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The Greater Cats

The greater cats with golden eyes
Stare out between the bars.
Deserts are there, and the different skies,
And night with different stars.
They prowl the aromatic hill,
And mate as fiercely as they kill,
To roam, to live, to drink their fill;
But this beyond their wit know I:
Man loves a little, and for long shall die.

Their kind across the desert range
Where tulips spring from stones,
Not knowing they will suffer change
Or vultures pick their bones.
Their strength's eternal in their sight,
They overtake the deer in flight,
And in their arrogance they smite;
But I am sage, if they are strong:
Man's love is transient as his death is long.

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poem by Victoria Sackville-West
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Ode to Shakespeare! ! !

O Shakespeare!
O Painter of the heart of Man!
The mysteries of Nature got revealed on your soul;
In vastness,
Your spirit is vaster n deeper than the oceans;
In insight,
Your glance is higher than the stars;
The spell by which you conquer hearts
Is inimitable
Even by scholars of wit and art …
The meanings of your phrases are universally alive
By the magic of your pen.
Elixir drips and trickles from the flow of your ink.
Every play of yours is enacted in every man's life.
Every verse of yours is an exegesis of nature.
Secrets get exposed by the style of your hand.
Pains and joys of every man
Voice out by your tongue.
Nature is your modest bride,
Beauty of your phrases do embellish her.

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poem by Shahzia Batool
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The Pun

Hail, peerless Pun! thou last and best,
Most rare and excellent bequest
Of dying idiot to the wit
He died of, rat-like, in a pit!

Thyself disguised, in many a way
Thou let'st thy sudden splendor play,
Adorning all where'er it turns,
As the revealing bull's-eye burns,
Of the dim thief, and plays its trick
Upon the lock he means to pick.

Yet sometimes, too, thou dost appear
As boldly as a brigadier
Tricked out with marks and signs, all o'er,
Of rank, brigade, division, corps,
To show by every means he can
An officer is not a man;
Or naked, with a lordly swagger,
Proud as a cur without a wagger,

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Give Me a Lass with a Lump of Land

1 Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land,
2 And we for life shall gang thegither;
3 Tho' daft or wise I'll never demand,
4 Or black or fair it maks na whether.
5 I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade,
6 And blood alane is no worth a shilling;
7 But she that's rich her market's made,
8 For ilka charm about her is killing.

9 Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land,
10 And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure;
11 Gin I had anes her gear in my hand,
12 Should love turn dowf, it will find pleasure.
13 Laugh on wha likes, but there's my hand,
14 I hate with poortith, tho' bonny, to meddle;
15 Unless they bring cash or a lump of land,
16 They'se never get me to dance to their fiddle.

17 There's meikle good love in bands and bags,
18 And siller and gowd's a sweet complexion;

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poem by Allan Ramsay
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Our Fathers Also

Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings,
Are changing 'neath our hand.
Our fathers also see these things
But they do not understand.

By--they are by with mirth and tears,
Wit or the works of Desire-
Cushioned about on the kindly years
Between the wall and the fire.

The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked--
Standeth no more to glean;
For the Gates of Love and Learning locked
When they went out between.

All lore our Lady Venus bares,
Signalled it was or told
By the dear lips long given to theirs
And longer to the mould.

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Pedlar

FLY, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly!
And see if you can find him;
He has blue eyes--you'll know him by,--
He wears a pack behind him.
He's gone away--ah! many a mile
Because he could not please me,
And, oh! 'twill be a weary while
Ere next he comes to tease me.

He carries wares of every kind,
Fine ribbons, silks, and laces,
Bargains to rhyme with every mind,
And hues to suit all faces.
He has gold rings and pretty things
That other maids will throng for,
Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings,
And fly to him I long for.

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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Anthology Prepared

His wish was wit with wisdom well to wed
within an epigram, - he found instead
some thought slight wit was there and that was slight,
he witless seemed to others, lacked insight.

He kept in sight their criticism there,
and kept from sight verse, parodies hors pair,
for some insipid seemed, rose-water, trite, -
but then began to fly another kite.

He pruned, he tuned, communed, was often led
to pulp the offspring fond that Time had bled,
until the flow could sew in framwork tight
both harmony and sense, in fancy’s flight.

For the first time he’s spurred to offer fare, -
incisive works beyond the critics’ care,
will cast no anxious glance to who’d indict
with bark or bite the verses seen tonight.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Drink To Her

Drink to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers play'd,
It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.

At Beauty's door of glass,
When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They ask'd her, "which might pass?"
She answer'd, "he who could."
With golden key Wealth thought
To pass -- but 'twould not do:
While Wit a diamond brought,

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poem by Thomas Moore
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Samela

LIKE to Diana in her summer weed,
   Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
   Goes fair Samela.
Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed
   When wash'd by Arethusa faint they lie,
   Is fair Samela.
As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
   Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love
   Is fair Samela;
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day
   Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
   Shines fair Samela.

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
   Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
   Of fair Samela;
Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams;
   Her brows bright arches framed of ebony.
   Thus fair Samela
Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,

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poem by Robert Greene
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The Red Canoe

De win' is sleepin' in de pine, but O! de
night is black!
An' all day long de loon bird cry on Lac Waya-
gamack-
No light is shinin' by de shore for helpin' steer
heem t'roo
W'en out upon de night, Ubalde he tak' de
red canoe.

I hear de paddle dip, dip, dip! wance more I
hear de loon-
I feel de breeze was show de way for storm
dat 's comin' soon,
An' den de sky fly open wit' de lightning
splittin' t'roo-
An' 'way beyon' de point I see de leetle red
canoe.

It 's dark again, but lissen how across Waya-
gamack

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poem by William Henry Drummond
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