Tag: creative
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My Own Heart Let Me Have More Pity On
By Gerard Manley Hopkins My own heart let me have more pity on; let Me live to my sad self hereafter kind, Charitable; not live this tormented mind With this tormented mind tormenting yet. I cast for comfort I can no more get By groping round my comfortless, than blind Eyes in their dark can…
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In Time Of ‘The Breaking Of Nations’
Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk. Only thin smoke without flame From the heaps of couch-grass; Yet this will go onward the same Though Dynasties pass. Yonder a maid and her wight Come whispering by; War’s annals will…
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Inversnaid
Written By Gerard Manley Hopkins This darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollrock highroad roaring down, In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam Flutes and low to the lake falls home. A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth Turns and twindles over the broth Of a pool so pitchblack, fell-frowning, It rounds and rounds Despair to…
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History
Written By Laurence Binyon Time has stored all, but keeps his chronicle In secret, beyond all our probe or gauge. There flows the human story, vast and full; And here a muddy trickle smears the page. The things our hearts remember make a sound So faint; so loud the menace and applause. The gleaners come,…
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Eight o’ Clock
He stood, and heard the steeple Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. One, two, three, four, to market-place and people It tossed them down. Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck. A.E Housman
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At The Round Earth’s Imagin’d Corners
At the round earth’s imagin’d corners, blow Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scatter’d bodies go, All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes, Shall behold God, and…
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Death Be Not Proud
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so, For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, And soonest…
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The nymph’s reply to the shepherd
By Sir Walter Raleigh If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherds tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complain of…
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Joining The Poetry Racket
There are a lot of poets out there, apparently everyone is a poet, on some level. So I thought, if this is the flavor of the week, lets take a taste shall we? With that here is my entry for poem of the week! Roses are red Violets are blue I see the likes Your…
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UW – “…Free as the hurricane…”
Lo! In the mute, mid wilderness, What wondrous creature? – of no kind! – His burning lair doth largely press – Gaze fixt – and feeding on the wind? From his stately forehead springs Piercing to heaven, a radiant horn, – Lo! The compeer of lion-kings! The steer self-armed, the Unicorn! Ever heard of, never…
THE NECROMANCER 