Favourite Poem

[Nerthus]

DAS GEHEIMNIS ~ Friedrich Schiller

Sie konnte mir kein Wörtchen sagen,
Zu viele Lauscher waren wach,
Den Blick nur durft ich schüchtern fragen,
Und wohl verstand ich, was er sprach.
Leis komm ich her in deine Stille,
Du schön belaubtes Buchenzelt,
Verbirg in deiner grünen Hülle
Die Liebenden dem Aug der Welt.

Von ferne mit verworrnem Sausen
Arbeitet der geschäftge Tag,
Und durch der Stimmen hohles Brausen
Erkenn ich schwerer Hämmer Schlag.
So sauer ringt die kargen Lose
Der Mensch dem harten Himmel ab,
Doch Ieicht erworben, aus dem Schoße
Der Götter fällt das Glück herab.

Daß ja die Menschen nie es hören,
Wie treue Lieb uns still beglückt!
Sie können nur die Freude stören,
Weil Freude nie sie selbst entzückt.
Die Welt wird nie das Glück erlauben,
Als Beute wird es nur gehascht,
Entwenden mußt du's oder rauben,
Eh dich die Mißgunst überrascht.

Leis auf den Zehen kommts geschlichen,
Die Stille liebt es und die Nacht,
Mit schnellen Füßen ists entwichen,
Wo des Verräters Auge wacht.
O schlinge dich, du sanfte Quelle,
Ein breiter Strom um uns herum,
Und drohend mit empörter Welle
Verteidige dies Heiligtum.

---------------------------------------------------

(Translation by Edgar A. Bowring)

THE SECRET

She sought to breathe one word, but vainly--
Too many listeners were nigh;
And yet my timid glance read plainly
The language of her speaking eye.
Thy silent glades my footstep presses,
Thou fair and leaf-embosom'd grove!
Conceal within thy green recesses
From mortal eye our sacred love!

Afar with strange discordant noises,
The busy day is echoing;
And, 'mid the hollow hum of voices,
I hear the heavy hammer ring.
'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er-ending,
Extorts from Heaven his daily bread;
Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending
The gifts of fortune on his head!

Oh, let mankind discover never
How true love fills with bliss our hearts!
They would but crush our joy forever,
For joy to them no glow imparts.
Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it--
'Tis never captured save as prey;
Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it,
E'er Envy dark asserts her sway.

The hours of night and stillness loving,
It comes upon us silently--
Away with hasty footsteps moving
Soon as it sees a treach'rous eye.
Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving,
A wat'ry barrier cast around,
And, with thy waves in anger heaving,
Guard from each foe this holy ground!

[Nerthus]

Touchy-feely love poems

She is Far from the Land ~ Thomas Moore

She is far from the land, where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying!

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he lov'd awaking
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking!

He had lov'd for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwin'd him,
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own lov'd Island of sorrow!


----------------------------------------------------


I Watched Thee ~ Byron

I watched thee when the foe was at our side
Ready to strike at him, or thee and me
Were safety hopeless rather than divide
Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.

I watched thee in the breakers when the rock
Received our prow and all was storm and fear
And bade thee cling to me through every shock
This arm would be thy bark or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes
Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground
When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise
From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found.

The Earthquake came and rocked the quivering wall
And men and Nature reeled as if with wine
Whom did I seek around the tottering Hall
For thee, whose safety first provide for thine.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought
To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death
My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.

[Perun]

She Walks in Beauty - Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

[Perun]

Why - Mikhail Lermontov

I’m sad, because I love you, poor thing,
And know, what can crowd’s rumour bring.
They won’t spare your rosy youth with their meannes.
For every lighten day, for every happy minute
The fate will make with pain and tears pay.
And I’m sad... because you are too gay.

[Perun]

I loved you - Aleksander Pushkin

I loved you; and perhaps I love you still,
The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet
It burns so quietly within my soul,
No longer should you feel distressed by it.

Silently and hopelessly I loved you,
At times too jealous and at times too shy.
God grant you find another who will love you
As tenderly and truthfully as I.

[Nerthus]

Ode on Solitude ~ Alexander Pope

How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breathes his native air,
In his own grounds.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

[Alkman]

Η Ψυχη



Μεγιστο αγαθο της ψυχης η ποιμαντορια
αλλαζει νοημα στα πραγματα και η ιστορια
του Αιγεα δεν ειναι ιδια γιατι τα πανια
δεν γυριζουν πλεον μαυρα,μα κατασπρα σαν αρνια
τα συννεφα πανω απο τη θυσια της Ιφιγενειας
αλλαζουν υφος και το κριαρι τωρα θελημα της αγενειας
με την Αγδιστι να διαλεγει πλεον φυλλο
την ερμαφροδιτη φυση της να απαρνιεται και το μηλο
δεν το τρωει ποτε η απιστη γυναικα μα το φτυνει
ο Δαιδαλος καταστρεφει το λαβυρινθο με ευθυνη
οι Ερινυες τραγουδανε ευχαριστα στις συνειδησεις
ο Δευκαλιων και η Πυρρα ζουνε με συγκινησεις
ποτε δεν ανοιγει το κουτι του κακου η Πανδωρα
ο Οιδιπους δεν ερωτευεται την μανα του τωρα
το καταρτι δεν πεφτει στο κεφαλι του Ιασονα
η Διηανειρα πεταει πισω τον χειτωνα που θανασιμα
θα πληρωνε ο Ηρακλης με τη ζωη του
κι η Ηρα λατρευει πλεον την επιρροη του
ο Ναρκισσος σκεφτεται και τους αλλους για λιγο
και συ ηρθες κοντα μου πριν να φυγω!

[Nerthus]

Bavarian Gentians ~ D. H. Lawrence

Not every man has gentians in his house
in Soft September, at slow, Sad Michaelmas.

Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime torchlike with the smoking blueness of Pluto's
gloom,
ribbed and torchlike, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off
light,
lead me then, lead me the way.

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch
let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness.
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness was awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom,
among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on the
lost bride and groom.

[Perun]

Jerusalem - William Blake (I like Parry's musical adaptation of this)

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

[Perun]

The Catholic Sun - Hiliaire Belloc

Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!

[Perun]

Lines to a Don - Hilaire Belloc LOL

Remote and ineffectual Don
That dared attack my Chesterton,
With that poor weapon, half-impelled,
Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held,
Unworthy for a tilt with men--
Your quavering and corroded pen;
Don poor at Bed and worse at Table,
Don pinched, Don starved, Don miserable;
Don stuttering, Don with roving eyes,
Don nervous, Don of crudities;
Don clerical, Don ordinary,
Don self-absorbed and solitary;
Don here-and-there, Don epileptic;
Don puffed and empty, Don dyspeptic;
Don middle-class, Don sycophantic,
Don dull, Don brutish, Don pedantic;
Don hypocritical, Don bad,
Don furtive, Don three-quarters mad;
Don (since a man must make and end),
Don that shall never be my friend.

Don different from those regal Dons!
With hearts of gold and lungs of bronze,
Who shout and bang and roar and bawl
The Absolute across the hall,
Or sail in amply bellying gown
Enormous through the Sacred Town,
Bearing from College to their homes
Deep cargoes of gigantic tomes;
Dons admirable! Dons of Might!
Uprising on my inward sight
Compact of ancient tales, and port
And sleep--and learning of a sort.
Dons English, worthy of the land;
Dons rooted; Dons that understand.
Good Dons perpetual that remain
A landmark, walling in the plain--
The horizon of my memories--
Like large and comfortable trees.


Don very much apart from these,
Thou scapegoat Don, thou Don devoted,
Don to thine own damnation quoted,
Perplexed to find thy trivial name
Reared in my verse to lasting shame.
Don dreadful, rasping Don and wearing,
Repulsive Don--Don past all bearing.
Don of the cold and doubtful breath,
Don despicable, Don of death;
Don nasty, skimpy, silent, level;
Don evil, Don that serves the devil.
Don ugly--that makes fifty lines.
There is a Canon which confines
A Rhymed Octosyllabic Curse
If written in Iambic Verse
To fifty lines. I never cut;
I far prefer to end it--but
Believe me I shall soon return.
My fires are banked, but still they burn
To write some more about the Don
That dared attack my Chesterton

[Perun]

Epitaph On The Politician -- Hilaire Belloc

Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.

[Perun]

Some shorter poems I enjoy of Belloc's


On a Puritan

He served his God so faithfully and well
That now he sees him face to face, in hell
---------

The Pacifist

Pale Ebenezer thought it wrong to fight,
But Roaring Bill (who killed him) thought it right.

[Perun]

MY LOVE-- Ivan Franko

So lovely is she, for she shines
In loveliness, holy and pure.
Her face is aglow with sweet peace,
Sincerity, love so secure,

So beautiful is she, and yet
Misfortuned, for so much of ill
Hath passed over her that the pain
Is heard in her native songs still.

Yet having known her, can I help
But love her with all of my heart?
The best of my joys I would lose
If ever I should from her part.

And having loved her, can I help
But deep in my heart to engrave
Her glorious image and bear it,
Despite pain and grief, to the grave?

And how can such love contravene
That other love, sacred as this,
For all those who weep and sweat blood,
Enchained in their misery's abyss?

No! he who loves not all his kind,
As God sends to all sun and rain,
He cannot sincerely love thee,
O thou, my beloved Ukraine!

June 27,1880

[Perun]

I have a thread dedicated to this poem, but I'll post it here as well.

NATIONAL HYMN -- Ivan Franko

No longer, no longer should we
The Russian or Pole meekly serve!
Ukraine's ancient grievances lie in the past—
Ukraine doth our whole life deserve.

No longer, no longer should we
Shed blood for an alien throne,
Show love for a Tsar who oppresses our kin—
Let love be for Ukraine alone.

No longer, no longer should we
Endure in our homeland the blight
Of quarrels and strife. Let them perish and then
'Neath Ukraine's fair banner unite!

This hour much promises, so
In desperate struggle will we
E'en lay down our lives, if that honor and fame,
Dear Homeland, we may win for thee!

1880