In Memoriam A.H.H. Alfred, Lord Tennyson CI Unwatch’d, the garden bough shall sway, The tender blossom flutter down, Unloved, that beech will gather brown, This maple burn itself away; Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair, Ray round with flames her disk of seed, And many a rose-carnation feed With summer spice the humming air; Unloved, by …
Nature’s Questioning Thomas Hardy When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master’s ways Through the long teaching days Their first terrestrial zest had chilled and overborne. And …
What Is Life?John Clare (1793-1864) AND what is Life?—An hour-glass on the run,A mist retreating from the morning sun,A busy, bustling, still repeated dream.—Its length?—A minute’s pause, a moment’s thought.And happiness?—A bubble on the stream,That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought. What is vain Hope?—The puffing gale of morn,That robs each flow’ret of …
The WindhoverGerard Manley Hopkins To Christ Our Lord I caught this morning morning’s minion, king- dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and stridingHigh there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wingIn his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, As a …
The Best of SchoolD.H. Lawrence The blinds are drawn because of the sun,And the boys and the room in a colourless gloomOf underwater float: bright ripples runAcross the walls as the blinds are blownTo let the sunlight in; and I,As I sit on the shores of the class, alone,Watch the boys in their summer blousesAs …
A Postcard from the Volcano by Wallace Stevens Children picking up our bones . . .
A Postcard from the Volcano by Wallace Stevens Children picking up our bones . . .
