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").
Song
O FLY not, Pleasure, pleasant-hearted Pleasure; Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay: For my heart no measure Knows, nor other treasureTo..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
She Shall Not Guess
Even if I died no sound should tell it her.Death babbles, but the calm of her dear eyesIn vain would ask, no tell--tale breath should stirThe lips..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Sea-Lavender
Lavender, sea lavender!Pale sweet flower how full of her!Flower discreet, with your priest's eyesTrained in all time's mysteries,Yet how chastely..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Satan Absolved
(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groupsconversing.)Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Sancho Sanchez
Sancho Sanchez lay a--dying in the house of Mariquita,For his life ebbed with the ebbing of the red wound in his side.And he lay there as they left..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Requiescit
I cannot tell his story. He was oneTo whom the riddle of our human lifeWas strangely put, and who, because of thatAnd that he could not read it..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Red, Red Gold
Red, red gold, a kingdom's ransom, child,To weave thy yellow hair she bade them spin.At early dawn the gossamer spiders toiled,And wove the sunrise..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Queen Mary’s Letter To Bothwell
Pitiful gods! Have pity on my passion.Teach me the road how I a certain provingShall make to him I love of my great loving,My faith unchanged, nor..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Quatrains Of Life
What has my youth been that I love it thus,Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,Stale as the news which last week wearied us,Or a tired actor's..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Pour Qui Sait Attendre
All things, they say, come home to those that wait,Riches, power, fame, lost fortune, hope deferred,Health to our friends, ill hap to those we..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Pictures On Enamel
When Astraled was lying, like to dieOf love's green sickness, all his bed was strownWith buds of crocus and anemone,For other flowers yet were barely..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
On The Way To Church
There is one I know. I see her sometimes passIn the morning streets upon her way to Mass,A calm sweet woman with unearthly eyes.Men turn to look at..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
On Her Lightheartedness
I WOULD I had thy courage, dear, to faceThis bankruptcy of love, and greet despairWith smiling eyes and unconcerned embrace,And these few words of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
On A Grave In The Forest
Hush, gentle stranger. Here lies one asleepIn the tall grass whom we must not awaken.For see, the wildest winds hush here and keepSilence for her and..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh, Fly Not, Pleasure
Oh fly not, Pleasure, pleasant--hearted Pleasure.Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay.For my heart no measureKnows nor other treasureTo buy a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh For A Day Of Spring
Oh for a day of Spring,A day of flowers and folly,Of birds that pipe and singAnd boyhood's melancholy!I would not grudge the laughter,The tears that..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
O For A Soul
O for a soul surrendered of all guile!A plain white soul with nothing on it writ,No creed of mockery to make men smile,No boast of wisdom travestied..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Not A Word
Love, my heart is faint with waiting,Faint with hope and joy deferred,All night long at this sad grating,Sleepless like a prisoned bird,Singing..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Night On Our Lives
Night on our lives, ah me, how surely has it fallen!Be they who can deceived. I dare not look before.See, sad years, to your own; your little wealth..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
New Things Are Best
What shall I tell you, child, in this new Sonnet?Life's art is to forget, and last year's sowingCast in Time's furrow with the storm winds..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxxi
Rather I hold with those that tell it thus,That they, who had made proof of their great faith,Were joined no less with honour in love's houseBy Holy..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxx
Thus was Natalia loved and lost and won.Some say that Adrian, having gained the goalOf his long hopes, and being of those who runToo lightly for..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxviii
Away! Away! Away with her, young lover,Away with her in haste lest dawn should break;If that her kinsmen should thy deed discoverIll might it fare..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxvii
She wakes, she breathes, she rises from her bed,That bed of death where she has lain so long;The flowers they set there fall from her fair..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxvi
Yet so it was. Adrian had hardly setHis lips to those cold lips where death had been,His eyes those clammy eyelids scarce had wetWith his warm tears..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt