The Dream

John Donne

 

   Dear love, for nothing less than thee

Would I have broke this happy dream;

            It was a theme

For reason, much too strong for fantasy,

Therefore thou wak'd'st me wisely; yet

My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.

Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice

To make dreams truths, and fables histories;

Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,

Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

   As lightning, or a taper's light,

Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd me;

            Yet I thought thee

(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;

But when I saw thou sawest my heart,

And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,

When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when

Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,

I must confess, it could not choose but be

Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

   Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,

But rising makes me doubt, that now

            Thou art not thou.

That love is weak where fear's as strong as he;

'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,

If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;

Perchance as torches, which must ready be,

Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;

Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I

Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

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At Night
Sara Teasdale

Love said, "Wake still and think of me,"
Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day,"
But Dreams came by and smilingly
Gave both to Love and Sleep their way.       

Royal Navy Air Station
Roy Fuller

The piano, hollow and sentimental, plays
And outside, falling in a moonlit haze,
The rain is endless as the empty days.

Here in the mess, on beds, on benches, fall
The blue serge limbs in shapes fantastical:
The photographs of girls are on the wall.

And the songs of the minute walk into our ears;
Behind the easy words are difficult tears:
The pain which stabs is dragged out over years.

A ghost has made uneasy every bed.
You are not you without me and The dead
Only are pleased to be alone it said.

And hearing it silently the living cry
To be again themselves, or sleeping try
To dream it is impossible to die.

The Bay
Roy Fuller

The semi-circular and lunar bay
Where the grey stone fall to untidily
The grey volcanic waves: no man, no tree,
Break the cold greenness of the bitten lea-
The scene the orator of memory
Already knew: forbore till now to say.

But on the hill the gun’s black twig, the moan
Of the convoy home from seas instinct with steel,
The hidden spies. The bomber’s slanting keel
As slowly it takes the wind-all the remain
Unwished, undreamed, unknown. They are the days,
The escaping seconds, terrible and real,
Through which I live; which memory will seal
To keep and smear for ever future bays.

Who Ever Loved, That Loved Not At First Sight
Christopher Marlowe

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

 

 

If
Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Spring
Thomas Carew

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.

Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes,
Thomas Moore

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
All filled with hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise
To dim a heaven so purely bright --
I sigh to think how soon that brow
In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart so joyous now,
Almost forget it once was gay.

For Time will come with all his blights,
The ruined hope -- the friend unkind --
The love that leaves, where'er it lights,
A chilled or burning heart behind!
While youth, that now like snow appears,
Ere sullied by the darkening rain,
When once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears,
Will never shine so bright again.

Bright Star
John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.       

First Mother's Day without you. x

Drinking Alone
Li Po

I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.

I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.

But the moon doesn't drink,
and my shadow silently follows.

I will travel with moon and shadow,
happy to the end of spring.

When I sing, the moon dances.
When I dance, my shadow dances, too.

We share life's joys when sober.
Drunk, each goes a separate way.

Constant friends, although we wander,
we'll meet again in the Milky Way.

The Good Morrow
John Donne

I wonder, by my truth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved; were we not weaned till then,
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess our world; each hath one and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mix't equally;
If our two loves be one; or thou and I
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.       

yes is a pleasant country
e e cummings

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

WORLD POETRY DAY

Song of the Crowning of Kings (part only)
Lauchlan Maclean Watt

Here, all alone in the dark,
While the stars are dying,
My soul grows still, and I hark
To the voice of the sea-winds crying
From far away, where, low on the long-ridged sands,
The tired grey sea beats out his time-old song with weary hands,
And, as I listen, up from the ghostly street,
I hear the throb of a thousand marching feet,
And ever, as they come,
The faint, dull guiding pulse of a distant drum.

The windows are silent all, and darkened, the lights are gone:
And the dying starlight flickers, dimly wan,
But I know that the town is full of the shadows of marching men,
Though never a trace of their passing shall wait the dawn,
And never on earth, except in dream, shall their faces gleam again.

And my soul is caught from its stillness,
And the stars awake in the night,
And the winds, from the waste and the waters,
Cry, half in joy and in fright:
"Who are ye ghostly marchers,
And whence do your squadrons come,
And your companies pressing onward
To the beat of the phantom drum?"
"We are the dead of England:
Our dust is under the leas.
They buried us deep, in our battle-sleep,
They plunged us down in the seas.
We are the brave of England,
We fought for the bristling breach,
And died that our brothers might climb on our bones,
And carry the flag where we could not reach...
We went down in the waste of waters:
We grappled the foe on ships...
In mist and smoke, where battle broke,-
And her name was on our lips.
Living or dying,
Our flag still flying,
Where our hands had nailed it fast,
We fell for the might of England,
And we were not her last.

"Never a cannon's booming,
Never a battles roar,
Never the marching of armies
Thundrous, along the shore,
But it stirred us in our sleeping,
And we turned in our nameless bed,
For we knew there were wars for England,
And we were England's dead...
We have heard... we have burst our prison,
For a king to be hailed, and crowned,
We have waked for a while and risen
To gather, and guard him round.
For a King's to be crowned in the Minster,
And the bravest should be there;
The living and dead of England
Her sorrows and joys must share."

Farewell
Anne Bronte

Farewell to Thee! But not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of Thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell
And they shall cheer and comfort me.

Life seems more sweet that Thou didst live
And men more true that Thou wert one;
Nothing is lost that Thou didst give,
Nothing destroyed that Thou hast done.

Well Dressing

 

Heart's Song
Richard Spender

Sing, Heart, a gay song,
Before my knees give way and I grovel;
Before I break my own rein,
And the eyes of those that love me
See me a coward, and fill with ice, despising!

'Shut the door behind you tight,
There's no returning.
In memory your tears will flow
For home's peace yearning.
Pretend you have no mother,
No soft-eyed love,
Pretend you hate your brother
...O, Christ above...
Forget that hedgerows shelter lambs,
That clover stems are sweet,
Forget you plucked her cowslips
Where other lovers meet.'

'Sing, Heart! Quickly, sing loudly
Some song to take from me this fear;
Take hold of this blade, and drag it,
Drag it by chorus and joke, ruthlessly,
Before it kills me, from my naked heart.

'Laugh and sing, laugh and sing,
Laugh and sing at anything,
Laugh till you close your eyes with mirth.
This your only rest on earth -
Learn to laugh until you're blind,
And then the Fear that lurks behind
Will not be seen, will not be known,
Until you meet, unarmed, alone.
He who stops laughing and opens his eyes
Meets Death ten times before he dies.'

Give me a song, Heart, to sing loudly;
Something bold and without meaning,
Like a drum, like a drum, like a drum.
Sing quickly, Heart, in a strong voice
Before it is too late and my lips tremble,
A gay song, careless and free, powerful, blind,
Like a swinging, booted, marching-step,
Full of unthinking machine-courage,
Like a boot, shining and heavy, unfeeling, thick.

I looked at Heart, the hot tears through,
And saw that Heart was crying too.

The Young Soldier
Richard Spender

(He died aged just 21 as he led his men into battle in Tunisia during Operation Torch in WW2.)

I am young.
With my proud young body
I have run over the smiling threshold of life.
All my bright years
I have clapped hands in the sunlight.
I have smelt shy roses
And the full scents of rain-kissed woods in spring.
I have lain in ecstasy
Under the spell of the cool river
When the sunset carried to me the musics of God.
I have loved beautiful and strong things.
I have stood humbled in the shadows of the Irish hills,
I have bathed my body in the meadows of green Warwickshire.

All my swift time
I have run free,
Like an unbroken horse
Mad with the joy of the wind in my nostrils;
Excited in the new strength
Of the powerful limbs,
And unfenced race.

May I not pay for this?
Have I travelled like a coward?
Have I evaded the cost?
Come! We have lived life to the last stirring drop
Of the strange deep-thrilling wine.
As we have lived
So let us die.
In high proud exultation
Let us repay
Laughing blood with spilt.

Let Youth assure the Youth of later springs
The sunshine and the joy that it has known.

This rich river of life could never fade
Into a dull, sand-soaked stagnancy.
How better end it than to plunge
With unflinched pride in sacrifice
Over the final glorious cataract of Death?

Valentine
Mine

Your smile can startle me with the wonder of it,
A feather touch transmits a thousand things,
You look into my eyes, search my soul,
question it... In answering, it sings.
Your love is ever like a drug, I grow
addicted and will never cease to crave.
Do you realise, you had me at the first 'hello',
One simple word empowered to enslave.
Your voice, whispering softly to me, warms my heart,
I feel wrapped up, and safe from outside hate,
And often I recall it when we're far apart,
And because of it's assurance, stand the wait.
Keep me whole, keep me sane, love me until
All seas are ice and skies are never blue.
And if that day will come, believe, I'll love you still,
My Valentine, my heart belongs to you.

 Night Wind

John Clare

 

 Darkness like midnight from the sobbing woods

 Clamours with dismal tidings of the rain
 Roaring as rivers breaking loose in floods
 To spread and foam and deluge all the plain
 The cotter listens at his door again
 Half doubting whether it be floods or wind
 And through the thickening darkness looks afraid
 Thinking of roads that travel has to find
 Through night's black depths in danger's garb arrayed
 And the loud glabber round the flaze soon stops
 When hushed to silence by a lifted hand
 Of fearing dame who hears the noise in dread
 And thinks a deluge comes to drown the land
 Nor dares she go to bed until the tempest drops.

 

Love-Child
Brendan Kennelly

Because the love-child in her belly stirred
She understood the stirring of the sea
And scorned in silence every hollow word
They thought consoled her wordless misery.
She knew the agony of the shot bird,
The threat to lovers' ecstasy;
Her cousins prattled on, she scarcely heard
But stared straight at the fire, then suddenly

Got up and quit the house of platitude
Where a small ring of astonished people sat
Looking at each other first, then at the flame
While she, tasting the air of solitude,
Felt them recede into the night
And in the private darkness, breathed his name.

Before Action
W N Hodgson

By all the glories of the day
And the cool evening's benison
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills when day was done,
By beauty lavishly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a soldier, Lord.

By all of all man's hopes and fears
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavour that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.

I, that on my familiar hill
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say good-bye to all of this; -
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.

Back to Rest
W N Hodgson

A leaping wind from England
The skies without a stain,
Clean cut against the morning
Slim poplars after rain,
The foolish noise of sparrows
And starlings in a wood -
After the grime of battle
We know that these are good.

Death whining down from heaven,
Death roaring from the ground,
Death stinking in the nostril,
Death shrill in every sound,
Doubting we charged and conquered -
Hopeless we struck and stood;
Now when the fight is ended
We know that it was good.

We that have seen the strongest
Cry like a beaten child,
The sanest eyes unholy,
The cleanest hands defiled,
We that have known the heart-blood
Less than the lees of wine,
We that have seen men broken,
We know man is divine.

Ave, Mater - Atque Vale
W N Hodgson

The deathless mother, grey and battle-scarred,
Lies in the sanctuary of stately trees,
Where the deep Northern night is saffron starred
Above her head, and thro' the dusk she sees
God's shadowy fortress keep unsleeping guard.

From her full breast we drank of joy and mirth
And gave to her a boy's unreasoned heart,
Wherein Time's fullness was to bring to birth
Such passionate allegiance that to part
Seemed like the passing of all light on earth.

Now on the threshold of a man's estate,
With a new depth of love akin to pain
I ask thy blessing, while I dedicate
My life and sword, with promise to maintain
Thine ancient honour yet inviolate.

Last night dream-hearted in the Abbey's spell
We stood to sing old Simeon's passing hymn,
When sudden splendour of the sunset fell
Full on my eyes, and passed and left all dim -
At once a summons and a deep farewell.

I am content - our life is but a trust
From the great hand of God, and if I keep
The immortal Treasure clean of mortal rust
Against His claim, 'tis well and let me sleep
Among the not dishonourable dust.                             

Loving in Truth, and Fain in Verse my Love to Show
Sir Philip Sidney

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,
—Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain—
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburnt brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite—
"Fool!" said my Muse to me "look in thy heart, and write!"       

Come, O come, my life's delight!
Thomas Campion

Come, O come, my life's delight!
Let me not in languor pine:
Love loves no delay, thy sight
The more enjoyed, the more divine.
O come, and take from me
The pain of being deprived of thee.

Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
Like a little world of bliss:
Beauty guards thy looks: the rose
In them pure and eternal is.
Come then! and make thy flight
As swift to me as heavenly light!

Before the Thirteenth, Hamburg, May 1942
Arthur E Newall

Now I have done twelve.
If I could shelve tonight's affair
And not be there
When the clouded moon
Lights up the Alster;
But could instead go home
And sleep
Certain to see tomorrow's day
Then I could live
Grow young
Someday turn grey
But now I feel that this is my last day.
It seems that I shall never do
The things I planned.
Smell no more new cut grass
Touch falling water
Stand cliff high
Facing wind swept sea rain
Or walk those meadows
Holding a smooth hand.
And will she with the fair tumbling hair
Say white haired,
'I knew an airman once, Loved him, too.'
And then she'll shake her head the way I know so well
And say, 'He loved me, too.'
She'll know I'm there.
Watching from every cloud
Carried along in dreams and memories
Trailing the bright stars in Summer;
Perhaps in Autumn
She'll watch the leaves dancing
In every wayward breeze.
Leaves falling from boughs traced lace black
Against the glooming sky.
She'll see me - saying - half aloud,
'He came this way. Look how the old leaves flutter
Sighing for old friends
That living cannot last.'
But in the Spring
When all the hedgerows light up
With May blossom
And the lilacs bloom
I may be found in each new jewelled field
Tasting the sweet drops from new reaching blades
Then she'll run to me
And call my name.
Cry it across the shouting wind
Across our fields
In rain or in the lightning flash
She'll find me there.
And we shall find sweet, solitary bliss
Without the sadness of a parting kiss.

Hymn To Diana
Ben Johnson

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair,
 Now the sun is laid to sleep,
 Seated in thy silver chair
 State in wonted manner keep;
 Hesperus entreats thy light,
 Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
 Dare itself to interpose;
 Cynthia`s shining orb was made
 Heaven to clear when day did close:
 Bless us then with wished sight,
 Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart
 And thy crystal - shining quiver;
 Give unto the flying hart
 Space to breathe, how short soever:
 Thou that mak`st a day of night,
 Goddess excellently bright!

 The Slow Migration Of Glaciers
Jewel Kilcher

The slow migration of glaciers
unfolding through the centuries
their heavy wing
burdened with all the
weight of the earth
they move and carve and breathe

swollen rivers thick with soot
my pony and I drawing
      deep sharp breaths
as we cross
submerged
in all that is natural and Holy

To run free with you once more
to let my hair tangle itself
in a wind that knows only motion

to lose my heart once again
in the thorns of primrose
on the plains of Fox River Valley
lost in a maze of Timothy and Blue Grass hay.

These are the things which made me
these are the things I call home
these are the things that have filled
my heart with song and I raise them now in homage:

my father and I riding until after dark
chasing cattle or startling eagles into flight
cooking on a coal stove
cutting meat with a dull knife
my hands raw from picking rose hips
on the sea cliffs above Kackamack Bay
staring endlessly at the blue sky...

Few would guess now how much I miss
you Alaska

how my heart grows
heavy out here

so far away

So much talk
so much noise
strangling all stillness
so I can no longer
hear the voice of god whisper
to me in the silence

I will return to you, Alaska,
my beloved, but for now
I am youth’s soldier
chasing down
an endless dawn

Would You Know? Thomas Carew
Would you know what’s soft? I dare
Not bring you to the down, or air,
Nor to stars to show what ’s bright,
Nor to snow to teach you white;
Nor, if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth
Bruisëd nard, or what’s more worth;
Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nectar for a taste;
Would you have all these in one,
Name my mistress, and ’tis done!

Happy Birthday, James!

 

That Mr May, he had a lathe
And tied to it, he was a slave,
He laboured day and night until
His boyhood dream he did fulfil,
He built himself a rocketship
And launched upon a little trip.
The journey took him to the moon
But hopefully, he'll be back soon.
Packed full of lunar cheese, of course.
He's very partial to cheese sauce!

 

Late Leaves
Walter Savage Landor

The leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
     So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher
His circle, yearly narrowing, to the fire
     Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
And all things sweet.      

Dear
Michael Drayton (1563 - 1631)

Dear, why should you command me to my rest
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordain'd together friends to keep.
How happy are all other living things
Which, though the day disjoin by sev'ral flight,
The quiet ev'ning yet together brings,
And each returns unto his love at night!
O thou that art so courteous else to all,
Why should'st thou, Night, abuse me only thus,
That ev'ry creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
Well could I wish it would be ever day,
If when night comes you bid me go away.

Sleeping At Last
Christina Rossetti

Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,
Sleeping at last.

No more a tired heart downcast or overcast,
No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover,
Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast.

Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy cover
Cannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty blast.
Under the purple thyme and the purple clover
Sleeping at last.      

http://www.ovacome.org.uk/

The ovarian cancer support charity.

I Shall Go Back
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall go back again to the bleak shore
And build a little shanty on the sand
In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed shall escape my door
But by a yard or two; and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the hand.
I shall be gone to what I understand,
And happier than I ever was before.
The love that stood a moment in your eyes,
The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung.
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was young.      

                                                           
                                             11-12-13

Perfect Day,
(or world domination?)
------------------------------
So glad to read of your perfect day,
Your aircraft and a sports car with which to play,
With roads that were empty and vapour trail free skies,
It's hard to believe James, that the rumours were just lies.
Tell me,
to achieve such a perfect day as that,
Did you turn up that Icelandic firework's thermostat?
Did you light the blue touch paper, in the land of fire and ice,
Shades of James Bond, a villain, a world dominance device?
When I saw you burn that sausage and admire fields of reflectors,
A mad scientist I thought! - and Heaven please protect us!
The quintessential Englishman,
You will forever be,
An eruption, a drive and an afternoon flight,
But back in time for tea.

I Praise The Tender Flower
Robert Bridges

I praise the tender flower,
That on a mournful day
Bloomed in my garden bower
And made the winter gay.
Its loveliness contented
My heart tormented.

I praise the gentle maid
Whose happy voice and smile
To confidence betrayed
My doleful heart awhile:
And gave my spirit deploring
Fresh wings for soaring.

The maid for very fear
Of love I durst not tell:
The rose could never hear,
Though I bespake her well:
So in my song I bind them
For all to find them.

 

I Will Not Let Thee Go
Robert Bridges

I will not let thee go.
The stars that crowd the summer skies
Have watched us so below
With all their million eyes,
I dare not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.
Have we not chid the changeful moon,
Now rising late, and now
Because she set too soon,
And shall I let thee go?

I will not let thee go.
Have not the young flowers been content,
Plucked ere their buds could blow,
To seal our sacrament?
I cannot let thee go.

I will not let thee go.
I hold thee by too many bands:
Thou sayest farewell, and lo!
I have thee by the hands,
And will not let thee go.

18 07 1918 - 05  12 2013

Memories
A former WAAF Wireless Operator

So we watched the springtime pass,
And summer gild the meadows deep
In buttercups as calm-eyed cattle
Wandered knee-deep in the grass;
And we watched the hot days sleep
In lazy mists among the hills,
And listened nightly to the roar
Of bombers riding out the light
And life seemed boring
When we spent the night
Pouring over the sqeaking set,
To watch the morning come at last,
And know that all were safely home
When the long hours had passed.

For Those We've Lost
Mine

Like an ice-breaker through the Poles,
Ever searching for lost souls,
We strive to keep death near,
Frozen in time, yet clear, but
Painful memories mulled, and
Senses slowly dulled,
Time will heal the pain,
Till the ship sets sail again.

Dining-Room Tea
Rupert Brooke

When you were there, and you, and you,
Happiness crowned the night; I too,
Laughing and looking, one of all,
I watched the quivering lamplight fall
On plate and flowers and pouring tea
And cup and cloth; and they and we
Flung all the dancing moments by
With jest and glitter. Lip and eye
Flashed on the glory, shone and cried,
Improvident, unmemoried;
And fitfully and like a flame
The light of laughter went and came.
Proud in their careless transience moved
The changing faces that I loved.

Till suddenly, and otherwhence,
I looked upon your innocence.
For lifted clear and still and strange
From the dark woven flow of change
Under a vast and starless sky
I saw the immortal moment lie.
One instant I, an instant, knew
As God knows all. And it and you
I, above Time, oh, blind! could see
In witless immortality.
I saw the marble cup; the tea,
Hung on the air, an amber stream;
I saw the fire's unglittering gleam,
The painted flame, the frozen smoke.
No more the flooding lamplight broke
On flying eyes and lips and hair;
But lay, but slept unbroken there,
On stiller flesh, and body breathless,
And lips and laughter stayed and deathless,
And words on which no silence grew.Light was more alive than you.

For suddenly, and otherwhence,
I looked on your magnificence.
I saw the stillness and the light,
And you, august, immortal, white,
Holy and strange; and every glint
Posture and jest and thought and tint
Freed from the mask of transiency,
Triumphant in eternity,
Immote, immortal.                                  

Dazed at length
Human eyes grew, mortal strength
Wearied; and Time began to creep.
Change closed about me like a sleep.
Light glinted on the eyes I loved.
The cup was filled. The bodies moved.
The drifting petal came to ground.
The laughter chimed its perfect round.
The broken syllable was ended.And I, so certain and so friended,
How could I cloud, or how distress,
The heaven of your unconsciousness?
Or shake at Time's sufficient spell,
Stammering of lights unutterable?
The eternal holiness of you,
The timeless end, you never knew,
The peace that lay, the light that shone.
You never knew that I had gone
A million miles away, and stayed
A million years. The laughter played
Unbroken round me; and the jest
Flashed on. And we that knew the best
Down wonderful hours grew happier yet.
I sang at heart, and talked, and eat,
And lived from laugh to laugh, I too,
When you were there, and you, and you.