Poems
02.09.2010 / 20.50 pm
 
by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Rating: 1.00
Votes: 1
Now in the West the slender moon lies low,
And now Orion glimmers through the trees,
Clearing the earth with even pace and slow,
And now the stately-moving Pleiades,
In that soft infinite darkness overhead
Hang jewel-wise upon a silver thread.

And all the lonelier stars that have their place,
Calm lamps within the distant southern sky,
And planet-dust upon the edge of space,
Look down upon the fretful world, and I
Look up to outer vastness unafraid
And see the stars which sang when earth was made.


1 2 3 4 5

No comments
Post your comments and praises as well as critique but remember to keep your language clean and inoffensive.
Your name
Your comment

Exile

I chose the place where I would rest
When death should come to claim me,
Rating: 4.50
Votes: 2
 

The Lamp Of Poor Souls

[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]

Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 

Marching Men

Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 
Dylan ThomasDylan Thomas (14)
(1914 - 1953)
Welsh poet and prose writer whose work is known for its comic exuberance, rhapsodic lilt, and pathos.
Ernest FavencErnest Favenc (1)
(1845 - 1908)
Was an explorer of Australia, a journalist and historian.
Thomas BrackenThomas Bracken (3)
(1843 - 1898)
Was a noted late 19th century poet.
Harry CrosbyHarry Crosby (6)
(1898 - 1929)
Was an American heir, bon vivant, poet, and for some, an exemplar of the Lost Generation in American literature.

On Receiving News Of The War

Snow is a strange white word.
No ice or frost
Rating: 2.00
Votes: 2
 

The Gloom That Breathes Upon Me With These Airs

The gloom that breathes upon me with these airs
Is like the drops which stike the traveller's brow
Rating: 3.00
Votes: 1
 

The Woodspurge

The wind flapp'd loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 

I Heard A Bird At Dawn

I heard a bird at dawn
Singing sweetly on a tree,
Rating: 4.50
Votes: 2
 

Windows

Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling than a window lighted by a single candle. What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind a windowpane. In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.

Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 








Forgot you password?