English Poetry. Isaac Watts. Hymn 2. Исаак Уоттс.

Isaac Watts (Исаак Уоттс) Hymn 2 The deity and humanity of Christ. John 1:1,3,14; Col. 1:16. Ere the blue heav’ns were stretched abroad, From everlasting was the Word: With God he was; the Word was God, And must divinely be adored. By his own power […]

Английская поэзия. Редьярд Киплинг. «Расходы и поступления». (1919-1926). 9. Джейн выходит замуж. Rudyard Kipling. «Debits and Credits». (1919-1926). 9. Jane’s Marriage

Редьярд Киплинг (Rudyard Kipling) «Расходы и поступления». (1919-1926). 9. Джейн выходит замуж Попала Джейн, – Джейн О́стин, – в Рай, И это справедливо. И в кресло деву усадил Сэр Вальтер хлопотливо.1 И дон испанский Мигуэ́ль,2 А также Генри с То́би,3 А также сэр Вильям Шекспир […]

Английская поэзия. Айзек Розенберг. Дочери войны. Isaac Rosenberg. Daughters of War

Айзек Розенберг (Isaac Rosenberg) Дочери войны Румяная свобода рук и ног – Расхристанная пляска духа с плотью, Где корни Древа Жизни. (Есть сторона обратная вещей, Что скрыта от мудрейших глаз земли.) Я наблюдал мистические пляски Прекрасных дочерей прошедшей битвы: Они из окровавленного тела Наивную выманивали душу, Чтоб […]

Английская поэзия. Перси Биши Шелли. Тень Ада. Percy Bysshe Shelley. Satan Broken Loose

Перси Биши Шелли (Percy Bysshe Shelley) Тень Ада Прекрасный ангел златокрылый Пред троном Судии предстал: Стопы и длани кровь багрила, Взор обезумевший блуждал. Он известил Отца и Сына, Что бытия мрачна картина, Что Сатана освобожден И что несметный легион Бесов пустил по свету он… Он смолк – и […]

Love’s Wisdom poem – Alfred Austin

Love, that in my mind seeks Reason’s aid. Paraphrase. I crave not love, for it would only bring Tears to your eyes, and anguish to your heart; I am in Autumn, you are still in Spring, And you must linger after I depart. Then to you Summer would scarce Summer be, Vainly for you […]

Love’s Fitfulness poem – Alfred Austin

You say that I am fitful. Sweet, ’tis true; But ’tis that I your fitfulness obey. If you are April, how can I be May, Or flaunt bright roses when you wear sad rue? Shine like the sun, and my sky will be blue; Sing, and the lark shall envy me my lay: I […]

Love Of Life poem – Alfred Austin

Why love life more, the less of it be left, And what is left be little but the lees, And Time’s subsiding passions have bereft One’s taste for pleasure, and one’s power to please? Is it not better, like the waning year, Without lament resignedly to fade, Since by enduring ordinance all things here […]

Love Of Life poem – Alfred Austin

Why love life more, the less of it be left, And what is left be little but the lees, And Time’s subsiding passions have bereft One’s taste for pleasure, and one’s power to please? Is it not better, like the waning year, Without lament resignedly to fade, Since by enduring ordinance all things here […]

Lost poem – Alfred Austin

Sweet lark! that, bedded in the tangled grass, Protractest dewy slumbers, wake, arise! The brightest moments of the morning pass- Thou shouldst be up, and carolling in the skies. Go up! go up! and melt into the blue, And to heaven’s veil on wings of song repair; But, ere thou dost descend to earth, […]

Lines Written On Visiting The Chateaux On The Loire poem – Alfred Austin

I “River rolling past the grey Battlements of yesterday, Palace strongholds reared by hands Summoned from transalpine lands, Skilled in wedding strength with grace, Fort with stately dwelling-place, Vizored brow with siren tress, Majesty with loveliness,- River, that beheld their sway Dawn and dwindle, then decay, Linger, loiter, while I sit, As the sunshine-shadows […]

Let The Weary World Go Round poem – Alfred Austin

Let the weary world go round! What care I? Life’s a surfeiting of sound: I would die. It would be so sweet to lie Under waving grasses, Where a maiden’s footstep sly, Tremulous for a lover nigh, Sometimes passes. Why, why remain? Graves are the sovereign simples Against life’s pain; Graves are the sheltering […]

Leszko The Bastard poem – Alfred Austin

“Why do I bid the rising gale To waft me from your shore? Why hail I, as the vultures hail, The scent of far-off gore? Why wear I with defiant pride The Paynim’s badge and gear, Though I am vowed to Christ that died, And fain would staunch the gaping side That felt the […]

Is Life Worth Living? poem – Alfred Austin

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo’s song, To show that she is here; So long as May of April takes, In smiles and tears, farewell, And windflowers dapple all the brakes, And primroses the dell; While children in the woodlands yet Adorn […]

Inflexible As Fate poem – Alfred Austin

When for one brief dark hour Rome’s virile sway Felt the sharp shock of Cannae’s adverse day, Forum, and field, and Senate-House were rent With cries of nor misgiving nor lament, Only of men contending now who should Purchase the spot on which the Victor stood. Legion on legion sprang up from the ground, […]

In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo poem – Alfred Austin

Hark! Spring is coming. Her herald sings, Cuckoo! The air resounds and the woodland rings, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Leave the milking pail and the mantling cream, And down by the meadow, and up by the stream, Where movement is music and life a dream, In the month when sings the cuckoo. Away with old Winter’s […]

In The Forum poem – Alfred Austin

The last warm gleams of sunset fade From cypress spire and stonepine dome, And, in the twilight’s deepening shade, Lingering, I scan the wrecks of Rome. Husht the Madonna’s Evening Bell; The steers lie loosed from wain and plough; The vagrant monk is in his cell, The meek nun-novice cloistered now. Pedant’s presumptuous voice […]

In Sutton Woods poem – Alfred Austin

There-peace once more; the restless roar Of troubled cities dies away. “Welcome to our broad shade once more,” The dear old woodlands seem to say. The sweet suggestions of the wind, That spake in whispers, now are stilled; The songless branches all remind That summer’s glory is fulfilled. The petulant plaint of falling leaves […]

In Praise Of England poem – Alfred Austin

From tangled brake and trellised bower Bring every bud that blows, But never will you find the flower To match an English rose. It blooms with more than city grace, Though rustic and apart; It has a smile upon its face, And a dewdrop in its heart. Though wide the goodly world around Your […]

Impromptu: To Frances Garnet Wolseley poem – Alfred Austin

Little maiden just beginning To be comely, arch, and winning, In whose form I catch the traces Of your mother’s gifts and graces, And around whose head the glory Of your father’s growing story, O’er whose cradle, fortune-guided, Mars and Venus both presided, May your fuller years inherit Female charm and manly merit, So […]

If I To You But Sorry Bring poem – Alfred Austin

If I to you but sorrow bring, But aching hours and brackish tears, And that poor drooping Hope whose wing Flags ‘neath the weight of clogging fears, Then let me in the desert hide This fatal gift, this feverish breast; Or, better,’neath the sounding tide Be hushed, and evermore at rest. What recks it […]

I Chide Not At The Seasons poem – Alfred Austin

I chide not at the seasons, for if Spring With backward look refuses to be fair, My Love still more than April makes me sing, And shows May blossom in the bleak March air. Should Summer fail its tryst, or June delay To wreathe my porch with roses red and pale, Her breath is […]

Hymn To Death poem – Alfred Austin

I What is it haunts the summer air? A sense of something lately passed away; Something pleasant, something fair, That was with us yesterday, And is no longer there. Now from the pasture comes no baby bleat, Nor the frisk of frolic feet There is seen. Blossom and bloom have spread their wings, and […]

Grandmother’s Teaching poem – Alfred Austin

“Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life, Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife; Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet, Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet: Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless […]

Gleaners Of Fame poem – Alfred Austin

Hearken not, friend, for the resounding din That did the Poet’s verses once acclaim: We are but gleaners in the field of fame, Whence the main harvest hath been gathered in. The sheaves of glory you are fain to win, Long since were stored round many a household name, The reapers of the Past, […]