Saint Anthony at church Was left in the lurch, So he went to the ditches And preached to the fishes. They wriggled their tails, In the sun glanced their scales. The carps, with their spawn, Are all thither drawn; Have opened their jaws, Eager for each clause. No sermon beside Had the carps so edified. Sharp-snouted pikes, Who keep fighting like tikes, Now swam up harmonious To hear Saint Antonius...
WHETHER on Ida’s shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas’d; Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air Where the melodious winds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea Wand’ring in many a coral grove, Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry! How have...
To W.S.B. When the grey evening spreads a calm around, Tell me, has thy bewilder’d fancy sought, Retir’d in some sequestered spot of ground, Rest, from the labour of eternal thought? When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose, The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat, In dream-like musing every care we lose, And wind our way with slowly-moving feet. Oft, to indulge the...
Rhenish autumn To Toussaint-Luca The children of the dead come and play In the cemetery Martin Gertrude Hans and Henri No cockerel has crowed today Adoodleday The old women Walk along slowly with tearful faces And the good-natured donkeys Bray hee-haw and start guzzling the flowers Of the funeral wreaths It’s the day of the dead and of all their souls The children and the old women Light their...
Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs refines,
till by degrees the floating mirror shines;
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in it’s fair bosom shows.
(Joseph Addison)
William Blake (1757–1827).
AH, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller’s journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
I went to the Garden of Love, And I saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And „Thou shalt not.“ Writ over the door; So I turn’d to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking...
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the houses’ walls Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul’s Loomed like a bubble o’er the town. Then suddenly arose the clang Of waking life; the streets were stirred With country waggons:...
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain; When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature...
Where is the street I loved so wellOf many years agoThe years have gone and who can tellWhere did those people go? The old gas lamp where the gang would meetAt the top of Morris LaneThe alleyway to Carnals courtWe sheltered from the rain. Fish and chips at Mrs Trouts,We would all go back for moreBuy some sweets from auntie BessPlay fagcards by her door. Salvation Army played across the...