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Showing posts with label Robert Louis Stevenson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Louis Stevenson. Show all posts

Poems By Robert Louis Stevenson


A Valentine's Song

About the Sheltered Garden Ground

Ad Martialem

Ad Nepotem


Ad Olum

Ad Piscatorem


Ad Quintilianum

Ad Se Ipsum


After reading "Antony and Cleopatra"

Air Of Diabelli's

An English Breeze

Apologetic Postscript Of A Year Later

As In Their Flight The Birds Of Song

As One Who Having Wandered All Night Long

At Last She Comes


Away with funeral Music

Before This Little Gift Was Come

Behold, As Goblins Dark Of Mein

Come From The Daisied Meadows

Come, Here Is Adieu To The City

Come, My Beloved, Hear From Me

Come, My Little Children, Here Are Songs For You


De Coenatione Micae 

De Erotio Puella

De Ligurra

De Hortis Julii Martialis

De M. Antonio

Death, To The Dead For Evermore


Dedication
   
Dedicatory Poem For "Underwoods"


Duddingstone

Early In The Morning I Hear On Your Piano

Envoy For "A Child's Garden Of Verses"

Epitaphium Erotii

Fair Isle At Sea
   
Farewell

Fear Not, Dear Friend, But Freely Live Your Days

Fixed Is The Doom

Flower God, God Of The Spring

For Richmond's Garden Wall

Go, Little Book - The Ancient Phrase

God Gave To Me A Child In Part

Had I The Power That Have The Will

Hail! Childish Slaves of Social Rules
   
Hail, Guest, And Enter Freely

I Am Like One That For Long Days Had Sate

I Do Not Fear To Own Me Kin


I Dreamed of Forest Alleys Fair

I Know not how, but as I count

I Love To Be Warm By The Red Fireside

I Who All The Winter Through

I, Whom Apollo Sometime Visited
   
In Charidemum

In Lupum


In Maximum
   
In The Green And Gallant Spring
   
It Blows A Snowing Gale
   
It's Forth Across The Roaring Foam

Know You The River Near To Grez

Late, O Miller

Let Love Go, If Go She Will

Light As The Linnet On My Way I Start


Lo! In thine honest eyes I read

Lo, Now, My Guest

Long Time I Lay In Little Ease

Loud And Low In The Chimney

Love, What Is Love?


Love's Vicissitudes

Man Sails The Deep Awhile
   
Men Are Heaven's Piers

Mine Eyes Were Swift To Know Thee

Music at the Villa Marina


My Heart, When First the black bird sings

My Love Was Warm

Ne Sit Ancillae Tibi Amor Pudor

Now Bare To The Beholder's Eye

Now When The Number Of My Years

O Dull Cold Northern Sky

On Now, Although The Year Be Done

Over The Land Is April


Prayer

Prelude

Since Thou Hast Given Me This Good Hope, O God

Since Years Ago For Evermore

Small Is The Trust When Love Is Green

So Live, So Love, So Use That Fragile Hour

Sonnets

Soon Our Friends Perish

Spring Carol


Spring Song

St. Martin's Summer 

Still I Love To Rhyme


Stout Marches Lead to certain ends
   
Strange Are The Ways Of Men

Swallows Travel To And Fro
   
Tales Of Arabia

Tempest Tossed And Sore Afflicted

The Angler Rose, He Took His Rod

The Bour - Tree Den

The Cock's Clear Voice Into The Clearer Air
   
The Far - Farers


The Old Chimeras, Old Receipts

The Piper


The Relic taken, what avails the Shrine

The Summer Sun Shone Round Me

The Vanquished Knight 

The Wind Blew Shrill And Smart

The Wind is Without There and Howls in The Tree

This Gloomy Northern Day

Thou Strainest Through The Mountain Fern (A Fragment)


Though deep indifference should drowse

To All That Love The Far And Blue

To Charles Baxter

To Friends At Home
   
To Madame Garschine

To Marcus

To Mesdames Zassetsky And Garschine
   
To Miss Cornish
   
To Mrs. Macmarland

To Ottilie

To Rosabelle

To Sydney


To The Commissioners of Northern Lights

To What Shall I Compare Her
   
Voluntary

What Man May Learn, What Man May Do
   
When The Sun Comes After Rain


You Looked so tempting in the Pew


My Love Was Warm - By Robert Louis Stevenson



MY love was warm; for that I crossed
The mountains and the sea,
Nor counted that endeavour lost
That gave my love to me.

If that indeed were love at all,
As still, my love, I trow,
By what dear name am I to call
The bond that holds me now




Dedicatory Poem For "Underwoods" - By Robert Louis Stevenson



TO her, for I must still regard her
As feminine in her degree,
Who has been my unkind bombarder
Year after year, in grief and glee,
Year after year, with oaken tree;
And yet betweenwhiles my laudator
In terms astonishing to me -
To the Right Reverend The Spectator
I here, a humble dedicator,
Bring the last apples from my tree.

In tones of love, in tones of warning,
She hailed me through my brief career;
And kiss and buffet, night and morning,
Told me my grandmamma was near;
Whether she praised me high and clear
Through her unrivalled circulation,
Or, sanctimonious insincere,
She damned me with a misquotation -
A chequered but a sweet relation,
Say, was it not, my granny dear?

Believe me, granny, altogether
Yours, though perhaps to your surprise.
Oft have you spruced my wounded feather,
Oft brought a light into my eyes -
For notice still the writer cries.
In any civil age or nation,
The book that is not talked of dies.
So that shall be my termination:
Whether in praise or execration,
Still, if you love me, criticise!




Farewell - By Robert Louis Stevenson



FAREWELL, and when forth
I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles
Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,
Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,
Isle upon island, sea upon sea,
Why should I sail, why should the breeze?
I have been young, and I have counted friends.
A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.
Why should I from isle to isle
Sail, a hopeless sailor?




The Far - Farers - By Robert Louis Stevenson



THE broad sun,
The bright day:
White sails
On the blue bay:
The far-farers
Draw away.

Light the fires
And close the door.
To the old homes,
To the loved shore,
The far-farers
Return no more.




Come, My Little Children, Here Are Songs For You - By Robert Louis Stevenson



COME, my little children, here are songs for you;
Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new.
You must learn to sing them very small and clear,
Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear.

Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall,
Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all.
So when night is come, and you have gone to bed,
All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head.




Come From The Daisied Meadows - By Robert Louis Stevenson



COME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet -
Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set;
For the dews are falling fast
And the night has come at last.
Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest,
Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother's breast.
Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you;
   she'll be your guardian and shield.
Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be
   bright upon mountain and field.
Long, long the shadows fall.
All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid.
All round your head be angels.




Early In The Morning I Hear On Your Piano - By Robert Louis Stevenson



EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano
You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play.
Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano
While the birds are singing in the morning of the day.




Fair Isle At Sea - By Robert Louis Stevenson



FAIR Isle at Sea - thy lovely name
Soft in my ear like music came.
That sea I loved, and once or twice
I touched at isles of Paradise.




Loud And Low In The Chimney - By Robert Louis Stevenson



LOUD and low in the chimney
The squalls suspire;
Then like an answer dwindles
And glows the fire,
And the chamber reddens and darkens
In time like taken breath.
Near by the sounding chimney
The youth apart
Hearkens with changing colour
And leaping heart,
And hears in the coil of the tempest
The voice of love and death.
Love on high in the flute-like
And tender notes
Sounds as from April meadows
And hillside cotes;
But the deep wood wind in the chimney
Utters the slogan of death.




I Love To Be Warm By The Red Fireside - By Robert Louis Stevenson



I LOVE to be warm by the red fireside,
I love to be wet with rain:
I love to be welcome at lamplit doors,
And leave the doors again.




At Last She Comes - By Robert Louis Stevenson



AT last she comes, O never more
In this dear patience of my pain
To leave me lonely as before,
Or leave my soul alone again.




Mine Eyes Were Swift To Know Thee - By Robert Louis Stevenson



MINE eyes were swift to know thee, and my heart
As swift to love.  I did become at once
Thine wholly, thine unalterably, thine
In honourable service, pure intent,
Steadfast excess of love and laughing care:
And as she was, so am, and so shall be.
I knew thee helpful, knew thee true, knew thee
And Pity bedfellows: I heard thy talk
With answerable throbbings.  On the stream,
Deep, swift, and clear, the lilies floated; fish
Through the shadows ran.  There, thou and I
Read Kindness in our eyes and closed the match.




Fixed Is The Doom - By Robert Louis Stevenson



FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years
Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child,
Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds
His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.
We also, love, forever dwell apart;
With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph,
The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air
Above a mountain, and with screams confer,
Far heard athwart the cedars.
Yet the years
Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day
Endearing, week by week, till death at last
Dissolve that long divorce.  By faith we love,
Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed,
Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart.
We but excuse
Those things we merely are; and to our souls
A brave deception cherish.
So from unhappy war a man returns
Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep;
So from cool night and woodlands to a feast
May someone enter, and still breathe of dews,
And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.




Men Are Heaven's Piers - By Robert Louis Stevenson



MEN are Heaven's piers; they evermore
Unwearying bear the skyey floor;
Man's theatre they bear with ease,
Unfrowning cariatides!
I, for my wife, the sun uphold,
Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold.
She, on her side, in fairy-wise
Deals in diviner mysteries,
By spells to make the fuel burn
And keep the parlour warm, to turn
Water to wine, and stones to bread,
By her unconquered hero-head.
A naked Adam, naked Eve,
Alone the primal bower we weave;
Sequestered in the seas of life,
A Crusoe couple, man and wife,
With all our good, with all our will,
Our unfrequented isle we fill;
And victor in day's petty wars,
Each for the other lights the stars.
Come then, my Eve, and to and fro
Let us about our garden go;
And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand
Revisit all our tillage land,
And marvel at our strange estate,
For hooded ruin at the gate
Sits watchful, and the angels fear
To see us tread so boldly here.
Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass
Our perishable days we pass;
Far more the thorn observe - and see
How our enormous sins go free -
Nor less admire, beside the rose,
How far a little virtue goes.




The Angler Rose, He Took His Rod - By Rober Louis Stevenson



THE angler rose, he took his rod,
He kneeled and made his prayers to God.
The living God sat overhead:
The angler tripped, the eels were fed




Spring Carol - By Robert Louis Stevenson



WHEN loud by landside streamlets gush,
And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush,
With sun on the meadows
And songs in the shadows
Comes again to me
The gift of the tongues of the lea,
The gift of the tongues of meadows.

Straightway my olden heart returns
And dances with the dancing burns;
It sings with the sparrows;
To the rain and the (grimy) barrows
Sings my heart aloud -
To the silver-bellied cloud,
To the silver rainy arrows.

It bears the song of the skylark down,
And it hears the singing of the town;
And youth on the highways
And lovers in byways
Follows and sees:
And hearkens the song of the leas
And sings the songs of the highways.

So when the earth is alive with gods,
And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod,
And the grass sings in the meadows,
And the flowers smile in the shadows,
Sits my heart at ease,
Hearing the song of the leas,
Singing the songs of the meadows.




To What Shall I Compare Her - By Robert Louis Stevenson



TO what shall I compare her,
That is as fair as she?
For she is fairer - fairer
Than the sea.
What shall be likened to her,
The sainted of my youth?
For she is truer - truer
Than the truth.

As the stars are from the sleeper,
Her heart is hid from me;
For she is deeper - deeper
Than the sea.
Yet in my dreams I view her
Flush rosy with new ruth -
Dreams!  Ah, may these prove truer
Than the truth.




When The Sun Comes After Rain - By Robert Louis Stevenson



WHEN the sun comes after rain
And the bird is in the blue,
The girls go down the lane
Two by two.

When the sun comes after shadow
And the singing of the showers,
The girls go up the meadow,
Fair as flowers.

When the eve comes dusky red
And the moon succeeds the sun,
The girls go home to bed
One by one.

And when life draws to its even
And the day of man is past,
They shall all go home to heaven,
Home at last.




Late, O Miller - By Robert Louis Stevenson



LATE, O miller,
The birds are silent,
The darkness falls.
In the house the lights are lighted.
See, in the valley they twinkle,
The lights of home.
Late, O lovers,
The night is at hand;
Silence and darkness
Clothe the land.