poems..(not mine lol)

Begotten



I've never, as some children do,

looked at my folks and thought, I must

have come from someone else—

rich parents who'd misplaced me, bu

who would, as in a myth or novel,

return and claim me. Hell, no. I saw

my face in cousins' faces, heard

my voice in their high drawls. And Sundays,

after he dinner plates were cleared,

I lingered, elbow propped on red

oilcloth, and studied great-uncles, aunts,

and cousins new to me. They squirmed.

I stared till I discerned the features

they'd gotten from the family larder:

eyes, nose, lips, hair? I stared until,

uncomfortable, they'd snap, "Hey, boy—

what are you looking at? At me?"

"No, sir," I'd lie. "No, ma'am." I'd count ten

and then continue staring at them.

I never had to ask, What am I

I stared at my blood0-kin, and thought,

So this, dear God, is what I am.



- Andrew Hudgins

The Golf Links Lie So Near the Mill




The golf links lie so near the mill
That almost every day
The laboring children can look out
And see the men at play.



- Sarah Cleghorn

She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways





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.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!



- William Wordsworth

The Ruined Maid






"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" —
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

— "You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" —
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.

— "At home in the barton you said thee' and thou,'
And thik oon,' and the?_s oon,' and t'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!" —
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.

— "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!" —
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.

— "You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!" —
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.

— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" —
"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.


- Thomas Hardy

Those Winter Sunday





Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he'd call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love's austere and lonely offices?



- Robert Hayden

Leaving the Motel





Outside, the last kids holler
Near the pool: they'll stay the night.
Pick up the towels; fold your collar
Out of sight.

Check: is the second bed
Unrumpled, as agreed?
Landlords have to think ahead
In case of need,

Too. Keep things straight: don't take
The matches, the wrong keyrings—
We've nowhere we could keep a keepsake—
Ashtrays, combs, things

That sooner or later others
Would accidentally find.
Check: take nothing of one another's
And leave behind

Your license number only,
Which they won't care to trace;
We've paid. Still, should such things get lonely,
Leave in their vase

An aspirin to preserve
Our lilacs, the wayside flowers
We've gathered and must leave to serve
A few more hours;

That's all. We can't tell when
We'll come back, can't press claims;
We would no doubt have other rooms then,
Or other names.



- W. D. Snodgrass

[Let me not to the marriage of true minds]




Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth??s unknown, although his height be taken
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.



- William Shakespeare

[Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone]





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 for ever: 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.



- W. H. Auden

La Belle Dame Sans Merci




I

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.
II

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.
III

I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.
IV

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful - a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.
V

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.
VI

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

A faery's song.
VII

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said -

'I love thee true'.
VIII

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.
IX

And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -

The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill side.
X

I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!'
XI

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.
XII

And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.



- John Keats

If This Be Love





If this be love, to draw a weary breath,

To paint on floods till the shore cry to th'air,
With downward looks, still reading on the earth
The sad memorials of my love's despair;
If this be love, to war against my soul,
Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve,
The never-resting stone of care to roll,
Still to complain my griefs whilst none relieve;
If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts,
Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart;
My pleasures horror, music tragic notes,
Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart.
If this be love, to live a living death,
Then do I love and draw this weary breath.



- Samuel Daniel

How Do I Love Thee?




How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Ballad of Chevy Chase





Fytte I

I
THE PERCY out of Northumberland,
An avow to God made he
That he would hunt in the mountains
Of Cheviot within days three,
In the maugre?? of doughty?? Douglas, 5 despite; formidable, mighty
And all that e??er with him be.


II
The fattest harts?? in all Cheviot deer
He would kill and carry away.—
—By my faith,?? said the doughty Douglas again,
—I will let?? that hunting if I may!?? 10 hinder

III
Then the Percy out of Banborowe1 came,
With him a mighty meinye,?? company of troops
With fifteen hundred archers bold
Chosen out of shir?s three.2

IV
This began on a Monday at morn, 15
In Cheviot the hills so hye;?? high
The child may rue that is unborn,
It was the more pitye.

V
The drivers through the wood?s went
[All] for to raise the deer, 20
Bowmen bicker??d?? upon the bent?? skirmished; coarse, wild grass
With their broad arrows clear.

VI
Then the wild?? thoro?? the wood?s went game
On every sid? shear;?? several
Grayhounds thoro?? the grev?s glent?? 25 groves darted
For to kill their deer.

VII
This began on Cheviot the hills abune?? above
Early on a Monenday;?? Monday
By that it drew to the hour of noon
A hundred fat harts dead there lay. 30

VIII
They blew a mort?? upon the bent, sounded the kill on the horn
They ??sembled on sid?s shear;?? on al
To the quarry?? then the Percy went the prey
To the brittling?? of the deer. cutting up

IX
He said, —It was the Douglas?? promise 35
This day to meet me here;
But I wist he would fail, verament!—? truly
—A great oath the Percy sware.?? swore


X
At the last a squire of Northumberland
Look?d at his hand full nigh; 40
He was ware?? o?? the doughty Douglas coming, aware
With him a great meinye.

XI
Both with spe?_r, bill?? and brand,— battle-axe; sword
??Twas a mighty sight to see;
Hardier men both of heart nor hand 45
Were not in Christiant?.

XII
They were twenty hundred spearmen good,
Withouten any fail:
They were born along by the water o?? Tweed River
I?? the boun??s?? o?? Teviotdale. 50 boundaries

XIII
—Leave off the brittling of deer,?? he said;

—To your bows look ye take good heed,
For sith?? ye were on your mothers born since
Had ye never so mickle?? need.?? much

XIV
The doughty Douglas on a steed 55
Rode all his men beforn;?? in front of
His armour glitter??d as did a gleed,?? a burning coal
Bolder bairn?? was never born. fighter

XV
—Tell me whose men ye are,?? he says,
—Or whose men that ye be; 60
Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chase
In the spite of mine and of me—

XVI
The first man that him answer made
It was the good Lord Percye:
We will not tell thee whose men we are, 65
Nor whose men that we be;
But we will hunt here in this chase
In the spite of thine and of thee.

XVII
—The fattest harts in all Cheviot
We have kill??d, to carry away.—?? 70
—By my troth,—? said the doughty Douglas again, I swear
—The one of us dies this day.

XVIII
—[Yet] to kill all? these guiltless men
Alas, it were great pitye!
But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, 75
I an earl in my countrye—
Let all our men on a party?? stand, apart
And do battle of thee and me!—? Let you and I fight

XIX
—Christ's curse on his crown,?? said the lord Percye,
—Whosoever thereto says nay! 80
By my troth, thou doughty Douglas,?? he says,
—Thou shalt never see that day—

XX
—??Neither in England, Scotland nor France,
Nor for no man of woman born,
But, that (and fortune be my chance) 85
I dare meet him, one man for one.??

XXI
Then bespake a squire of Northumberland,
Richard Witherington was his name;
—It shall never be told in South England
To King Harry the Fourth?? for shame. 90 Henry IV

XXII
—I wot you bin?? great lord?s two, I know you are
I am a poor squire of land;
[Yet] I??ll ne??er see my captain fight on a field
And stand myself and look on.
But while that I may my weapon wield 95
I??ll not fail, both heart and hand.??

XXIII
That day, that day, that dreadful day!—
The first fytte?? here I find: "chapter" of a ballad
An you??ll hear?? any more o?? the hunting of Cheviot, If you wish to hear
Yet there is more behind. 100

Fytte II

XXIV

The Englishmen had their bows y-bent,
Their hearts were good enow;?? enough
The first of arrows that they shot off
Seven score spearmen they slew.

XXV
Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent, 105
A captain good enoghe;?? enough
And that was seen? verament,
For he wrought them both woe and wouche.?? mischief

XXVI
The Douglas parted his host in three,
Like a chief chieftain of pride; 110
With sur? spears of mighty tree?? strong wood, timber
They came in on every side;

XXVII
—Through? our English archery
Gave many a woond?? full wide; wound
Many a doughty?? they gar??d?? to dye, 115 valorous man; caused
Which gain?d them no pride.

XXVIII
The Englishmen let their bow?s be,
And pull??d out brands?? that were bright; swords
It was a heavy sight to see
Bright swords on basnets?? light. 120 helmets

XXIX
Thoro?? rich mail and manoplie?? gauntlets
Many stern?? they struck down straight; strong men
Many a freyke?? that was full free brave man, warrior
There under foot did light.

XXX
At last the Douglas and the Percy met, 125
Like to captains of might and of main;
They swapt?? together till they both swat?? exchanged blows; sweated
With sword?s of fine Milan.?? Milanese steel

XXXI
These worthy freyk?s for to fight
Thereto they were full fain,?? 130 eager
Till the blood out of their basnets sprent?? spurted
As ever did hail or rain.

XXXII
—Yield thee, Percy,?? said the Douglas,
—And i?? faith I shall thee bring
Where thou shalt have an Earl??s wages 135
Of Jamie our Scottish king.

XXXIII
—Thou shalt? have thy ransom free,
—I hight?? thee here this thing; pledge
For the manfullest man thou art that e??er
I conquer??d in field fighting.?? 140

XXXIV
But —Nay??, then said the lord Percye,
—I told it thee beforn
That I would never yielded be
To man of a woman born.??

XXXV
With that an arrow came hastily 145
Forth of a mighty wane;?? swain, fellow
And it hath stricken the Earl Douglas
In at the breast?-bane. breastbone

XXXVI
Thoro?? liver and lung?s both
The sharp arr?_w is gone, 150
That never after in his life-days
He spake mo words but one:
??Twas, —Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may,
For my life-days bin gone!??

XXXVII
The Percy lean?d on his brand 155 sword
And saw the Douglas dee; die
He took the dead man by the hand,
And said, —Woe is me for thee!

XXXVIII
—To have sav??d thy life I??d have parted with
My lands for year?s three, 160
For a better man of heart nor of hand
Was not in the north countrye.??

XXXIX
[All this there saw] a Scottish knight,
Sir Hugh the Montgomerye:
When he saw Douglas to the death was dight, 165 doomed
Through a hundred archerye
He never stint?? nor he never blint?? stopped; blenched, flinched
Till he came to the lord Percye.

XL
He set upon the lord Percy
A dint that was full sore; 170 blow
With a sur? spear of a mighty tree
Thro?? the body him he bore,
O?? the t??other side that a man might see
A large cloth-yard and more.

XLI
An archer of Northumberland 175
Saw slain was the lord Percye:
He bare a bent bow in his hand,
Was made of a trusty tree.

XLII
An arrow that was a cloth-yard long
To the hard steel hal?d?? he, 180 pulled
A dint that was both sad?? and sair?? serious and fierce
He set on Montgomerye.

XLIII
The dint it was both sad and sair sure and fierce
That he on Montgomerye set;
The swan-feathers that his arrow bare?? 185 bore
With his heart-blood they were wet.

XLIV
There was never a freyk— one foot would flee, fellow
But still in stoure?? did stand; battle
Hewing on each other, while they might dree,?? endure
With many a baleful?? brand.?? 190 deadly; sword

XLIX

Sir George, the worthy Loumlye,
A knight of great renown,
Sir Ralph, the rich? Rabye,
With dints?? were beaten down. 210 blows

L
For Witherington my heart was woe
That ever he slain should be:
For when both his legs were hewn in two
Yet he kneel??d and fought on his knee.

LI
There was slayn with the doughty Douglas, 215
Sir Hugh the Montgomerye,
Sir Davy Lambwell, that worthy was,
His sister??s son was he.

LII
Sir Charles a Murray in that place,
That never a foot would flee: 220
Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,
With the Douglas did he dee.?? die

LIII
So on the morrow they made them biers
Of birch and hazel so gray;
Many widows with weeping tears 225
Came to fetch their makes?? away. mates

LIV
Teviotdale may carp?? of care,?? complain from sorrow
Northumberland may make moan,
For two such captains as slain were there
On the March-parts?? shall never be none. 230 the Scottish Marches

LV
Word is come to Edinboro??,
To Jamie the Scottish King,
Earl Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot within.

LVI
His hands the King did weal?? and wring, 235 wail
Said, —Alas! and woe is me!
Such another captain Scotland within
I?? faith shall never be!??

LVII
Word is come to lovely London
To the fourth Harry, our King, 240
Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot within.

LVIII
—God have mercy on his soul,?? said King Harry,
—Good Lord, if thy will it be!
I??ve a hundred captains in England,?? he said, 245
—As good as ever was he:
But Percy, an I brook my life,?? if I enjoy life, as I live
Thy death well quit?? shall be.?? acquitted, avenged.

LIX
And as our King made his avow
Like a noble prince of renown, 250
For Percy he did it well perform
After, on Homble-down;3

LX
Where six-and-thirty Scottish knights
On a day were beaten down;
Glendale glitter??d on their armour bright 255
Over castle, tower and town.

LXI
This was the Hunting of the Cheviot;
That e??er began this spurn!?? kick
Old men, that knowen the ground well,
Call it of Otterburn. 260

LXII
There was never a time on the Marche-part?s
Since the Douglas and Percy met,
But ??tis marvel an?? the red blood run not if
As the reane?? does in the street. rain

LXIII
Jesu Christ! our bal?s bete,?? 265 relieve our suffering
And to the bliss?? us bring! eternal happiness
This was the Hunting of the Cheviot:
God send us all good end

Miniver Cheevy




Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,

Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;

He wept that he was ever born,

And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old

When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;

The vision of a warrior bold

Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,

And dreamed, and rested from his labors;

He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,

And Priam's neighbors.

Minever mourned the ripe renown

That made so many a name so fragrant;

He mourned Romance, now on the town,

And Art, a vagrant.

Minever loved the Medici,

Albeit he had never seen one;

He would have sinned incessantly

Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace

And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;

He missed the medi?_val grace

Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,

But sore annoyed was he without it;

Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,

And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,

Scratched his head and kept on thinking;

Miniver coughed, and called it fate,

And kept on drinking.



- E.A. Robinson

Morgan Le Fay






In dim samite was she bedight,
And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like foxfire, in the tawn moonlight,
Was glimmering cold.

With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;
With soft red lips she sang a song:
What knight might gaze upon her face,
Nor fare along?

For all her looks were full of spells,
And all her words, of sorcery;
And in some way they seemed to say,
"Oh, come with me!

"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!
Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!" —
How should he know the witch, I trow,
Morgan le Fay?

How should he know the wily witch,
With sweet white face and raven hair?
Who, through her art, bewitched his heart
And held him there.

Eftsoons his soul had waxed amort
To wold and weald, to slade and stream;
And all he heard was her soft word
As one adream.

And all he saw was her bright eyes,
And her fair face that held him still:
And wild and wan she led him on
O'er vale and hill.

Until at last a castle lay
Beneath the moon, among the trees:
Its gothic towers old and gray
With mysteries.

Tall in its hall a hundred knights
In armor stood with glaive in hand:
The following of some great king,
Lord of that land.

Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,
All Arthur's knights, and many mo;
But these in battle had been slain
Long years ago.

But when Morgan with lifted hand
Moved down the hall, they louted low:
For she was Queen of Shadowland,
That woman of snow.

Then from Sir Kay she drew away,
And cried on high all mockingly: —
"Behold, sir knights, the knave I bring,
Who lay with me.

"Behold! I met him 'mid the furze:
Beside him there he made me lie:
Upon him, yea, there rests my curse:
Now let him die!"

Then as one man those shadows raised
Their brands, whereon the moon glanced gray:
And clashing all strode from the wall
Against Sir Kay.

And on his body, bent and bowed,
The hundred blades as one blade fell:
While over all rang long and loud
The mirth of Hell.



-Madison Cawein-

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