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").
Youth And Knowledge
What price, child, shall I pay for your bright eyes(How large a debt!) the light they shed on me?What for your cheeks, so red in their surprise,Your..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
You Have Let The Beauty Of The Day Go Over
You have let the beauty of the day go over,You have let the glory of the noon go by.Clouds from the West have gathered close and coverAll but a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Written At Sea
What is my quarrel with thee, beautiful sea,That thus I cannot love thy waves or thee,Or hear thy voice but it tormenteth me? Why do I hate thee, who..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Written At Florence
O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young;When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age?World, with thy covering of yellow flowers,Hast thou forgot..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Worth Forest
Come, Prudence, you have done enough to--day--The worst is over, and some hours of playWe both have earned, even more than rest, from toil;Our minds..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
With Eternity Standing By
How shall I bid you good--bye,Dear, without tears?Only once in the years,The idle vanishing years,We met, with Eternity standing by,And loved, a..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
With Esther
HE who has once been happy is for aye Out of destruction's reach. His fortune thenHolds nothing secret; and Eternity, Which is a mystery to other..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?
Wilt thou take me for thy slave,With my folly and my love?Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?Thou who dearer art to me than all the..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Why Do I Love?
Why do I love?Is it for men to chooseThe hour of the hushed night when crowned with dewsFrom its sea grave the morning star shall wake?Lo, while we..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Whom The Gods Love
Whom the gods love die young. Ah, do not doubt of it.Laura did well to die. Our loss was a gain for her,Ours who so loved her laughter, ours who at..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Une Feuille Morte
Je rêve debout devant la porteQui vient de se fermer sur moi.Je colle mes yeux en triste sorteSur ce carré de sombre bois.Je tourne entre mes deux..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Twenty Days
Twenty days are barely gone,I was merry all the day.Folly was my butt of scorn.Now the fool myself I play.Wit and learning ruled my head,Logic and..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To The Same
I WOULD I had thy courage, dear, to faceThis bankruptcy of love, and greet despairWith smiling eyes and unconcerned embrace,And these few words of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To One Who Would Make A Confession
Oh! leave the past to buy its own dead.The past is naught to us, the present all.What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed?What need of..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To One In A Hostile Camp
How dare I, Juliet, in love's kindness beYour counsellor for these mad days of war,I, a sworn Montagu, to libertyBound by all oaths which men least..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To One In A Garden
If I were other than, alas, I am,A soul in strife, whom banded foemen vex,If toil were folly and good deeds a sham,And hydra wrong had shed its..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Nimue
I had clean forgotten all, her face who had caused my trouble.Gone was she as a cloud, as a bird which passed in the wind, as a glittering..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Manon, On His Fortune In Loving Her
I DID not choose thee, dearest. It was LoveThat made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blindAs a rude shepherd's who to some lone groveHis offering..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Manon, Comparing Her To A Falcon
BRAVE as a falcon and as merciless,With bright eyes watching still the world, thy prey,I saw thee pass in thy lone majesty,Untamed, unmated, high..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Hester On The Stair
Hester, creature of my love,What is this? You love not me?On the stair you stand above,Looking down distrustfullyWith the corners of your..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To Her Whose Name
To her whose name,With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showersSplashing the grass and flowers,Hath set my April heart aflame; To her whose..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Happy Warrior
Glory to God who made a man like this!To God be praise who in the empty heavenSet Earth's gay globeWith its green vesture givenAnd nuptial robeTo be..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Disciple Of William Morris
Stand fast by the ideal. Hero be,You in your youth, as he from youth to age.Dare to be last, least, in good modesty,Nor fret thy soul for speedier..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To A Dead Journalist
The busy trade of life is over now,The intricate toil which was so hard for bread,The strife each day renewed 'neath this poor browBy this frail hand..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Three Pictures Continued
The first, a woman, nobly limbed and fair,Standeth at sunset by a famed far sea.Red are her lips as Love's own kisses were,Yet speak they never..
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt