And this grey spirit
yearning in desire,
To follow knowledge
like a sinking star,
beyond the utmost
bound of human thought.
I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart.
Much have I seen and
known,--
cities of men, And
manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least,
but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight
of battle with my peers,"
"I gave up on new poetry
myself thirty years ago, when most of it began to read like coded messages
passing between lonely aliens on a hostile world."
- Russell Baker
There is a schoolteacher
in my town and he looks like Bugs Bunny,
He's a mass murderer
and I'm not being funny.
- Paul Durcan
My soul, there is a
country far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged
sentry all skilful in the wars:
There, above noise
and danger Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles
If thou canst get
but thither, there grows the flow'r of Peace,
The Rose that cannot
wither, thy fortress and thy ease.
Thy God, thy life,
thy cure.
- "Peace", Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)
"If I should die, think
only this of me:
That there's some
corner of a foreign field that is forever England.
There shall be in
that rich earth a richer dust concealed.
A dust whom England
bore, shaped, made aware."
- Rupert Brooke, "The Soldier"
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full,
the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;
—on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone;
the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast,
out in the tranquil bay.
...
Ah, love, let us be
true
To one another! for
the world, which seems
To lie before us like
a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful,
so new,
Hath really neither
joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor
peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as
on a darkling plain
Swept with confused
alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies
clash by night.
- Matthew Arnold, "Dover Beach"
When you see millions
of the mouthless dead
Across your dreams
in pale battalions go,
Say not soft things
as other men have said,
That you'll remember.
For you need not so.
Give them not praise.
For, deaf, how should they know
It is not curses heaped
on each gashed head?
Nor tears. Their blind
eyes see not your tears flow.
Nor honour. It is
easy to be dead.
Say only this, "They
are dead." Then add thereto,
"yet many a better
one has died before."
Then, scanning all
the overcrowded mass, should you
Perceive one face
that you loved heretofore,
It is a spook. None
wears the face you knew.
Great death has made
all this for evermore.
- Charles Sorley, "When You See Millions Of The Mouthless Dead" (1915)
Perfection, of a kind,
was what he was after,
And the poetry he
invented was easy to understand ;
He knew human folly
like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested
in armies and fleets ;
When he laughed, respectable
senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried
the little children died in the streets.
- Epitaph on a Tyrant, by WH Auden
I shall be telling
this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and
ages hence :
Two roads diverged
in a wood, and I - I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made
all the difference.
- The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost
I must down to the
seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a
tall ship and a star to steer her by.
- John Masefield, "Sea Fever"
I had seen flowers
come in stony places
And kind things done
by men with ugly faces,
And the gold cup won
by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust, too.
- John Masefield , "Epilogue", on the surprises of life
She dwelt among the
untrodden ways beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there
were none to praise and very few to love.
A violet by a mossy
stone half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when
only one is shining in the sky.
- Byron
Give me a look, give
me a face, that makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing,
hair as free,-- Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries
of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
In the beauty of the
lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his
bosom that transfigures you and me :
As He died to make
men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching
on.
- WH Auden, "The Age of Anxiety", 1947.
~
Then out spoke brave
Horatius, the Captain of the Gate :
"To every man upon
this earth, Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die
better, than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his
fathers, and the temple of his Gods!"
Certainly there are lots of things that money won't buy, but it's very funny - Have you ever tried to buy them without money ?
- Liam Aungier, "Ganymede in Marble"
Great wits are sure
to Madness near allied
And thin partitions
do their bounds divide;
David for him his
tuneful harp had strung,
And Heav'n had wanted
one Immortal Song,
But wild Ambition
loves to slide, not stand,
And Fortunes Ice prefers
to Vertues Land.
No ! I am not Prince
Hamlet, nor was meant to be ;
Am an attendant lord,
one that will do
To swell a progress,
start a scene or two,
Advise the prince
; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad
to be of use,
Politic, cautious,
and meticulous ;
Full of high sentence,
but a bit obtuse ;
At times, indeed,
almost ridiculous - Almost, at times, the Fool.
I have heard the mermaids
singing, each to each.
I do not think that
they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding
seaward on the waves
Combing the white
hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows
the water white and black.
We have lingered in
the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed
with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices
wake us, and we drown.
Out of Ireland have
we come,
Great hatred, little
room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's
womb
A fanatic heart.
I would spread the
cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor,
have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams
under your feet;
Tread softly because
you tread on my dreams.
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy
bubbles,
While the world is
full of troubles
And is anxious in
its sleep.
Come away, O human
child!
To the waters and
the wild
With a faery, hand
in hand,
For the world's more
full of weeping than you can understand.
- WB Yeats, "The Stolen Child"
I think it better that
in times like these
A poet's mouth be
silent, for in truth
We have no gift to
set a statesman right;
He has had enough
of meddling who can please
A young girl in the
indolence of her youth,
Or an old man upon
a winter's night.
- William Butler Yeats, "On being asked for a War Poem"
O the mind has mountains;
cliffs of fall, frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.
Hold them cheap may
who ne'er hung there.
- GM Hopkins, "No Worst There Is None"
#
"Tis better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven."
"Those whom reason hath equaled, force hath made supreme..."
"The mind is it's own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, and a hell of heaven."
"Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe."
"Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe."
"A grateful mind by owing owes not, but still pays, at once indebted and discharg'd. "
"Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers."
"Some say no evil thing that walks by night, in fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost that breaks his magic chains at curfew time, no goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, hath hurtful power o'er true virginity."
"The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, but in another country, as he said, bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain treads on it daily with his clouted shoon."
"Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise to scorn delights, and live laborious days;"
"Such sights as youthful poets dream on summer eves by haunted stream."
- William Wordsworth, writing in 1802 long after Milton's death
#
For of all sad words
of tongue or pen, the saddest are these,
"It might have been!"
No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
- John Donne
Lives of great men
all remind us we can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave
behind us footprints on the sands of time.
- Thomas Darcy McGee, Irish emigrant to Canada
~
There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.
Say first, of God above or man below, what can we reason but from what we know?
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel.
Know then thyself,
presume not God to scan;
The proper study of
mankind is man.
For forms of government let fools contest; Whate'er is best administer'd is best. For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;
Honour and shame from
no condition rise;
Act well your part,
there all the honour lies.
She who never answers
till a husband cools;
Or if she rules him,
never shows she rules.
Who shall decide when
doctors disagree,
and soundest casuists
doubt, like you and me?
One science only will one genius fit: So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
A little learning is a dangerous thing; drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking largely sobers us again.
Words are like leaves;
and where they most abound,
much fruit of sense
beneath is rarely found.
All seems infected
that th' infected spy,
as all looks yellow
to the jaundic'd eye.
To err is human, to forgive divine
For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Not hate, but glory,
made these chiefs contend;
And each brave foe
was in his soul a friend.
It is not strength,
but art, obtains the prize,
and to be swift is
less than to be wise.
'T is more by art
than force of num'rous strokes.
The long historian of my country's woes.
"There is always the
delicate question of how common common sense should be... I am not suggesting
that modern English poetry must be concerned with psychoanalysis or with
the concentration camps or with the hydrogen bomb... I am not suggesting,
in fact, that it must be anything... I am, however, suggesting that it
drop the pretence that life, give or take a few social distinctions, is
the same as ever, that gentility, decency and all the other social totems
will eventually muddle through."
- Al Alvarez
All the parts of the
universe I have an interest in: the earth serves me to walk upon; the sun
to light me; the stars have their influence upon me.
- Montaigne, "Apology for Raimond Sebond"
There's plenty of pain
here - but it don't kill. There's plenty of suffering here, but it don't
last. You see, happiness ain't a thing in itself - it's only a contrast
with something that ain't pleasant.
- Mark Twain ,"Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven".
Much have I travell'd
in the realms of gold,
and many goodly states
and kingdoms seen;
Round many western
islands have I been
which bards in fealty
to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse
had I been told
that deep-brow'd Homer
ruled as his demesne,
Yet did I never breathe
its pure serene
till I heard Chapman
speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some
watcher of the skies
when a new planet
swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez
when with eagle eyes
he stared at the Pacific,
and all his men
look'd at each other
with a wild surmise,
silent, upon a peak
in Darien.
"When all the world
dissolves, and every creature shall be purified,
all places shall be
hell that are not heaven."
#
XXXIV by WH Auden
Stop all the clocks,
cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from
barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos
and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin,
let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle
moaning overhead
Scribbling on the
sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round
the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen
wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my
South, my East and West,
My working week and
my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight,
my talk, my song;
I thought that love
would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted
now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and
dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can
ever come to any good.
#
The wombat lives across
the seas, among the far Antipodes.
He may exist on nuts
and berries, or then again, on missionaries;
His distant habitat
precludes conclusive knowledge of his moods.
But I would not engage
the wombat in any form of mortal combat.
REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS TO COME by Ogden Nash
What am I doing, daughter
mine?
A-haying while the
sun doth shine; Gathering rosebuds while I may,
Reveling in the brief
sensation of basking in your admiration.
Oh, now, when you
are almost five, I am the lordliest man alive;
Your gaze is blind
to any flaw, and brimming with respect and awe.
Though adults oft
my charm disparage,
three times you've
sought my hand in marriage.
You think me handsome,
strong and brave.
You came at morn to
watch me shave.
The neighbors' insults
lose their sting when you encourage me to sing,
And like a fashion
plate I pose while you compliment my clothes.
Who wishes his self-esteem
to thrive should belong to a girl of almost five, But almost five can't
last forever. And wide-eyed girls grow tall and clever. Few creatures others
less admire than a lass of seventeen her sire.
What humiliation must
you weather when we are seen in public together!
Perchance I'll munch
a stick of gum, or in the theater brazenly hum;
My hat, belike, will
flout the law laid down for hats at Old Nassau;
My anecdotes you'll
strive to stanch, and at my table manner blanch;
My every word and
every deed will agony and embarrassment breed;
Your goal of goals,
the end of your ends, to hide me forever from your friends.
Therefore, I now chant
roundelays, and rollick in your pride and praise;
Too soon the nymph
that you will be will shudder when she looks at me.
#