Category Poem

I idly cut a parsley stalk,And blew therein towards the moon;I had not thought what ghosts would walkWith shivering footsteps to my tune. I went, and knelt, and scooped my handAs if to drink, into the brook,And a faint figure…

I When I weekly knew An ancient pew, And murmured there The forms of prayer And thanks and praise In the ancient ways, And heard read out During August drought That chapter from Kings Harvest-time brings; — How the prophet,…

After Three Hundred Years Bright baffling Soul, least capturable of themes, Thou, who display’dst a life of common-place, Leaving no intimate word or personal trace Of high design outside the artistry Of thy penned dreams, Still shalt remain at heart…

(Wimborne) How smartly the quarters of the hour march by That the jack-o’-clock never forgets; Ding-dong; and before I have traced a cusp’s eye, Or got the true twist of the ogee over, A double ding-dong ricochetts. Just so did…

‘What have you looked at, Moon, In your time. Now long past your prime?’ ‘O, I have looked at, often looked at Sweet, sublime Sore things, shudderful, night and noon, In my time.’ ‘What have you mused on, Moon, In…

When the spring comes round, and a certain dayLooks out from the brume by the eastern copsetrees And says, Remember, I begin again, as if it were new, A day of like date I once lived through, Whiling it hour…

There was a stunted handpost just on the crest, Only a few feet high:She was tired, and we stopped in the twilight-time for her rest, At the crossways close thereby.She leant back, being so weary, against its stem, And laid…

I was sitting, She was knitting,And the portraits of our fore-folk hung around; When there struck on us a sigh; “Ah — what is that?” said I:”Was it not you?” said she. “A sigh did sound.” I had not breathed…

You were the sort that men forget; Though I—not yet! —Perhaps not ever. Your slighted weakness Adds to the strength of my regret! You’d not the art—you never had For good or bad —To make men see how sweet your…

I am the family face;Flesh perishes, I live on,Projecting trait and traceThrough time to times anon,And leaping from place to placeOver oblivion.The years-heired feature that canIn curve and voice and eyeDespise the human spanOf durance — that is I;The eternal…