With a Copy of My Poems
#Gays #Irish #Victorians #XIXCentury #1897 #TheBalladOfReadingGaol
Nay, let us walk from fire unto fi… From passionate pain to deadlier d… I am too young to live without des… Too young art thou to waste this s… Asking those idle questions which…
My limbs are wasted with a flame, My feet are sore with travelling, For calling on my Lady’s name My lips have now forgot to sing. O Linnet in the wild—rose brake
Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair
Her ivory hands on the ivory keys Strayed in a fitful fantasy, Like the silver gleam when the pop… Rustle their pale—leaves listlessl… Or the drifting foam of a restless…
In the lone tent, waiting for vict… She stands with eyes marred by the… Like some wan lily overdrenched wi… The clamorous clang of arms, the e… War’s ruin, and the wreck of chiva…
Oft have we trod the vales of Cas… And heard sweet notes of sylvan mu… From antique reeds to common folk… And often launched our bark upon t… Which the nine Muses hold in empe…
Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of… England! what shall men say of the… Before whose feet the worlds divid… The earth, a brittle globe of glas…
The Thames nocturne of blue and g… Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre—coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill an… The yellow fog came creeping down
This mighty empire hath but feet o… Of all its ancient chivalry and mi… Our little island is forsaken quit… Some enemy hath stolen its crown o… And from its hills that voice hath…
Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies… Sad olive—groves, or silver—breast… Teach me more clearly of Thy life… Than terrors of red flame and thun… The hillside vines dear memories o…
I wandered through Scoglietto’s f… The oranges on each o’erhanging sp… Burned as bright lamps of gold to… Some startled bird with fluttering… Made snow of all the blossoms; at…
Thou knowest all; I seek in vain What lands to till or sow with see… The land is black with briar and w… Nor cares for falling tears or rai… Thou knowest all; I sit and wait
I marvel not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that proud Aragon bent low his… Or that Morocco’s fiery heart gre… For in that gorgeous dress of beat…
Eagle of Austerlitz! where were t… When far away upon a barbarous str… In fight unequal, by an obscure ha… Fell the last scion of thy brood o… Poor boy! thou wilt not flaunt thy…
To drift with every passion till m… Is as a stringed lute on which all… Is it for this that I have given… Mine ancient wisdom and austere co… Methinks my life is a twice—writte…