STORIES and POETRY
Man Stands at the Crossroad and Contemplates Humankind Making
its Way Beyond the Cosmic Machine. Cecilia Bustamante
Literary works by leading poets and thinkers of the English world
POEMS OF ALL TIME 4
Bliss Carman, born in Fredericton, New Brunswick; died at Canaan, Conn., U.S.A. in 1929.
I took a day to search for God,
William Butler Yeats, born at Dublin, Ireland in 1865; died at Nice, France in 1939.
BEFORE THE WORLD WAS MADE
If I made the lashes dark
John McCrae, born at Guelph, Ontario, 1872; died at Wimereux, France in 1918.
IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
G.K. Chesterton, born in London, 1874; died there, 1936.
Hymn for the Church Militant Great God, that bowest sky and star, Bow down our towering thoughts to thee, And grant us in a faltering war The firm feet of humility. Lord, we that snatch the swords of flame, Lord, we that cry about Thy ear, We too are weak with pride and shame, We too are as our foemen are. Yea, we are mad as they are mad, Yea, we are blind as they are blind, Yea, we are very sick and sad Who bring good news to all mankind. The dreadful joy Thy Son has sent Is heavier than any care; We find, as Cain his punishment, Our pardon more than we can bear. Lord, when we cry Thee far and near And thunder through all lands unknown The gospel into every ear, Lord, let us not forget our own. Cleanse us from ire of creed or class, The anger of the idle kings; Sow in our souls, like living grass, The laughter of all lowly things.
Robert Frost, born in San Francisco, 1874.
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
John Masefield,born at Ledbury, Herefordshire, 1878 .
SEA - FEVER I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by, And the wheel`s kick and the wind`s song and the white sail´s Shaking, And a grey mist on the sea`s face and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray the blown spume, and the seagulls crying. I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull´s way and the whale´s way where the wind´s like a Whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick´s over.
Carl Sandburg,born at Galesburg, Illinois, 1878.
CHICAGO Hog butcher for the world, Tool maker, stacker of wheat, Player with railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler; Stormy,husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders: They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys. And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again. And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger. And having answered so, I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning. Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities; Fierce as a dog with tonge lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness, Bareheaded, Shoveling, Wrecking, Planning, Building, breaking, rebuilding, Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth, Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs, Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle, Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people, Laughing! Laughing the stomy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half- naked, sweeting, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
A Z T E C YOU came from the Aztecs With a copper on your fore-arms Tawnier than a sunset Saying good-by to an even river. And I said, you remember, Those fore-arms of yours Were finer than bronzes And you were glad. It was tears And a pass west and a home going when I asked why there were scars of worn gold where a man’s ring was fixed once on third finger. And I call you To come back before the days are longer.
|home |Poems of All Time|Contemporary Poetry| Links|About|Archivo||