He has written many collections and has also compiled a number of anthologies for a variety of publishers including Macmillan and Lion. Scholastic Book Club In the wrong place? Join for FREE today! Get your own page, enter giveaways, write reviews and more! Search Search:. Look inside. Scholastic Poetry: Silly Poems Twist your tongue around these funny and creative rhymes to see how many laughs you can whip up.
Bookmarking I want to read this I am reading this I have read this Tell us what you think. And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow. You cannot say, or guess, for you know only. A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,. And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,. Come in under the shadow of this red rock ,.
And I will show you something different from either. Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;. Frisch weht der Wind. Der Heimat zu. Mein Irisch Kind,. Wo weilest du?
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Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not. Looking into the heart of light, the silence. With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,. Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,.
Those are pearls that were his eyes. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,. And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,. Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,. I had not thought death had undone so many. And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,.
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours. With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. Will it bloom this year? The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,. Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines. Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra. Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,. Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused. And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air. That freshened from the window, these ascended. Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,.
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene. The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king. So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale. Filled all the desert with inviolable voice. And still she cried, and still the world pursues,. Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair. Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Why do you never speak.
What thinking? The wind under the door. What is the wind doing? Nothing again nothing.
Do you see nothing? Antony and Cleopatra , II, ii, I. Sylvan scene, V. Milton, Paradise Lost , IV, Ovid, Metamorphoses , VI, Philomela. Webster: "Is the wind in that door still? Cf, Part I, I. Spencer, Prothalamion. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia. Verlaine, Parsifal.
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The currants were quoted at a price "carriage and insurance free to London"; and the Bill of Lading etc. Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a "character," is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest. Just as the one-eyed merchant, se1ler of currants, melts into the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so a1l the women are one woman, and the two sexes meet in Tiresias, What Tiresias sees , in fact, is the substance of the poem.
This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had In mind the "longshore" or "dory" fisherman, who returns at nightfall. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield. The Tempest , as above. The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors.. The Song of the three Thames-daughters begins here. From line to inclusive they speak in tum. Froude, Elizabeth , Vol.
I, ch. The queen was alonne with Lord Robert and myself on the poop, when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they should not be married if the queen pleased. Augustine's Confessions : "to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears.
The complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon which corresponds in importance to the Sermon on the Mount from which these words are taken, will be found translated in the late Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism in Translation Harvard Oriental Series. Warren was one of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in the Occident.
From St. Augustine's Confessions again. The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident. In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous see Miss Weston's book and the present decay of eastern Europe. This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii , the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America "it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats. Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequalled.
The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions I forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's : it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted. The fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka — Upanishad , 5, 1. A translation is found in Deussen's Sechzig Upanishads des Veda , p, Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p.
In either case my experiences falls within my alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it. In for each is peculiar and private to that soul. Pervigilium Veneris. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado. Kyd's Spanish Tragedy. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself—as it will seem to do— With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. How keen you are! How much it means that I say this to you— Without these friendships—life, what cauchemar! Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. II Now that lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room And twists one in his fingers while she talks.
You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel. You will go on, and when you have prevailed You can say: at this point many a one has failed. But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me?
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Only the friendship and the sympathy Of one about to reach her journey's end. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends You will see me any morning in the park Reading the comics and the sporting page. Particularly I remark An English countess goes upon the stage. A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance, Another bank defaulter has confessed. I keep my countenance, I remain self-possessed Except when a street piano, mechanical and tired Reiterates some worn-out common song With the smell of hyacinths across the garden Recalling things that other people have desired.
Are these ideas right or wrong? III The October night comes down; returning as before Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees. But that's a useless question. You hardly know when you are coming back, You will find so much to learn. Why we have not developed into friends. My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. I myself can hardly understand. We must leave it now to fate.
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You will write, at any rate. Perhaps it is not too late. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends. Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance— Well! Would she not have the advantage, after all? This music is successful with a "dying fall" Now that we talk of dying— And should I have the right to smile?
As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden Materials for Teachers Materials for Teachers Home.
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