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King Volmer and Elsie

After the Danish of Christian Winter

Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.

Out spake the King to Henrik, his young and faithful squire
'Dar'st trust thy little Elsie, the maid of thy desire?'
'Of all the men in Denmark she loveth only me
As true to me is Elsie as thy Lily is to thee.'

Loud laughed the king: 'To-morrow shall bring another day,
When I myself will test her; she will not say me nay.'
Thereat the lords and gallants, that round about him stood,
Wagged all their heads in concert and smiled as courtiers should.

The gray lark sings o'er Vordingborg, and on the ancient town
From the tall tower of Valdemar the Golden Goose looks down;

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Bel Canto

The sun is high, the seaside air is sharp,
And salty light reveals the Mayan School.
The Irish hope their names are on the harp,
We see the sheep's advertisement for wool,
Boulders are here, to throw against a tarp,
From which comes bursting forth a puzzled mule.
Perceval seizes it and mounts it, then
The blood-dimmed tide recedes and then comes in again.

Fateful connections that we make to things
Whose functioning's oblivious to our lives!
How sidewise news of light from darkness springs,
How blue bees buzz from big blooms back to hives
And make the honey while the queen bee sings
Leadbelly in arrangements by Burl Ives—
How long ago I saw the misted pine trees
And hoped, no matter how, to get them into poetry!

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poem by Kenneth Koch
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On First Looking - Parody John KEATS – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer

On First Looking

Much have I rummaged, bartered books for gold,
and many goodly states of Shakespeare seen,
round many stalls and book fairs have I been
which frauds in fealty to their runners hold.
Oft of some sharp expense had I been told
that Maggs or Quaritch made their pet demesne,
yet never did I seethe with rage so keen
till once a chap-book saw I still unsold.
Then wished I Evoe was, who in disguise,
the superman of planet fame, I ken,
skinned over catalogues with eagle eyes
to stare at price lists with a skill few men
can e’er attain unearthing bargains. Vain

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Green Spanish Eyes

Ah Consuela! Surveying vast vistas for visions of green Spanish eyes,
I discern them again where she left me back then, when we kissed as she parted, my friend.
So I'm daring to tread towards the klieg lights ahead, where I'll wait and I'll watch her ascend.

Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she teases the mirror with green Spanish eyes;
Her serape entangles her ebony bangles like lace on the sorcerer's looms,
And her capes of the night, she drapes tight to excite, and her fan is embellished with plumes.

Ah Consuela! I'm watching as spectators savour her green Spanish eyes;
Taming wild concertinas, the dark ballerina performs on the concert hall stage,
But she shies from the sound of ovation unbound like a timorous bird in a cage.

Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she quickens the pit with her green Spanish eyes,
As the cymbals shake, clashing, the floodlights wake, flashing, igniting the wild fireflies,
And the piccolo piper's inviting the vipers to coil in the cold caldron skies.

Ah Consuela! I'm watching the shimmering shadows in green Spanish eyes
As I rise from my chair and converge to the stair with a hesitant sip of my wine.
Though she doesn't deny me, she wanders right by me with neither a look nor a sign.

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poem by Terry O'Leary
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Rural Morning

Soon as the twilight through the distant mist
In silver hemmings skirts the purple east,
Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view
And dries the morning's chilly robes of dew,
Young Hodge the horse-boy, with a soodly gait,
Slow climbs the stile, or opes the creaky gate,
With willow switch and halter by his side
Prepared for Dobbin, whom he means to ride;
The only tune he knows still whistling oer,
And humming scraps his father sung before,
As 'Wantley Dragon,' and the 'Magic Rose,'
The whole of music that his village knows,
Which wild remembrance, in each little town,
From mouth to mouth through ages handles down.
Onward he jolls, nor can the minstrel-throngs
Entice him once to listen to their songs;
Nor marks he once a blossom on his way;
A senseless lump of animated clay--
With weather-beaten hat of rusty brown,
Stranger to brinks, and often to a crown;

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poem by John Clare
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The 5th Satire Of Book I. Of Horace : A Humorous Description Of The Author's Journey From Rome To Brundusium

'Twas a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home
Together sallied forth from Rome.
First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse.
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Apii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here rather choosing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,

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poem by William Cowper
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Elegy on Newstead Abbey

Newstead! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome!
Religion’s shrine! repentant HENRY’s pride!
Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister’d tomb,
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide,

Hail to thy pile! more honour’d in thy fall
Than modern mansions in their pillar’d state;
Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.

No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief’s retainers, an immortal band:

Else might inspiting Fancy’s magic eye
Retrace their progress through the lapse of time,
Marking each ardent youth, ordaln’d to die,
A votive pilgrim in Judea’s clime.

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poem by Byron (1807)
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The Cloud Messenger - Part 02

Your naturally beautiful reflection will gain entry into the clear waters of the
Gambhira River, as into a clear mind. Therefore it is not fitting that you, out
of obstinancy, should render futile her glances which are the darting leaps of
little fish, as white as night-lotus flowers.

Removing her blue garment which is her water, exposing her hips which are
her banks, it is clutched by cane-branches as if grasped by her hands.
Departure will inevitably be difficult for you who tarries, O friend. Who,
having experienced enjoyment, is able to forsake another whose loins are laid
bare?

A cool breeze, grown pleasant through contact with the scent of the earth
refreshed by your showers, which is inhaled by elephants with a pleasing
sound at their nostrils, and which is the ripener of wild figs in the forest,
gently fans you who desire to proceed to Devagiri.

There, you, taking the form of a cloud of flowers, should bathe Skanda, who
always resides there, with a shower of flowers, wet with the water of the
heavenly Ganges. For he is the energy surpassing the sun, that was born into
the mouth of the fire by the bearer of the crescent moon6 for the purpose of

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poem by Kalidasa
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For the concert of life, no one receives a program.

Dutch proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Acting in concert, like the oil-merchants in the Velabrum.

Latin proverbs
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