Requiem
For thee the birds shall never sing again,
Nor fresh green leaves come out upon the tree,
The brook shall no more murmur the refrain
For thee.
Thou liest underneath the windswept lea,
Thou dreamest not of pleasure or of pain,
Thou dreadest no to-morrow that shall be.
Deep rest is thine, unbroken by the rain,
Ay, or the thunder. Brother, canst thou see
The tears that night and morning fall in vain
For thee?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Farewell To A Singer
On Her Marriage
As those who hear a sweet bird sing,
And love each song it sings the best,
Grieve when they see it taking wing
And flying to another nest:
We, who have heard your voice so oft,
And loved it more than we can tell,
Our hearts grow sad, our voices soft,
Our eyes grow dim, to say farewell.
It is not kind to leave us thus;
Yet we forgive you and combine,
Although you now bring grief to us,
To wish you joy, for auld lang syne.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Fickle Summer
Fickle Summer's fled away,
Shall we see her face again?
Hearken to the weeping rain,
Never sunbeam greets the day.
More inconstant than the May,
She cares nothing for our pain,
Nor will hear the birds complain
In their bowers that once were gay.
Summer, Summer, come once more,
Drive the shadows from the field,
All thy radiance round thee fling,
Be our lady as of yore;
Then the earth her fruits shall yield,
Then the morning stars shall sing.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Caged Thrush
Alas for the bird who was born to sing!
They have made him a cage; they have clipped his wing;
They have shut him up in a dingy street,
And they praise his singing and call it sweet.
But his heart and his song are saddened and filled
With the woods, and the nest he never will build,
And the wild young dawn coming into the tree,
And the mate that never his mate will be.
And day by day, when his notes are heard
They freshen the street--but alas for the bird
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Cyclamen
I had a plant which would not thrive,
Although I watered it with care,
I could not save the blossoms fair,
Nor even keep the leaves alive.
I strove till it was vain to strive.
I gave it light, I gave it air,
I sought from skill and counsel rare
The means to make it yet survive.
A lady sent it me, to prove
She held my friendship in esteem;
I would not have it as she said,
I wanted it to be for love;
And now not even friends we seem,
And now the cyclamen is dead.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Presentiment
It seems a little word to say -
FAREWELL--but may it not, when said,
Be like the kiss we give the dead,
Before they pass the doors for aye?
Who knows if, on some after day,
Your lips shall utter in its stead
A welcome, and the broken thread
Be joined again, the selfsame way?
The word is said, I turn to go,
But on the threshold seem to hear
A sound as of a passing bell,
Tolling monotonous and slow,
Which strikes despair upon my ear,
And says it is a last farewell.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
To Alfred Tennyson - 1883
Familiar with thy melody,
We go debating of its power,
As churls, who hear it hour by hour,
Contemn the skylark's minstrelsy -
As shepherds on a Highland lea
Think lightly of the heather flower
Which makes the moorland's purple dower,
As far away as eye can see.
Let churl or shepherd change his sky,
And labour in the city dark,
Where there is neither air nor room -
How often will the exile sigh
To hear again the unwearied lark,
And see the heather's lavish bloom!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Golf Ball and the Loan
[After Longfellow.]
I drove a golf-ball into the air;
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I lent five shillings to some men,
They spent it all, I know not when,
For who is quick enough to know
The time in which a crown may go?
Long, long afterward, in a whin
I found the golf-ball, black as sin;
But the five shillings are missing still!
They haven't turned up, and I doubt if they will.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Yet a Little Sleep
Beside the drowsy streams that creep
Within this island of repose,
Oh, let us rest from cares and woes,
Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep!
Is it ignoble, then, to keep
Awhile from where the rough wind blows,
And all is strife, and no man knows
What end awaits him on the deep?
The voyager may rest awhile,
When rest invites, and yet may be
Neither a sluggard nor a craven.
With strength renewed he quits the isle,
And putting out again to sea,
Makes sail for his desired haven.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Vivien’s Song
at the l.l.a. examination
In Algebra, if Algebra be ours,
x and x2 can ne'er be equal powers,
Unless x=1, or none at all.
It is the little error in the sum,
That by and by will make the answer come
To something queer, or else not come at all.
The little error in the easy sum,
The little slit across the kettle-drum,
That makes the instrument not play at all.
It is not worth correcting: let it go:
But shall I? Answer, Prudence, answer, no.
And bid me do it right or not at all.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!