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").
A Wedding March
Clash your cymbals, maids, to--day.Chaunt the praise of Cynthia.You, her virgins, yokeless, free,Young Time's choice, his brides--to--be.Nymphs in..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Vision Of Folly
I saw one rushing madly in pursuitOf Liberty. With frenzied steps he strode.Old laws and customs with disdainful footHe spurned beneath him in a mire..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Summer In Tuscany
Do you remember, Lucy,How, in the days gone byWe spent a summer together,A summer in Tuscany,In the chestnut woods by the river,You and the rest and..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Storm In Summer
Nature that day a woman was in weakness,A woman in her impotent high wrath.At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seenUnder the sun; an innocent..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Rhapsody
There is a God most surely in the heavens,Who smileth always, though His face be hid.And young Joy cometh as His messengerUpon the Earth, like to a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Relapse
I thought that I had done with fleshly things,That in the azure of high thought my soulHad learned to fly on less substantial wingsTo a new Heaven, a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Perfect Sonnet
Oh, for a perfect sonnet of all time!Wild music, heralding immortal hopes,Strikes the bold prelude. To it from each clime,Like tropic birds on some..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Nocturne
The Moon has gone to her rest,A full hour ago.The Pleiads have found a nestIn the waves below.Slow, the Hours one by oneIn Midnight's footsteps..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxviii
I saw one sitting on a kingly throne,A man of age, whom Time had touched with white;White were his brows, and white his vestment shone,And white the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxvii
I will release my soul of argument.He that would love must follow with shut eyes.My reason of the years was discontent,My treasure for all hope a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxvi
The majesty of Rome to me is nought;The imperial story of her conquering carTouches me only with compassionate thoughtFor the doomed nations faded by..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxv
At last I kneel in Rome, the bourne, the goalOf what a multitude of laden hearts!No pilgrim of them all a wearier soulBrought ever here, no master of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxix
Ancient of days! What word is thy commandTo one befooled of wit and his own way?What counsel hast thou, and what chastening handFor a lost soul grown..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxiv
O fool! O false! I have abandoned Heaven,And sold my wealth for metal of base kind.O frail disciple of a fair creed givenFor human hope when all the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxiii
So I, I am ashamed of my old life,Here in this saintly presence of days gone,Ashamed of my weak heart's unmeaning strife,Its loves, its lusts, its..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxii
To--day I was at Milan, in such thoughtAs pilgrims bring who at faith's threshold stand,Still burdened with the sorrows they have brought,And vexed..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxi
Yes, Italy is wise, a cultured prude,Stored with all maxims of a statelier age;These are her lessons for our northern blood,With its dark Saxon..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxx
'Tis time I stepped from Horeb to the plain.Mountains, farewell. I need a heavier air.Youth's memories are not good for souls in pain,And each new..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxviii
Yet it is pitiful how friendships die,Spite of our oaths eternal and high vows.Some fall through blight of tongues wagged secretly,Some through..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxvii
The poets, every one, have sung of passion.But which has sung of friendship, man with man?Love seeks its price, but friendship has a fashionLarger to..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxvi
Youth is all valiant. He and I together,Conscious of strength, and unreproved of wrong,Strained at the world's conventions as a tetherToo weak to..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxv
And what brave life it was we lived that tide,Lived, or essayed to live--for who shall sayYouth garners aught but its own dreams denied,Or handles..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxix
How strangely now I come, a man of sorrow,Nor yet such sorrow as youth dreamed of, blind,But life's last indigence which dares not borrowOne garment..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxiv
And here too I, the latest fool of Time,Sad child of doubt and passionate desires,Touched with all pity, yet in league with crime,Watched the red..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxiii
Voltaire and Rousseau, these were thy twin priests,Proud Mother Nature, on thy opening day.The first with bitter gibes perplexed the feastsOf thy..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt