant, pleasant, wise! 
Bright effluence of exceeding grace; 
Best man!—the swiftest and the race, 
 The peril, and the prize! 

 V 
Great—from the lustre of his crown, 
From Samuel's horn, and God's renown, 
 Which is the people's voice; 
For all the host, from rear to van, 
Applauded and embrac'd the man— 
 The man of God's own choice. 

 VI 
Valiant—the word, and up he rose; 
The...
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 See! Winter comes, to rule the varied Year, 
Sullen, and sad; with all his rising Train,
Vapours, and Clouds, and Storms: Be these my Theme,
These, that exalt the Soul to solemn Thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome kindred Glooms! 
Wish'd, wint'ry, Horrors, hail! -- With frequent Foot,
Pleas'd, have I, in my cheerful Morn of Life,
When, nurs'd by careless Solitude, I liv'd,
And sung of Nature with unceasing Joy,
Pleas'd, have I wander'd thro' your rough Domains; 
Trod the pure, virgin, Snows, my self as pure:
Heard the Winds roar, and the big Torrent burst:
Or seen the deep, fermenting, Tempest brew'd,
In the red, evening, Sky. -- Thus pass'd the Time,
Till, thro' the opening Chambers of the South, 
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smil'd.
THEE too, Inspirer of the toiling Swain!
Fair AUTUMN, yellow rob'd! I'll sing of thee,
Of thy last, temper'd, Days, and sunny Calms;
When all the golden Hours are on the Wing, 
Attending thy Retreat, and round thy Wain,
Slow-rolling, onward to the Southern Sky.

BEHOLD! the well-pois'd Hornet, hovering, hangs,
With quivering Pinions, in the genial Blaze;
Flys off, in airy Circles: then returns, 
And hums, and dances to the beating Ray.
Nor shall the Man, that, musing, walks alone,
And, heedless, strays within his radiant Lists,
Go unchastis'd away....
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               I

     Lars Porsena of Closium
          By the Nine Gods he swore
     That the great house of Tarquin
          Should suffer wrong no more.
     By the Nine Gods he swore it,
          And named a trysting day,
     And bade his messengers ride forth,
     East and west and south and north,
          To summon his array.

               II

     East and west and south and north
          The messengers ride fast,
     And tower and town and cottage
          Have heard the trumpet's blast.
     Shame on the false Etruscan
      ...
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 The Argument.


Rintrah roars & shakes his fires in the burdend air;
Hungry clouds swag on the deep

Once meek, and in a perilous path,
The just man kept his course along 
The vale of death.
Roses are planted where thorns grow.
And on the barren heath
Sing the honey bees.

Then the perilous path was planted:
And a river, and a spring
On every cliff and tomb;
And on the bleached bones
Red clay brought forth.

Till the villain left the paths of ease,
To walk in perilous paths, and drive
The just man into barren climes.

Now the sneaking serpent walks
In mild humility.
And the just man rages in the wilds
Where lions roam.

Rintrah roars & shakes his fires in the burdend air;
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
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PLATE 3

As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years
since its advent: the Eternal Hell revives. And lo! Swedenborg is
the Angel sitting at the tomb; his writings are the linen clothes
folded up. Now is the dominion of Edom, & the return of Adam into
Paradise; see Isaiah XXXIV & XXXV Chap:
Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and
Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to
Human existence.
From these contraries spring what the religious call Good &
Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason[.] Evil is the...
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 AGAINST THE GRAIN



“Oxford be silent, I this truth must write

Leeds hath for rarities undone thee quite.”

 - William Dawson of Hackney, Nov.7th 1704



“The repressed becomes the poem”

 Louise Bogan





1



Well it’s Friday the thirteenth

So I’d better begin with luck

As I prepare for a journey to

The north, the place where I began

And I was lucky even before I

Was born for the red-hot shrapnel fell

And missed my mother by an inch

As she walked through the Blitz

In Bradford in nineteen forty-one.



Sydney Graham this poem is for you,

Although we never met, your feet

Have walked on the waters of poetic faith,

Hold out a hand for me to grasp,

A net to catch the dancing reflections

Of the midnight stars and smooth

The green tongue of the seawave

When it speaks to me as I slide

From my mother’s turning side.



For years I lived in the gardens

Of fire and flames robed time in

Memory and desire, icicles climbed

Six inches up the kitchen window

Then six inches down and six feet

Of snow lay against the POW’s as they

Marched with hefted shovels from

Knostrop’s cottage camp with curling

Smoke signalling from crooked stacks.





2



Yards from where I lay Hendry and

Moore sat in their attic conceiving

The Apocalypse and my natal stars

Were their ineffable words.

Shut off the telephone, I hear

Another...
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