As I Sat Alone By Blue Ontario's Shores
AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead
that return no more,
A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me;
Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America-
chant me the carol of victory;
And strike up the marches of Libertad- marches more powerful yet;
And sing me before you go, the song of the throes of Democracy.
(Democracy- the destin'd conqueror- yet treacherous lip-smiles
Lara
LARA. [1]
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.
The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, [2]
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord —
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
A Fable For Critics
Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
Aims At Happiness
HOW oft has sounded whip and wheel,
How oft is buckled spur to heel,
How many a steed in short relay
Stands harnessed on the king's highway,
How many a pleasure-freighted sail
Has danced before a summer gale,
How oft along the dusty road
The long machine has borne its load,
How many a step !--and all to find
What has no place but in the mind,
Date Myself
2nite at dinner, i was being rude...making fun of the food...
i was being sarcastic and nasty
iwas talking over people, mimicking them, being sassy
and once we got home, you got the courage to confront me...
'you simply asked me'
'when you look in the mirror, do you like what you see?
if the roles were reversed
and it was was me who always screamed n cursed
at everyone around me, ...at all my friends and family.'
he looked at me and shook his head sadly,
Book Fourth [summer Vacation]
BRIGHT was the summer's noon when quickening steps
Followed each other till a dreary moor
Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top
Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge,
I overlooked the bed of Windermere,
Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
With exultation, at my feet I saw
Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays,
A universe of Nature's fairest forms
Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst,
A Rational Anthem
My country, tis of thee,
Sweet land of felony,
Of thee I sing, -
Land where my fathers fried
Young witches and applied
Whips to the Quaker's hide
And made him spring.
My knavish country, thee,
Land where the thief is free,
The Night-Scene : A Dramatic Fragment.
Sandoval. You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
Earl Henry. Loved?
Sandoval. Did you not say you wooed her?
Earl Henry. Once I loved
Her whom I dared not woo!
Sandoval. And wooed, perchance,
One whom you loved not!
Earl Henry. Oh! I were most base,
Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her,
Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she
Lara. A Tale
The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.
The Word “home.”
The winds
of Heaven
like God’s wrath
storm through
the abandoned house
fragile now
in its emptiness
My Enemy Has Died
My enemy has died.
I am very sad today
he was the only enemy I could identify.
He was the one who is responsible,
for my growth and success,
his enmity drew me farther to prove him wrong,
and I, the determined, who never believed
in others, kept denying that he is enemy
for his contributions to instigate me,
.real.And.Pretending.
I'm sin,
and i wear a mask with it.(real)
I wear painted on tears
and glass eyeballs,
only for you not to see my true identity.(pretending)
I speak with ignorance and I
walk with grace.(pretending)
The Brief Journey West
By the dry road the fathers cough and spit,
This is their room. They are the ones who hung
That bloody sun upon the southern wall
And crushed the armored beetle to the floor.
The father’s skin is seamed and dry, the map
Of that wild region where they drained the swamp
And set provision out that they might sit,
Of history the cracked precipitate,
The Baffled Grumbler
Whene'er I poke
Sarcastic joke
Replete with malice spiteful,
The people vile
Politely smile
And vote me quite delightful!
Now, when a wight
Sits up all night
Ill-natured jokes devising,
And all his wiles
Poem Hunter 12 - Ode To Classic Poets Of Poem Hunter - William Wordsworth 2
A true episode,
When I came to Bombay,
Just after my graduation in Kerala,
I was an innocent twenty year old
Still unaware of the ways of the world and its people.
Very near the house I lived,
With my parents and siblings in Colaba,
Lived a famous writer,
Author of many books in English.
The Daft-Days
Now mirk December's dowie face
Glours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,
While, thro' his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey'd sun
Wi' blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.
From naked groves nae birdie sings,
To shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae od'rous flavour brings
The Dance Of Life
Gracious and lovable and sweet,
She made his jaded pulses beat,
And made the glare of streets grow dim
And life more soft and hushed for him….
Over her shoulder now she smiled
Trustfully to him, like a child,
The while her fingers gayly moved
Alonge these white keys dearly loved,
Making them laugh a jocund measure,
Making them show and sing her pleasure….
I Love My Job!
You may think from the title
That this is a sarcastic poem
But really, I do love my job! !
It teaches me reality
It teaches me of life
It shows me both
The good and bad
Of human nature
A New Start For A New Year
I have been gone now for a while
letting words with a sarcastic touch
get to me somehow and hurt me
I am sensitive oh, way too much
For I am always trying
to make others feel their best
being mean and nasty
is something I truly detest
The Vote Of Thanks Debate
The Other Night I got the blues and tried to smile in vain.
I couldn’t chuck a chuckle at the foolery of Twain;
When Ward and Billings failed to bring a twinkle to my eye,
I turned my eyes to Hansard of the fifteenth of July.
I laughed and roared until I thought that I was growing fat,
And all the boarders came to see what I was laughing at:
It rose the risibility of some, I grieve to state—
That foolish speech of Brentnall’s in the Vote of Thanks debate.
O Brentnall, of the olden school and cold sarcastic style!