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 New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxii
Unblest discovery of an age too real!They needed not the beauty of the Earth,Who held Heaven's hope for their supreme ideal,And found in worlds..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxi
To Switzerland, the land of lakes and snow,And ancient freedom of ancestral type,And modern innkeepers, who cringe and bow,And venal echoes, and Pans..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xx
Enough, dear Paris! We have laughed together,'Tis time that we should part, lest tears should come.I must fare on from winter and rough weatherAnd..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xviii
Therefore do thou at least arise and warn,Not folded in thy mantle, a blind seer,But naked in thy anger, and new--born,As in the hour when thy voice..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xvii
For lo! the nations, the imperial nationsOf Europe, all imagine a vain thing,Sitting thus blindly in their generations,Serving an idol for their God..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xvi
Gods, what a moral! Yet in vain I jest.The France which has been, and shall be again,Is the most serious, and perhaps the best,Of all the nations..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xv
For thus it is. You flout at kings to--day.To--morrow in your pride you shall stoop lowTo a new tyrant who shall come your way,And serve him meekly..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xl
Here therefore ends my sad soul's pilgrimage,In tears for sin and half--redeemed desire.She was unworthy her high martyr's rage,Or to be wholly..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xix
Alas, that words like these should be but folly!Behold, the Boulevard mocks, and I mock too.Let us away and purge our melancholyWith the last..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xiv
To--day there is no cloud upon thy face,Paris, fair city of romance and doom!Thy memories do not grieve thee, and no traceLives of their tears for us..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xiii
And what strange sights have these threewindows seen,Mid bonnes and children, in the Tuileries!What flights of hero, Emperor and Queen,Since first I..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xii
Dear royal France! I fix the happy yearAt forty--seven, because that Christmas--tideThere passed through Pau the Duke of Montpensier,Fresh from his..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet X
Whence is our pleasure in things beautiful?We are not born with it, we do not know,By instinct of the eye or natural rule,That naked rocks are..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Viii
I will sit down awhile in dallianceWith my dead life, and dream that it is young.My earliest memories have their home in France,The chestnut woods of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Vii
Ah, Paris, Paris! What an echo ringsStill in those syllables of vain delight!What voice of what dead pleasures on what wingsOf Maenad laughters..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Vi
Away from sorrow! Yes, indeed, away!Who said that care behind the horseman sits?The train to Paris, as it flies to--day,Whirls its bold rider clear..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet V
The physical world itself is a fair thingFor who has eyes to see or ears to hear.To--day I fled on my new freedom's wind,With the first swallows of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Ix
These were in truth brave days. From our high perch,The box--seat of our travelling chariot, thenWe children spied the world 'twas ours to search,And..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Iv
Behold the deed is done. Here endeth allThat bound my grief to its ancestral ways.I have passed out, as from a funeral,From my dead home, and in the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Iii
I will break through my bondage. Let me beHomeless once more, a wanderer on the Earth,Marked with my soul's sole care for company,Like Cain, lest I..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Ii
How shall I ransom me? The world without,Where once I lived in vain expense and noise,Say, shall it welcome me in this last rout,Back to its bosom of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet I
Care killed a cat, and I have cares at home,Which vex me nightly and disturb my bed.The things I love have all grown wearisome;The things that loved..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Love Secret
Love has its secrets, joy has its revealings.How shall I speak of that which love has hid?If my beloved shall return to greet me,Deeds shall be done..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Lesson In Humility
'Tis time, my soul, thou shouldst be purged of pride.What men are these with thee, whose ill deeds doneMake thee thus shrink from them and be..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Glory Gone
What is my thought of you, beloved one,Now you have passed from me and gone your ways?Glory is gone with you from stars and sun,And all wise meaning..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt