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WELCOME TO YOUR POEM BLOG.


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https://www.instagram.com/williamm52

Hi.
Welcome to my new blog Public poems for everyone, if you want to see your work posted here, please send me poems and short stories in the contact box or comments box below, and it will be posted here for all the World to view.
Please make sure you leave your full name to get credit for your work…
all poems posted here will be copy written.

Happy writing.

William Sinclair Manson.
 
Please send your poems or short stories to.

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  • ‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of […]
  • Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: […]
  • W. H. Auden – 1907-1973 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I […]

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UNDER THE WATERFALL.


THOMAS HARDY

‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.’

‘And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?’

‘Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though precisely where none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a grinking glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet’s rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I thrust my arm below
Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade’s rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.

‘By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers’ wine.’

Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, public poetry, sharing is caring, writing with a passion

LONDON 1802


Wordworth London 1802

Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life’s common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

  • ‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense […]
  • Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant […]
  • W. H. Auden – 1907-1973 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, […]

Join 3,816 other followers

Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, public poetry, sharing is caring, writing with a passion

THE MORE LOVING ONE.


W. H. Auden – 1907-1973

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

  • ‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense […]
  • Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant […]
  • W. H. Auden – 1907-1973 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, […]

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Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, public poetry, sharing is caring, writing with a passion

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD.


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

  • ‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day […]
  • Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and […]
  • W. H. Auden – 1907-1973 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to […]

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Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, public poetry, sharing is caring, writing with a passion

WHEN YOU ARE OLD.


William Yeats

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

  • ‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of […]
  • Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: […]
  • W. H. Auden – 1907-1973 Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I […]

Join 3,816 other followers