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Medium 9781847770684

The Humanists

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770684

Chinese Poem

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Chinese Poem

It would be an error to suppose

This is impersonal.

True the sky is drained of all but palest

Blue, and true that one cool willow here

Repeats itself in water never rough.

But look more closely, watch the handiwork,

The painter gives himself away in his

Careful calligraphy.

He signs himself in letters which themselves

Are further pictures, miniatures and all

Are upright, at attention.

Here we may gaze at coolness which is worked for.

Monet would have understood how closely

This painter’s eye studied the way all water

Is on the move, is never still because

Sun whether dazzling or, as here, concealed,

Coaxes it constantly in serious play.

This eastern painter sent his brushes chasing

To marry elements and keep them linked,

Water and airy light, in unison,

But drawn together by a human touch.

Night Concert at Taormina

The Greco-Roman Theatre

The spectacle is changing into sound,

The columns, plucked by song, turn into light,

Two key-boards rise in triumph from the ground

And fill the spaces of a warm good-night.

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Medium 9781847772381


Rebecca Goss Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847779731


Rossetti, Christina Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

When I am dead, my dearest,

    Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head,

    Nor shady cypress tree:

Be the green grass above me

    With showers and dewdrops wet:

And if thou wilt, remember,

    And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

    I shall not fear the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

    Sing on as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight

    That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

    And haply may forget.

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Medium 9781847770684

IV On Rome in the Pontificate of Julius II

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Most painfully. To those who are the best

Most ill occurs. Dante did not deserve

Exile; his equal never lived at all.

III To Pope Julius II

My Lord, of all the ancient proverbs, this

Is surely true – ‘Who can doth never will.’

You have believed in saws and promises

And blest those men whom falsehoods, not truths, fill.

Always I have been faithful and would give

Honour to you as rays do to the sun.

Yet all my pain has never made you grieve,

The less I please, the more work I have done.

Once I had hoped to climb by means of your

Great height, but now I find we rather need

Justice and power, not echoes faint indeed.

Heaven, it appears, itself is made impure

When worldliness has power. I live to take

Fruit from a tree too dry to bear or break.

IV On Rome in the Pontificate of Julius II

Here they make helms and swords from chalices:

The blood of Christ is sold now by the quart.

Lances and shields are shaped from thorns and crosses,

Yet still Christ pours out pity from his heart.

But let him come no more into these streets

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Medium 9780253022790

Days Gone By, The

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

O THE days gone by! O the days gone by!

The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye;

The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail

As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale;

When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky,

And my happy heart brimmed over, in the days gone by.

In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped

By the honeysuckle tangles where the water-lilies dipped,

And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink,

Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink,

And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant’s wayward cry

And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by.

O the days gone by! O the days gone by!

The music of the laughing lip, the lustre of the eye;

The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin’s magic ring—

The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,—

When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,

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Medium 9781847770684

Into the Clouds

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF


It is a Moses rush of light behind

My back and I am scalded in the sheen.

Light-headed sun balances but looks

Ready to fall like my high piles of books,

The sun’s as prodigal as it’s not been

All day and now there is no puff of wind,

No sound of bird or foot. I hold my breath

And watch my page take fire. It fascinates

And claims my watching, yet I can’t stay here,

Errands await. I step out through the air

Gold as the sun now on the heavy slates,

How the sun revels in this earth beneath

Its power and dignity. I feel I must

Record its mood, look to the sun-dial now,

Blow dust from ornaments and hold this hour

Somehow in my own intrinsic power.

I seem to do this though I don’t know how.

Night will come softly as a tranquil ghost.

Into the Clouds

I have walked into the clouds where light

Hides and I see little room ahead.

I have crouched in dark left by midnight

And I have wondered at what saints have said

About the patient sight

Of implications of importance to

The host of men, the lingerers in shade,

And I decide that all mankind is made

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Hope, 2000 (UD, uncatalogued)

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Us out and over almost all things set.

Thank you, William Yeats, for such a door

And for all the wonder that it’s lit.


A sonnet, with distant echoes of George Herbert

High above trouble and against all signs

To the contrary, hope proudly wears

A smile that is infectious. It combines

Faith, justice, charity, for it compares

Well with all kind intentions, all sweet looks

That can encourage longer than for an hour.

Hope is a quality not found in books,

It is new manna, superhuman power.

It looks into a storm and sees the end

Even when thunder’s clapping still. It can

Turn a harsh enemy into a friend

And work out in fresh detail God’s large plan,

It can without a stitch or needle mend

And show why God has been so good to man.

Homage to Chaucer

A sonnet

Chaucer, you’re beyond praise. Even so,

I want to give you mine. I owe so much;

At school we read you with a crib. I know

That it was you who put me in close touch

With people of all kinds in this land which

I love for I am English. Oddly I

Am also Papist. Both have made me rich

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Medium 9781847770684

The Three

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

The Three

Between them came

Not pleasure from their love

But always, past their senses, her own dream

Of what she made him for herself would move

And each grew helpless wondering at that life.

And making love was not between these two

But her own making this, this image of

What he was not, would never grow,

So in their gestures each grew less to know

Where their minds met and what each had to love.

Two Voices

‘You are more than your thoughts’ he said

Watching her wandering away from him

In a landscape her own where she denied

Entry to any, kept a private dream

Where all love met rebuff, remained outside,

‘You are more than your love’ she replied

Watching him searching, how his eyes

And hands demanded to include

Her landscape where his loving was

Yet when he entered it it died.

And she beyond her thoughts he thought to hold

Made absolute in love. And he withdrawing

Behind his hope of love, she wished to build –

The seeker and the sought each one pursuing

Where each was, not in love, not in thought, held.

The Exchange

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Medium 9781847770684

A Magnificat

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770684


Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770684


Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9780253009517

A Country Pathway

James Whitcomb Riley Indiana University Press ePub

I Come upon it suddenly, alone—

A little pathway winding in the weeds

That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own,

I wander as it leads.

Full wistfully along the slender way,

Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine,

I take the path that leads me as it may—

Its every choice is mine.

A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail,

Is startled by my step as on I fare—

A garter-snake across the dusty trail

Glances and—is not there.

Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos

And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies,

Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose

When autumn winds arise.

The trail dips—dwindles—broadens then, and lifts

Itself astride a cross-road dubiously,

And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts

Still onward, beckoning me.

And though it needs must lure me mile on mile

Out of the public highway, still I go,

My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file,

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Medium 9781847778512

Death of a Cat

Clarke, Gillian Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

His nightmare rocked the house

but no one woke, accustomed

to the heart’s disturbances.

We dug a grave last night

under the apple tree where fruit

fattens in green clusters.

Black and white fur perfect

except where soil fell

or where small blood seeped

between the needles of her teeth

in the cracked china of her bones.

Perfect but for darkness

clotting the skull and silence

like the note of an organ

hanging in the locked air.

Dylan dreamed it again,

woken by caterwauling.

Two mourners held a wake

at dawn on the compost heap

(her special place) yowling

to wake the sleeping and to stop

the heart, considering

animal mysteries,

the otherness of pain.

He watched, from the window,

the dawn moon dissolving

its wafer on the tongue.

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Medium 9781574413090

XIV. Ichthyology

Caki Wilkinson University of North Texas Press PDF

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