Tag: English

“How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861)

Post author By TDarris
Post date January 7, 2019
No Comments on “How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Tags Elizabeth Barrett Browning, England, English, english literature, English Poetry, Literature, Love, poem, poet, Poetry, Relationships, Romance, Victorian Era

England English English poetry English Renaissance Poetry renaissance William Shakespeare

“When, in Disgrace with Fortune and Men’s Eyes (or, ‘Sonnet 29’)” by William Shakespeare” (1564 – 1616)

Post author By TDarris
Post date January 6, 2019
1 Comment on “When, in Disgrace with Fortune and Men’s Eyes (or, ‘Sonnet 29’)” by William Shakespeare” (1564 – 1616)

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate, wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Tags England, English, english literature, poem, poet, Poetry, renaissance, Shakespeare, William Shakespeare, Writer

16th Century England English English poetry Sir Walter Raleigh

“Even Such Is Time” by Sir Walter Ralegh (or, Sir Walter Raleigh)

Post author By TDarris
Post date December 17, 2018
No Comments on “Even Such Is Time” by Sir Walter Ralegh (or, Sir Walter Raleigh)

Listen to this poem at SoundCloud.com.

Even such is time, that takes in trust

Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

And pays us but with age and dust;

Who, in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wandered all our ways,

Shuts up the story of our days.

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,

My God shall raise me up, I trust.

Tags England, English, Enlgish Poetry, poem, poet, Poetry

Uncategorized

“To My Dear and Loving Husband” by Anne Bradstreet (1612 – 1672)

Post author By TDarris
Post date January 3, 2016
No Comments on “To My Dear and Loving Husband” by Anne Bradstreet (1612 – 1672)

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;	
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more we may live ever.

Tags anne, anne bradstreet, art, Arts, bradstreet, Britain, british poem, British Poet, British Poetry, crown, England, English, english poem, english poems, English Poet, English Poetry, Family, female, female poet, husband, husband and wife, Literature, marriage, marry, northampton, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, puritan, queen, religion, royal, royal family, spouse, United Kingdom, wife, woman, women

18th Century Alexander Pope Uncategorized

“Ode on Solitude” by Alexander Pope

Post author By TDarris
Post date January 2, 2016
No Comments on “Ode on Solitude” by Alexander Pope

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest! who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix’d; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.

Tags 18th Century, Alexander, Alexander Pope, art, Arts, bitrish poet, British, British Poetry, English, English Poet, English Poetry, Literature, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Pope, Write, Writer, writing

18th Century British Poetry Celebration England English English poetry European Poetry UK United Kingodm

“The Lamb” by William Blake

Post author By TDarris
Post date July 31, 2015
No Comments on “The Lamb” by William Blake

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Tags 18th Century, art, Arts, Bible, Britain, British, British Poet, Catherine Blake, Celebration, Chrisianity, Christ, christian, Eighteenth Century, England, English, English Poet, Europa, Europe, Holy Bible, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Literature, messiah, poem, poet, Poetry, tdarris, The Lamb, UK, United Kingdom, William Blake

American British Poetry Edgar Alrbert Guest English poetry European Poetry

“Things Work Out” by Edgar Albert Guest

Post author By TDarris
Post date July 27, 2015
No Comments on “Things Work Out” by Edgar Albert Guest

Because it rains when we wish it wouldn’t,
Because men do what they often shouldn’t,
Because crops fail, and plans go wrong-
Some of us grumble all day long.
But somehow, in spite of the care and doubt,
It seems at last that things work out.

Because we lose where we hoped to gain,
Because we suffer a little pain,
Because we must work when we’d like to play-
Some of us whimper along life’s way.
But somehow, as day always follows the night,
Most of our troubles work out all right.

Because we cannot forever smile,
Because we must trudge in the dust awhile,
Because we think that the way is long-
Some of us whimper that life’s all wrong.
But somehow we live and our sky grows bright,
And everything seems to work out all right.

So bend to your trouble and meet your care,
For the clouds must break, and the sky grow fair.
Let the rain come down, as it must and will,
But keep on working and hoping still.
For in spite of the grumblers who stand about,
Somehow, it seems, all things work out.

Tags 19th century, 20th century, America, american, american poet, American poetry, art, Arts, Britain, British, Detroit, Edgar Albert Guest, English, English-American, English-born, Michigan, tdarris, United Kingdom

British Poetry William Blake

“A Divine Image” by William Blake

Post author By TDarris
Post date June 28, 2015
No Comments on “A Divine Image” by William Blake

008 BlkIn2, 10/12/99, 7:48 AM, 8C, 6000x8000 (0+0), 100%, Octavo Curve, 1/40, R1160, G1009, B1202,

Cruelty has a Human Heart

And Jealousy a Human Face

Terror the Human Form Divine

And Secrecy, the Human Dress

The Human Dress, is forged Iron

The Human Form, a fiery Forge.

The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d

The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.

British Poetry English poetry European Poetry Romantic Era Romanticisim William Blake

“A Poison Tree” by William Blake

Post author By TDarris
Post date May 3, 2015
No Comments on “A Poison Tree” by William Blake

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,

Night & morning with my tears:

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole,

When the night had veild the pole;

In the morning glad I see;

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Tags anger, Britain, British, British Poet, British Poetry, death, deceit, enemies, enemy, English, English Poet, English Poetry, foe, foes, pain, rhymed stanza, wrath

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