Lines Sent To Elia,

Elia! thro' irony of hearts the mender,
May this pig prove like thine own pathos—tender.
Bear of thy sageness, in its sage, the zest;
And quaintly crackle, like thy crackling jest.
And—dry without—rich inly—as thy wit,
Be worthy thee—as thou art worthy it.

PS.
Beside the sty-born finding room to spare,
Begs kind acceptance of himself—a hare.
And since, being sylvan, he but ill indites,
Hopes he may eat much better than he writes.

poem by John Kenyon
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To The Lamented Memory Of F. H. C.

Sweet friend, farewell! to whom propitious birth
Gave beauty—sense—the prosperous goods of earth;
To whom not less were faith and duty given,
Those better gifts which fit our earth for heaven.
First by glad days—then through long sickness tried,
'Mid pleasures—pure—by pain still purified;—
Such was that soul, which meekly kissed the rod,
Then soared, for us too soon, and rests with God.
Farewell! our love inscribes this faithful stone,
Not to bewail thy lot, but weep our own.

poem by John Kenyon
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A Day At Tivoli - Prologue

Fair blows the breeze—depart—depart—
And tread with me th' Italian shore;
And feed thy soul with glorious art;
And drink again of classic lore.
Nor sometime shalt thou deem it wrong,
When not in mood too gravely wise,
At idle length to lie along,
And quaff a bliss from bluest skies.

Or, pleased more pensive joy to woo,
At twilight eve, by ruin grey,
Muse o'er the generations, who
Have passed, as we must pass, away.
Or mark o'er olive tree and vine
Steep towns uphung; to win from them
Some thought of Southern Palestine;
Some dream of old Jerusalem.

Come, Pilgrim-Friend! At last our sun outbreaks,
And chases, one by one, dawn's lingering flakes.

[...] Read more

poem by John Kenyon
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