Lady Jane Wilde
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Lady Jane Wilde Poems
Tristan And Isolde. The Love Sin.
None, unless the saints above, Knew the secret of their love; For with calm and stately grace Isolde held her queenly place,
The Famine Year
Weary men, what reap ye? —Golden corn for the stranger. What sow ye? —Human corses that wait for the avenger. Fainting forms, hunger‐stricken, what see you in the offing? Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger's scoffing.
Fatality.From the German
One glance from thy dark eyes is all I pray for, One word from thy lips breathed on mine, One clasp of thy dear hand as a last favour Then go—I’ll never more repine.
What of the night, O Watcher on the Tower? Is the Day dawning through the golden bars? Comes it through the midnight, over clouds that lower, Trailing robes of crimson mid the fading stars?
“A Million A Decade!” Calmly and cold The units are read by our statesmen sage; Little they think of a Nation old, Fading away from History’s page; Outcast weeds by a desolate sea Fallen leaves of Humanity.
The Mystic Tree.From Ölenschlager
Its branches up to Heaven a tree is sending, Rare to see, For with flowers, fruit, and seed at once is bending That mystic tree. Round the giant stem, all rugged, rude, and mossy, Roses twine, And the young flowers veil it with their glossy Hues divine.
The Itinerant Singing Girl. From The Dan...
Fatherless and motherless, no brothers have I, And all my little sisters in the cold grave lie; Wasted with hunger I saw them falling dead Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
The Old Man's Blessing
Mine eye is dull, my hair is white, This arm is powerless for the fight, Alas! alas! the battle’s van Suits not a weak and aged man. Thine eye is bright, thine arm is strong— ’Tis Youth must right our country’s wrong. Arise, my son, and proudly bear This sword that I was wont to wear; Firm grasp the hilt, fling down the sheath A thousand years vears their wrongs bequeath
The Knight's Pledge
The tedious night at length hath pass’d; To horse! to horse! we’ll ride as fast As ever bird did fly. Ha! but the morning air is chill; Frau Wirthin, one last goblet fill, We’ll drain it ere we die!
Budris and His Sons. From The Russian.
Loveliest of flowers That in the garden grows, Brightest, sweetest, fairest, Crimson blushing rose.
And Erick roamed in distant lands, But cannot fly his weary fate; Before him in the lonely night, Before him in the noonday bright,
“De profundis clamavi ad te Domine.” BY our looks of mute despair, By the sighs that rend the air, From lips too faint to utter prayer, Kyrie Eleison.
Undiné.From The Danish
Undiné by the lonely shore, In lonely grief, is pacing; The vows her perjured lover swore No more with hope retracing.
Full seven years have passed and flown But years o’er Thekla lightly pass, As rose leaves, falling one by one, From roses on the summer grass.
Comments about Lady Jane Wilde
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Tristan And Isolde. The Love Sin.
None, unless the saints above,
Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held her queenly place,
Tho’ the courtiers’ hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise,
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love—so rumour said
By a magic philtre fed,
Which for ever in their veins
Burn’d with love’s consuming pains.
Yet their hands would twine unseen,
In a clasp ’twere hard to sever;
And whoso watched their glances meet,
Gazing as they’d gaze for ever,
Might have marked the sudden heat
Crims’ning on each flushing cheek,
As the ...