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Love and Marriage Poems - 20
Anactoria by Sappho
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure
Even in Sardis Anactoria will think often of us
of the life we shared here, when you seemed the Goddess incarnate to her and your singing pleased her best
Now among Lydian women she in her turn stands first as the red- fingered moon rising at sunset takes
precedence over stars around her; her light spreads equally on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom
Delicious dew pours down to freshen roses, delicate thyme and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders
aimlessly, thinking of gentle Atthis, her heart hanging heavy with longing in her little breast
She shouts aloud, Come! we know it; thousand-eared night repeats that cry across the sea shining between us
Sappho tr. Barnard
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Mr. and Mrs. Spikky Sparrow by Edward Lear
I On a little piece of wood, Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood; Mrs. Sparrow sate close by, A-making of an insect pie, For her little children five, In the nest and all alive, Singing with a cheerful smile To amuse them all the while, Twikky wikky wikky wee, Wikky bikky twikky tee, Spikky bikky bee!
II Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said, 'Spikky, Darling! in my head 'Many thoughts of trouble come, 'Like to flies upon a plum! 'All last night, among the trees, 'I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze; 'And, thought I, it's come to that 'Because he does not wear a hat! 'Chippy wippy sikky tee! 'Bikky wikky tikky mee! 'Spikky chippy wee!
III 'Not that you are growing old, 'But the nights are growing cold. 'No one stays out all night long 'Without a hat: I'm sure it's wrong!' Mr. Spikky said 'How kind, 'Dear! you are, to speak your mind! 'All your life I wish you luck! 'You are! you are! a lovely duck! 'Witchy witchy witchy wee! 'Twitchy witchy witchy bee! Tikky tikky tee!
IV 'I was also sad, and thinking, 'When one day I saw you winking, 'And I heard you sniffle-snuffle, 'And I saw your feathers ruffle; 'To myself I sadly said, 'She's neuralgia in her head! 'That dear head has nothing on it! 'Ought she not to wear a bonnet? 'Witchy kitchy kitchy wee? 'Spikky wikky mikky bee? 'Chippy wippy chee?
V 'Let us both fly up to town! 'There I'll buy you such a gown! 'Which, completely in the fashion, 'You shall tie a sky-blue sash on. 'And a pair of slippers neat, 'To fit your darling little feet, 'So that you will look and feel, 'Quite galloobious and genteel! 'Jikky wikky bikky see, 'Chicky bikky wikky bee, 'Twikky witchy wee!'
VI So they both to London went, Alighting on the Monument, Whence they flew down swiftly -- pop, Into Moses' wholesale shop; There they bought a hat and bonnet, And a gown with spots upon it, A satin sash of Cloxam blue, And a pair of slippers too. Zikky wikky mikky bee, Witchy witchy mitchy kee, Sikky tikky wee.
VII Then when so completely drest, Back they flew and reached their nest. Their children cried, 'O Ma and Pa! 'How truly beautiful you are!' Said they, 'We trust that cold or pain 'We shall never feel again! 'While, perched on tree, or house, or steeple, 'We now shall look like other people. 'Witchy witchy witchy wee, 'Twikky mikky bikky bee, Zikky sikky tee.'
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Recollections of Love by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I How warm this woodland wild Recess! Love surely hath been breathing here; And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near.
II Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float hear and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.
III No voice as yet had made the air Be music with your name; yet why That asking look? that yearning sigh? That sense of promise every where? Belovéd! flew your spirit by?
IV As when a mother doth explore The rose-mark on her long-lost child, I met, I loved you, maiden mild! As whom I long had loved before-- So deeply had I been beguiled.
V You stood before me like a thought, A dream remembered in a dream. But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wrought-- O Greta, dear domestic stream!
VI Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, Has not Love's whisper evermore Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? Sole voice, when other voices sleep, Dear under-song in clamor's hour.
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To Mrs. Macmarland by Robert Louis Stevenson
IN Schnee der Alpen - so it runs To those divine accords - and here We dwell in Alpine snows and suns, A motley crew, for half the year: A motley crew, we dwell to taste - A shivering band in hope and fear - That sun upon the snowy waste, That Alpine ether cold and clear.
Up from the laboured plains, and up From low sea-levels, we arise To drink of that diviner cup The rarer air, the clearer skies; For, as the great, old, godly King From mankind's turbid valley cries, So all we mountain-lovers sing: I to the hills will lift mine eyes.
The bells that ring, the peaks that climb, The frozen snow's unbroken curd Might yet revindicate in rhyme The pauseless stream, the absent bird. In vain - for to the deeps of life You, lady, you my heart have stirred; And since you say you love my life, Be sure I love you for the word.
Of kindness, here I nothing say - Such loveless kindnesses there are In that grimacing, common way, That old, unhonoured social war. Love but my dog and love my love, Adore with me a common star - I value not the rest above The ashes of a bad cigar.
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De Profundis Part 5 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XVII
He reigns above, He reigns alone; Systems burn out and have his throne; Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall Around Him, changeless amid all, Ancient of Days, whose days go on.
XVIII
He reigns below, He reigns alone, And, having life in love forgone Beneath the crown of sovran thorns, He reigns the Jealous God. Who mourns Or rules with Him, while days go on?
XIX
By anguish which made pale the sun, I hear Him charge his saints that none Among his creatures anywhere Blaspheme against Him with despair, However darkly days go on.
XX
Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown! No mortal grief deserves that crown. O supreme Love, chief misery, The sharp regalia are for Thee Whose days eternally go on!
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