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").
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. October
GAMBLING AT MONACOA jewelled kingdom set impregnableIn gardens green which front the violet sea,A happy fortress shut and guarded well,And cradled..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. November
ACROSS COUNTRYNovember's here. Once more the pink we don,And on old Centaur, at the coverside,Sit changing pleasant greetings one by oneWith friend..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. May
THE LONDON SEASONI still love London in the month of May,By an old habit, spite of dust and din.I love the fair adulterous world, whose wayIs by the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. March
A WEEK AT PARISWhen loud March from the East begins to blow,And earth and heaven are black, then off we hieBy the night train to Paris, where we..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. June
A DAY AT HAMPTON COURTIt is our custom, once in every year,Mine and two others', when the chestnut treesAre white at Bushey, Ascot being near,To..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. July
GOODWOODTo the high breezes of the Goodwood DownLondon has fled, and there awhile forgetsIts weariness of limb on lawns new--mownAnd in green shadows..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. January
COVER SHOOTINGThe week at Whinwood next to Christmas week.Six guns, no more, but all good men and true,Of the clean--visaged sort, with ruddy..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. February
UNDER THE SPEAKER'S GALLERYIn all the comedy of human thingsWhat is more mirthful than for those, who sitFar from the great world's vain..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. December
AWAY TO EGYPTEnough, enough! This winter is too rude,Too dark of countenance, of tooth too keen.Nature finds rebels now in flesh and blood,And hearts..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. August
ON THE THAMESThe river Thames has many a dear delightIn summer days for souls which know not guile,Or souls too careless of the vain world's spiteTo..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. April
TROUT--FISHINGThis morning, through my window, half awake,I felt the south wind blow; and presently,With a tumultuous thrill and then a shake,The..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Grief Of Love
Love, I am sick for thee, sick with an absolute grief,Sick with the thought of thy eyes and lips and bosom.All the beauty I saw, I see to my hurt..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Eviction
Unruly tenant of my heart,Full fain would I be quit of thee.I’ve played too long a losing part.Thou bringest me neither gold nor fee. ’Tis time thou..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Desolate City
DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens. Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?Desolate are the streets. Desolate..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Desert Wind
I went with happy heart (how happy!) a while sinceBehind my camel flocks,Piping all day where the Nile pastures endAnd the white sand beginsAmong the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Deeds That Might Have Been
There are wrongs done in the fair face of heavenWhich cry aloud for vengeance, and shall cry;Loves beautiful in strength whose wit has strivenVainly..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Death Of The Rose
Ah! life, dear life, thy summer days have flownSwiftly yet all too late, for they did wither.Joy should be joy for one short hour alone,Or it will..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Days Of Our Youth
These are the days of our youth, our days of glory and honour.Pleasure begotten of strength is ours, the sword in our hand.Wisdom bends to our will..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Court Of Penance
Behold the Court of Penance. Four gaunt wallsShutting out all things but the upper heaven.Stone flags for floor, where daily from their stallsThe..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Canon Of Aughrim
You ask me of English honour, whether your Nation is just?Justice for us is a word divine, a name we revere,Alas, no more than a name, a thing laid..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Camel-Rider
There is no thing in all the world but love,No jubilant thing of sun or shade worth one sad tear.Why dost thou ask my lips to fashion songsOther than..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Broken Pitcher
Accursed be the hour of that sad dayThe careless potter put his hand to thee,And dared to fashion out of common claySo pure a shape as thou didst..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Tarafa
The tent lines these of Kháula in stone--stricken Tháhmadi.See where the fire has touched them, dyed dark as the hands of her.'Twas here thy friends..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
St. Valentine's Day
TO-DAY, all day, I rode upon the down,With hounds and horsemen, a brave companyOn this side in its glory lay the sea,On that the Sussex weald, a sea..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Song Of The Desert Lark
Love, love, in vainWe count the days of Spring.Lost is all love's pain,Lost the songs we sing.Sunshine and Summer rain,Winter and Spring againStill..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt