Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
To One In A Garden
If I were other than, alas, I am,A soul in strife, whom banded foemen vex,If toil were folly and good deeds a sham,And hydra wrong had shed its..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Nimue
I had clean forgotten all, her face who had caused my trouble.Gone was she as a cloud, as a bird which passed in the wind, as a glittering..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Manon, On His Fortune In Loving Her
I DID not choose thee, dearest. It was LoveThat made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blindAs a rude shepherd's who to some lone groveHis offering..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Manon, Comparing Her To A Falcon
BRAVE as a falcon and as merciless,With bright eyes watching still the world, thy prey,I saw thee pass in thy lone majesty,Untamed, unmated, high..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Hester On The Stair
Hester, creature of my love,What is this? You love not me?On the stair you stand above,Looking down distrustfullyWith the corners of your..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Her Whose Name
To her whose name,With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showersSplashing the grass and flowers,Hath set my April heart aflame; To her whose..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Happy Warrior
Glory to God who made a man like this!To God be praise who in the empty heavenSet Earth's gay globeWith its green vesture givenAnd nuptial robeTo be..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Disciple Of William Morris
Stand fast by the ideal. Hero be,You in your youth, as he from youth to age.Dare to be last, least, in good modesty,Nor fret thy soul for speedier..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Dead Journalist
The busy trade of life is over now,The intricate toil which was so hard for bread,The strife each day renewed 'neath this poor browBy this frail hand..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Three Pictures Continued
The first, a woman, nobly limbed and fair,Standeth at sunset by a famed far sea.Red are her lips as Love's own kisses were,Yet speak they never..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Three Pictures
I have seen many things in many lands,And many sorrows known and many joys,And clutched at pleasure's cup with lawless hands,And drunk my fill of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Think No More Of Me
Think no more of me,If we needs must part.Mine was but a heart.Think no more of me.Think no more of me.For Love's sake forget.Love grows hard which..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
They Shall Not Know
When thou art happy, thou dear heart of pleasure,Because men love thee and the feasts are spread,And Fortune in thy lap has poured her treasure,And..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Wisdom Of Merlyn
These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Wind And The Whirlwind
I have a thing to say. But how to say it?I have a cause to plead. But to what ears?How shall I move a world by lamentation,A world which heeded not a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Wanderer’s Return
An old heart's mourning is a hideous thing,And weeds upon an aged weeper clingLike night upon a grave. The city there,Gaunt as a woman who has once..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Two Voices
There are two voices with me in the night,Easing my grief. The God of Israel saith,``I am the Lord thy God which vanquisheth.See that thou..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Two Highwaymen
I LONG have had a quarrel set with TimeBecause he robb'd me. Every day of lifeWas wrested from me after bitter strife:I never yet could see the sun..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Toad
O who shall tell us of the truth of things?The day was ending blood--red in the WestAfter a storm. The sun had smelted downAs in a furnace all the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Stricken Hart
The stricken hart had fled the brake,His courage spent for life's dear sake.He came to die beside the lake.The golden trout leaped up to view,The..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Stealing Of The Mare - I
In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate! He who narrateth this tale is Abu Obeyd, and he saith:When I took note and perceived that the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Soul’s Mutiny
I saw a galley passing to the West,Its silken sails aglow as if with blood,When the red sun dropped down into his nest,And hurled his level spears..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Rowfant Catalogue
Friends had he many, neighbours next to none.Rowfant and Crabbet lay few fields apart.Each Sunday saw him here, his church drill done,Duly stroll in..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Pre-Adamite World
Who shall declare the glory of the World,The natural World before Man's form was seen?Fair stainless planet through the heavens hurled,And clothed in..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Pleasures Of Love
I do not care for kisses. 'Tis a debtWe paid for the first privilege of love.These are the rains of April which have wetOur fallow hearts and forced..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt