The Russ at Kara
O King of kings, that watching from Thy throne
Sufferest the monster of Ust-Kara's hold,
With bosom than Siberia's wastes more cold,
And hear'st the wail of captives crushed and prone,
And sett'st no sign in heaven! Shall naught atone
For their wild pangs whose tale is yet scarce told,
Women by uttermost woe made deadly bold,
In the far dungeon's night that hid their moan?
Why waits Thy shattering arm, nor smites this Power
Whose beak and talons rend the unshielded breast,
Whose wings shed terror and a plague of gloom,
Whose ravin is the hearts of the oppressed;
Whose brood are hell-births-Hate that bides its hour,
Wrath, and a people's curse that loathe their doom?
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Liege
Betwixt the Foe and France was she --
France the immortal, France the free.
The Foe, like one vast living sea,
Drew nigh.
He dreamed that none his tide would stay;
But when he bade her to make way,
She, through her cannon, answered, 'Nay,
Not I.'
No tremor and no fear she showed;
She held the pass, she barred the road,
While Death's unsleeping feet bestrode
The ground.
So long as deeds of noblest worth
Are sung with joy, and tears, and mirth,
Her glory shall to the ends of the Earth
Resound.
Watched by a world that yearned to aid,
Lonely she stood but undismayed.
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Blind Summit
[A Viennese gentleman, who had climbed the Hoch-König
without a guide, was found dead, in a sitting posture, near the
summit, upon which he had written, 'It is cold, and clouds shut
out the view.'-
Vide
the
Daily News
of September 10, 1891.]
So mounts the child of ages of desire,
Man, up the steeps of Thought; and would behold
Yet purer peaks, touched with unearthlier fire,
In sudden prospect virginally new;
But on the lone last height he sighs: ''Tis cold,
And clouds shut out the view.'
Ah, doom of mortals! Vexed with phantoms old,
Old phantoms that waylay us and pursue,-
Weary of dreams,-we think to see unfold
The eternal landscape of the Real and True;
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Questioner
I asked of heaven and earth and sea,
Saying: 'O wondrous trinity,
Deign to make answer unto me,
And tell me truly what ye be.'
And they made answer: 'Verily,
The mask before His face are we,
Because 'tis writ no man can see
His face and live;'-so spake the three.
Then I: 'O wondrous trinity,
A mask is but a mockery-
Make answer yet again to me
And tell if aught besides are ye.'
And they made answer: 'Verily,
The robe around His form are we,
That sick and sore mortality
May touch its hem and healèd be.'
Then I: 'O wondrous trinity,
Vouchsafe once more to answer me,
And tell me truly, what is He
Whose very mask and raiment ye?'
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Three Flowers
I made a little song about the rose
And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music's close
A lily that was listening near.
The red red rose flushed redder with delight,
And like a queen her head she raised.
The white white lily blanched a paler white,
For anger that she was not praised.
Turning I left the rose unto her pride,
The lily to her enviousness,
And soon upon the grassy ground espied
A daisy all companionless.
Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed;
And not so graciously it grew
As rose or lily: but methought it seemed
More thankful for the sun and dew.
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Key-Board
Five-and-thirty black slaves,
Half-a-hundred white,
All their duty but to sing
For their Queen's delight,
Now with throats of thunder,
Now with dulcet lips,
While she rules them royally
With her finger-tips!
When she quits her palace,
All the slaves are dumb-
Dumb with dolour till the Queen
Back to Court is come:
Dumb the throats of thunder,
Dumb the dulcet lips,
Lacking all the sovereignty
Of her finger-tips.
Dusky slaves and pallid,
Ebon slaves and white,
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Columbus
(12TH OCTOBER 1492)
From his adventurous prime
He dreamed the dream sublime:
Over his wandering youth
It hung, a beckoning star.
At last the vision fled,
And left him in its stead
The scarce sublimer truth,
The world he found afar.
The scattered isles that stand
Warding the mightier land
Yielded their maidenhood
To his imperious prow.
The mainland within call
Lay vast and virginal:
In its blue porch he stood:
No more did fate allow.
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Lines To Our New Censor
[Mr. Oscar Wilde, having discovered that England is unworthy of him, has announced his resolve to become a naturalised Frenchman.]
And wilt thou, Oscar, from us flee,
And must we, henceforth, wholly sever?
Shall thy laborious _jeux-d'esprit_
Sadden our lives no more for ever?
And all thy future wilt thou link
With that brave land to which thou goest?
Unhappy France! we _used_ to think
She touched, at Sedan, fortune's lowest.
And you're made French as easily
As you might change the clothes you're wearing?
Fancy!--and 'tis so hard to be
A man of sense and modest bearing.
May fortitude beneath this blow
Fail not the gallant Gallic nation!
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Battle of the Bight
Had I the fabled herb
That brought to life the dead,
Whom would I dare disturb
In his eternal bed?
Great Grenville would I wake,
And with glad tidings make
The soul of mighty Drake
Heave up a glorying head.
As rose the misty sun,
Our men the North Sea scanned,
And each rejoicing gun
Welcomed a Foe at hand,
And thundering its delight,
Opened its mouth outright,
And bit them in the Bight,
The Bight of Helgoland.
With Captains who could each
Do aught but yield or flee;
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Foresters
Clear as of old the great voice rings to-day,
While Sherwood's oak-leaves twine with Aldworth's bay:
The voice of him the master and the sire
Of one whole age and legion of the lyre,
Who sang his morning-song when Coleridge still
Uttered dark oracles from Highgate Hill,
And with new-launchèd argosies of rhyme
Gilds and makes brave this sombreing tide of time.
Far be the hour when lesser brows shall wear
The laurel glorious from that wintry hair-
When he, the sovereign of our lyric day,
In Charon's shallop must be rowed away,
And hear, scarce heeding, 'mid the plash of oar,
The
ave atque vale
from the shore!
To him nor tender nor heroic muse
Did her divine confederacy refuse:
To all its moods the lyre of life he strung,
[...] Read more
poem by William Watson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!