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Poetry

1 779

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...

The Roman poet Catullus translated a masterful love poem by the Greek poet Sappho, adapting it into a Latin version that is neither simply literal nor straightforwardly accurate, but, rather, a brilliant reinterpretation... The Roman poet Catullus translated...
0 1044

The first king was very young, O balow, balow la lay, With doleful ballads on his tongue, O balow, balow la lay, He came bearing a branch of myrrh Than which no gall is bitterer, O balow, balow la lay, Gifts for a baby King,...
0 734

Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay— Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves us here. Oh stay, oh stay, One little hour, and then away. The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes...
4 3606

I am weary of words and wonder why. It is perhaps because I want to ascend to that silence that echoes the innocence of the sub-linguistic bliss. I want to attain what the hymn writer called “the silence of eternity, interpreted by Love"...
1 1126

I heard the bells on Christmas day Their old familiar carols play, And wild and sweet the words repeat Of peace on earth, good will to men. I thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along th' unbroken song Of...
0 940

Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest, My soul, this wholesome meditation, How God the Spirit, by angels waited on In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast. The Father having begot a Son most blest, And still begetting, (for he ne'er...
0 886

The humanities can fill us with a kind of reverent admiration for a place in its particularity, and fill us with a delight that such a thing exists, untouched, un-owned by us. It can help us open our grasping hands and let beauty be, whether or not...

There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand, Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square...
0 200

Looking out the window; A skiff of Michigan snow Lies in “innocence” there Like a story’s opening line. “Once there was a,” maybe Or “Long ago,” perhaps Not a blow to the head Or boot to one’s behind But a silent invitation To something still unspoken. Tempting as it is...
0 247

To Andreas Alcimus. How Germany is perishing by its own greed. That's how things are; men die, expensively. They seek out lethal danger, with much war and worrying, and their pay consists of pain and loss. We are the fosterers, patrons of our pain. How...
0 264

They wrought a work which Time reveres, A pure example to the lands, Further and further reaching hands, Forever into coming years; They worshipt Freedom for her sake; We faint unless the wanton ear Be tickled with the loud "hear, hear," To which the slight-built hustings shake; For...
0 203

They talk of short-lived pleasure–be it so– Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out...
0 349

One of my wishes is that those dark trees, So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, But stretched away unto the edge of doom. I should not be withheld but that some day Into...