When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
<br><br><br>When I have fears that I may cease to be<br>Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,<br>Before high - piled books, in charact'ry,<br>Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;<br>When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,<br>Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,<br>And feel that I may never live to trace<br>Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;<br>And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!<br>That I shall never look upon thee more,<br>Never have relish in the faery power<br>Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore<br>Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,<br>Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.<br>
J. Keats

The Pagan World
<br>

In his cool hall, with haggard eyes,
The Roman noble lay;
He drove abroad, in furious guise,
Along the Appian way.
<br>
He made a feast, drank fierce and fast,
And crowned his hair with flowers -
No easier nor no quicker passed
The impracticable hours.
<br>
The brooding East with awe beheld
Her impious younger world.
The Roman tempest swelled and swelled,
And on her head was hurled.
<br>
The East bowed low before the blast
In patient, deep disdain;
She let the legions thunder past,
And plunged in thought again.
<br>
So well she mused, a morning broke
Across her spirit grey;
A conquering, new-born joy awoke,
And filled her life with day.
<br>
"Poor world," she cried, "so deep accurst
That runn'st from pole to pole
To seek a draught to slake thy thirst -
Go, seek it in thy soul!"
<br>
She heard it, the victorious West,
In crown and sword arrayed!
She felt the void which mined her breast,
She shivered and obeyed.
<br>
She veiled her eagles, snapped her sword,
And laid her sceptre down;
Her stately purple she abhorred,
And her imperial crown.
<br>
She broke her flutes, she stopped her sports,
Her artists could not please;
She tore her books, she shut her courts,
She fled her palaces;
<br>
Lust of the eye and pride of life
She left it all behind,
And hurried, torn with inward strife,
The wilderness to find.
<br>
Tears washed the trouble from her face!
She changed into a child!
Mid weeds and wrecks she stood -a place
Of ruin -but she smiled!
<br>
M. Arnold

When we Two Parted


When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:—
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

- Lord Byron

v2.0

Bereavement

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.

PB Shelly

What Is Life?


Resembles Life what once was held of Light,
Too ample in itself for human sight ?

An absolute Self--an element ungrounded--
All, that we see, all colours of all shade

By encroach of darkness made ?--

Is very life by consciousness unbounded ?
And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath,
A war-embrace of wrestling Life and Death ?

ST Coleridge

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!


Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up -- for you the flag is flung -- for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths -- for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

W. Whitman

v2.0

Ride in the Moonlight


Heart to heart is not far
Under bright stars,
And the eye of Tau consecrated
Looking to love Far;
The bottom hoofbeat sounds in the world,
And the sky silence,
Between the two, I gesellt
Will the moon itself.

Shows are today in red glow
At the edge of the Earth,
Equal as if with hot blood
He landing on earth,
But now he flees shy Peaks,
Dazzling in pure light,
And I am also shy before
His face.

LA von Arnim

The Reaper


Through the fields the reaper goes
Piling sheaves on sheaves in rows;
Hills, not sheaves, are these.
Where he passes howls the earth,
Howl the echoing seas.

All the night the reaper reaps,
Never stays his hands nor sleeps,
Reaping endlessly;
Whets his blade and passes on...
Hush, and let him be.
Hush, he cares not how men writhe
With naked hands against the scythe.
Wouldst thou hide in field or town?
Where thou art, there he will come;
He will reap thee down.

Serf and landlord,
Great and small;
Friendless wandering singer, - all,
All shall swell the sheaves that grow to mountains;

Even the Tsar shall go.
And me too the scythe shall find
Cowering alone behind
Bars of iron; swift and blind,
Strike, and pass, and leave me, stark
And forgotten in the dark.

T. Shevchenko

La anul 1839

Din zi în zi mai tristã, sãrmanã Românie;
De douã veacuri jalea îþi creºte ne-ncetat!
Traian se mirã, plânge, priveºte-a ta câmpie
Ce-o ºtie câmp, odatã de Acvil-apãrat.

O! Tristã-i suvenirea la cei în agonie!
Amar e când te doare, sã vezi ca-eºti împilat,
Sã-neci a tale lacrãmi; sã vii, cu bucurie,
A sãruta ºi mâna ce ºtii cã te-a trãdat!

Pe cine aºtepþi oare s-aline-a ta durere?
Pe-acela ce te suge? te calcã în picere?
Pe cei carii te-ar vinde de mii de ori p-un tron?

Te amãgeºti!... Dar, aflã ºi crede în tãcere:
Oricare slãbiciune în chinuri ia putere...
În fiare creºte iute vârtutea lui Samson!

C Bolliac

DESTINATION


Who told the Star the way
What you will follow it in the sky?
The manufacture its nest
How does the bird learned?
Who says the plant --- <<Floresce!>> ---
And the change that made worm
His mortalha of silk
The wires who enreda them?

He taught someone to bee
What goes in the grassland zumbir
If the white flower or the red
Your honey you will go ask?

What ages you be my, dear,
Your eyes my life,
Your love all my well ...
Alas! No mo told anyone.
As the bee runs on the grassland,
As the sky turns a star,
As the whole thing your fado
So it is instinct,
I, via divine within
Vim fulfill my destiny ...
Vim, which you know only live,
Just because you can die.

A. Garrett

To A Familiar Genius Flying By


Reveal yourself, anonymous enchanter!
What heaven hastens you to me?
Why draw me to that promised land again
That I gave up so long ago?

Was it not you who in my youth
Enchanted me with such sweet dreams,
Did you not whisper, long ago,
Dear hopes of a guests ethereal?

Was it not you through whom all lived
In golden days, in happy lands
Of fragrant meadows, waters bright,
Where days were merry ?neath clear skies?

Was it not you who breathed into my vernal breast
Some melancholy mysteries
Tormenting it with keen desire
Exciting it to anxious joy?

Was it not you who bore my soul aloft
Upon the inspiration of your sacred verse,
Who flamed before me like a holy vision,
Initiating me into life's beauty?

In hours lost, hours of secret grief,
Did you not always murmur to my heart,
With happy comfort soothe it
And nurture it with quiet hope?

Did not my soul forever heed you
In all the purest moments of my life
When'ere it glimpsed fate's sacred essence
With only God to witness it?

What news bring you, O, my enchantress?
Or will you once more call in dreams
Awaken futile thoughts of old,
Whisper of joy and then fall silent?

O spirit, bide with me awhile;
O, faithful friend, haste not away;
Stay, please become my earthly life,
O, Guardian angel of my soul.

V. Zhukovsky

And Then No More


I saw her once, one little while, and then no more:
’Twas Eden’s light on Earth a while, and then no more.
Amid the throng she passed along the meadow-floor:
Spring seemed to smile on Earth awhile, and then no more;
But whence she came, which way she went, what garb she wore
I noted not; I gazed a while, and then no more!

I saw her once, one little while, and then no more:
’Twas Paradise on Earth a while, and then no more.
Ah! what avail my vigils pale, my magic lore?
She shone before mine eyes awhile, and then no more.
The shallop of my peace is wrecked on Beauty’s shore.
Near Hope’s fair isle it rode awhile, and then no more!

I saw her once, one little while, and then no more:
Earth looked like Heaven a little while, and then no more.
Her presence thrilled and lighted to its inner core
My desert breast a little while, and then no more.
So may, perchance, a meteor glance at midnight o’er
Some ruined pile a little while, and then no more!

I saw her once, one little while, and then no more:
The earth was Peri-land awhile, and then no more.
Oh, might I see but once again, as once before,
Through chance or wile, that shape awhile, and then no more!
Death soon would heal my griefs! This heart, now sad and sore,
Would beat anew a little while, and then no more.

JC Mangan