English Poetry. Jones Very. Worship. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) Worship There is no worship now,—the idol stands Within the spirit’s holy resting place! Millions before it bend with upraised hands, And with their gifts God’s purer shrine disgrace; The prophet walks unhonored mid the crowd That to the idol’s temple daily throng; His […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. To the Fossil Flower. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) To the Fossil Flower Dark fossil flower! I see thy leaves unrolled, With all thy lines of beauty freshly marked, As when the eye of Morn beamed on thee first, And thou first turn’dst to meet its welcome smile. And sometimes in the coals’ […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. The War. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) The War I saw a war, yet none the trumpet blew, Nor in their hands the steel-wrought weapons bare; And in that conflict armed there fought but few, And none that in the world’s loud tumults share; They fought against their wills,—the stubborn foe […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. The Robin. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) The Robin Thou need’st not flutter from thy half-built nest, Whene’er thou hear’st man’s hurrying feet go by, Fearing his eye for harm may on thee rest, Or he thy young unfinished cottage spy; All will not heed thee on that swinging bough, Nor […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. The Jew. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) The Jew Thou art more deadly than the Jew of old, Thou hast his weapons hidden in thy speech; And though thy hand from me thou dost withhold, They pierce where sword and spear could never reach. Thou hast me fenced about with thorny […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. Night. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) Night I thank thee, Father, that the night is near When I this conscious being may resign; Whose only task thy words of love to hear, And in thy acts to find each act of mine; A task too great to give a child […]

English Poetry. Jones Very. Day. Джонс Вери.

Jones Very (Джонс Вери) Day Day! I lament that none can hymn thy praise In fitting strains, of all thy riches bless; Though thousands sport them in thy golden rays, Yet none like thee their Maker’s name confess. Great fellow of my being! woke with me Thou dost […]

English Poetry. Rose Terry Cooke. Gray. Роуз Терри Кук.

Rose Terry Cooke (Роуз Терри Кук) Gray In the dead calm of night, when the stars are all shining, The deep, silent shadows lie cold o’er my head, And the wind, like a sad spirit, round the house pining, Calls up from their quiet the tones of the […]