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Prayer from Devotion XVII. Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris.  by JOHN DONNE

15 October 2010
Vol. 10, No. 3
prose poem

As death is the wages of sin it is due to me; as death is the end of sickness it belongs to me; and though so disobedient a servant as I may be afraid to die, yet to so merciful a master as thou I cannot be afraid to come; and therefore into thy hands, O my God, I commend my spirit…

Expostulation from Devotion XVII. Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris.  by JOHN DONNE

13 October 2010
Vol. 10, No. 3
prose poem

My God, my God, is this one of thy ways of drawing light out of darkness, to make him for whom this bell tolls, now in this dimness of his sight, to become a superintendent, an overseer, a bishop, to as many as hear his voice in this bell, and to give us a confirmation in this action?

Meditation from Devotion XVII. Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris.  by JOHN DONNE

11 October 2010
Vol. 10, No. 3
prose poem

Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

Pangur Ban  by  ANONYMOUS

3 July 2010
Vol. 10, No. 1

I and Pangur Ban my cat,

Tis a like task we are at:

Hunting mice is his delight,

Hunting words I sit all night.

The Old Year  by JOHN CLARE

5 January 2010
Vol. 7, No. 4
rhyme

Old papers thrown away,

      Old garments cast aside,

The talk of yesterday,

      Are things identified;

But time once torn away

      No voices can recall:

The eve of New Year's Day

      Left the Old Year lost to all.

They Flee From Me  by SIR THOMAS WYATT

26 October 2009
Vol. 9, No. 3

They flee from me that sometime did me seek

With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild and do not remember

That sometime they put themself in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Lucks, My Fair Falcon  by SIR THOMAS WYATT

21 October 2009
Vol. 9, No. 3

Lucks, my fair falcon, and your fellows all,

   How well pleasant it were your liberty!

Ye not forsake me that fair might ye befall.

But they that sometime liked my company:

Like lice away from dead bodies they crawl.

Song  by ROBERT BURNS

1 June 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,

And the small birds sing on ev'ry tree:

The hearts of these are glad, but mine is very sad,

For my love is parted from me.

Song on May Morning  by JOHN MILTON

1 May 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1
rhyme

Now the bright morning-star, Day's harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

You who never arrived  by RAINER MARIA RILKE

15 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
translation

You who never arrived

in my arms, Beloved, who were lost

from the start,

I don't even know what songs

would please you.

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love  by RAINER MARIA RILKE

14 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
translation

again and again the two of us walk out together

under the ancient trees, lie down again and again

among the flowers…

What if I say I shall not wait!  by EMILY DICKINSON

13 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

What if I say I shall not wait!

What if I burst the fleshly Gate—

And pass, escaped—to thee!

A Red, Red Rose  by ROBERT BURNS

23 December 2008
Vol. 8, No. 4
rhyme

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

   That's newly sprung in June:

O my Luve's like the melodie

   That's sweetly play'd in tune!

To the Same  by JOHN MILTON

8 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2
rhyme, sonnet

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,

   To outward view, of blemish or of spot,

   Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;

   Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

   Or man, or woman.

On the Same  by JOHN MILTON

7 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2
rhyme, sonnet

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs

   By the known rules of ancient liberty,

   When straight a barbarous noise environs me

   Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs …

Methought I saw my late espoused saint  by JOHN MILTON

12 June 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2
sonnet, rhyme

Mine, as whom washed from spot of childbed taint

  Purification in the Old Law did save,

  And such as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,


Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

When I consider how my light is spent,  by JOHN MILTON

11 June 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2
sonnet, rhyme

When I consider how my light is spent,

  Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

  And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent


To serve therewith my Maker, and present

  My true account, lest He returning chide;

The Badger  by JOHN CLARE

8 May 2008
Vol. 8, No. 1
rhyme

They get a forked stick to bear him down

And clap the dogs and take him to the town,

And bait him all the day with many dogs,

And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.

He runs along and bites at all he meets:

They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.

The Scholar Gypsy  by MATTHEW ARNOLD

24 April 2008
Vol. 8, No. 1
rhyme

Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill;

  Go, Shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes:

    No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,

  Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,

    Nor the cropp'd grasses shoot another head.

      But when the fields are still,

  And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,

    And only the white sheep are sometimes seen

    Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch'd green;

  Come Shepherd, and again begin the quest.

Dover Beach  by MATTHEW ARNOLD

23 April 2008
Vol. 8, No. 1
rhyme

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Love Song  by RAINER MARIA RILKE

15 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
translation

Yet everything that touches us, me and you,

takes us together like a violin's bow,

which draws one voice out of two separate strings.

Camomile Tea  by KATHERINE MANSFIELD

14 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
rhyme

We might be fifty, we might be five,

So snug, so compact, so wise are we!

Under the kitchen-table leg

My knee is pressing against his knee.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

13 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
sonnet, rhyme

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

To Winter  by WILLIAM BLAKE

1 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4

'O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:

The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark

Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,

Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'

 

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