Category: Poetry
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Dirge in the Woods
Continuing the recent poetry posting. Dirge in the Woods George Meredith A wind sways the pines, And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines Of the roots here and there. The pine-tree drops its dead; They are quiet, as under the sea.…
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Unwelcome
Another poem from the Oxford Book, Unwelcome by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (great grandniece of the more famous poet). We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back…
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St. Agnes’ Eve
I’ve been (very) slowly making my way through an old edition of The Oxford Book of English Verse, inspired by the fact that Patrick Fermor carried a copy with him on his journey through Europe. Since I’ve stalled a bit on posts lately, I thought I’d highlight some of the poems that have caught my eye on…
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Thoughts (Borrowed) While Overlooking a Mountain Valley in Peru
The Infinite Always dear to me was this lonely hill, And this hedgerow, which from many sides Bars the gaze from the utmost horizon. But sitting and looking out, endless Spaces beyond that hedge, and superhuman Silences, and profoundest quietude, I in my mind forge for myself: where the heart Is all but terrified. And as I hear the wind rustle…
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The Listeners, Walter de la Mare
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.…
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Annunciation
The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror Of which the tongues declare The one discharged from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre – To be redeemed from fire by fire. Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is the unfamiliar…
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Never Forget that the World is Beautiful
You, and I, should read more poetry. Your thoughts don’t have words every day They come a single time Like signal esoteric sips Of the communion Wine Which while you taste so native seems So easy so to be You cannot comprehend its price Nor its infrequency Emily Dickinson, 1452 Never forget that the world…
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Excited to Read Dante Again
I saw a sun above a thousand lamps; it kindled all of them as does our sun kindle the sights above us here on earth; and through its living light the glowing Substance appeared to me with such intensity- my vision lacked the power to sustain it. O Beatrice, sweet guide and dear! She said…
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Hesiod, Works and Days
For acquisition means life to miserable mortals; but it is an awful thing to die among the waves (685)
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The Poem of the Cid
Ultimately, I found The Poem of the Cid rather disappointing. The straightforward style lacked both the grandeur of other classic medieval epics–The Song of Roland, The Alexandreis–and the sparse, haunting beauty of the Anglo-Saxon poetry that I enjoy so much. The first part of the poem, perhaps 50 lines, has apparently been lost, and this…
Dan Yingst 