My restless thoughts among them roam . . .
The night is dark and loud.
Where are the hours that came to me
So beautiful and bright?
A wild wind shakes the wilder sea . . .
O, dark and loud’s the night!
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Crosses and troubles a-many have proved me.
I have worked and dreamed, and I’ve talked at will.Of art and drink I have had my fill.I’ve comforted here, and I succoured there.I’ve faced my foes, and I backed my friends.I’ve blundered, and sometimes made amends.I’ve prayed for light, and I’ve known despair.Now I look before, as I look behind,Come storm, come shine, whatever…
Lived on one’s back,
Life is a practical nightmare –Hideous asleep or awake.Shoulders and loinsAche– -!Ache, and the mattress,Run into boulders and hummocks,Glows like a kiln, while the bedclothes –Tumbling, importunate, daft –Ramble and roll, and the gas,Screwed to its lowermost,An inevitable atom of light,Haunts, and a stertorous sleeperSnores me to hate and despair.All the old timeSurges malignant before…
The big teetotum twirls,
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Why, my heart, do we love her so?
Why does the great sea ebb and flow? –Why does the round world spin?Geraldine, Geraldine,Bid me my life renew:What is it worth unless I win,Love–love and you?Why, my heart, when we speak her name(Geraldine, Geraldine!)Throbs the word like a flinging flame? –Why does the Spring begin?Geraldine, Geraldine,Bid me indeed to be:Open your heart, and take…
What have I done for you,
What is there I would not do,England, my own?With your glorious eyes austere,As the Lord were walking near,Whispering terrible things and dearAs the Song on your bugles blown,England –Round the world on your bugles blown!Where shall the watchful Sun,England, my England,Match the master-work you’ve done,England, my own?When shall he rejoice agenSuch a breed of mighty…
The wan sun westers, faint and slow;
An eerie haze comes creeping lowAcross the little, lonely bay;And from the sky-line far awayAbout the quiet heaven are spreadMysterious hints of dying day,Thin, delicate dreams of green and red.And weak, reluctant surges lapAnd rustle round and down the strand.No other sound . . . If it should hap,The ship that sails from fairy-land!The silken…