Quotes about tether, page 9
Jasper’s Song
WHO goes down through the slim green sallows,
Soon, so soon ?
Dawn is hard on the heels of the moon,
But never a lily the day-star knows
Is white, so white as the one who goes
Armed and shod, when the hyacinths darken.
Then hark, O harken !
And rouse the moths from the deep rose-mallows,
Call the wild hares down from the fallows,
Gather the silk of the young sea-poppies,
The bloom of the thistle, the bells of the foam;
Bind them all with a brown owl's feather,
Snare the winds in a golden tether,
Chase the clouds from the gipsy's weather, and follow, O follow, the white spring home.
Who goes past with the wind that chilled us,
Late, so late ?
Fortune leans on the farmer's gate,
Watching the round sun low in the south,
With a plume in his cap and a rose at his mouth.
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poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Hawk And Buckle
Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Master Straddler this hot summer weather?
He's along in the tap-room with broad cheeks a-chuckle,
And ten bold companions all drinking together.
Where is the daughter of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Mistress Jenny this hot summer weather?
She sits in the parlour with smell of honeysuckle,
Trimming her bonnet with red ostrich feather.
Where is the ostler of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Willy Jakeman this hot summer weather?
He is rubbing his eyes with a slow and lazy knuckle
As he wakes from his nap on a bank of fresh heather.
Where is the page boy of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of our young Charlie this hot summer weather?
He is bobbing for tiddlers in a little trickle-truckle,
With his line and his hook and his breeches of leather.
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poem by Robert Graves
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The Old King's New Jester
You that in vain would front the coming order
With eyes that meet forlornly what they must,
And only with a furtive recognition
See dust where there is dust,—
Be sure you like it always in your faces,
Obscuring your best graces,
Blinding your speech and sight,
Before you seek again your dusty places
Where the old wrong seems right.
Longer ago than cave-men had their changes
Our fathers may have slain a son o two,
Discouraging a further dialectic
Regarding what was new;
And after their unstudied admonition
Occasional contrition
For their old-fashioned ways
May have reduced their doubts, and in addition
Softened their final days.
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poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Past Days
I.
Dead and gone, the days we had together,
Shadow-stricken all the lights that shone
Round them, flown as flies the blown foam's feather,
Dead and gone.
Where we went, we twain, in time foregone,
Forth by land and sea, and cared not whether,
If I go again, I go alone.
Bound am I with time as with a tether;
Thee perchance death leads enfranchised on,
Far from deathlike life and changeful weather,
Dead and gone.
II.
Above the sea and sea-washed town we dwelt,
We twain together, two brief summers, free
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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Delusions
A thousand bees never settling down
buzzed within his head
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drum beats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
Limbs receiving discordant commands
He suddenly hurtled in to the streets
Stepping out from regimented norms
And breaking loose the tether of reason,
Never walking, never running
But scuttling from side to side
Like a piece of drift wood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
Suddenly, he into a prophet grew
Stood with arms outstretched
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poem by Valsa George
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The Golden Game
If ever there was a Golden Game
To brace the nerves, to cure repining,
To put the Dumps to flight and shame,
It's Cricket when the sun is shining!
Gentlemen, toss the foolscap by,
Gentlemen, change from books to leather!
Breathe your fill of the breeze from the hill,
Thanking Bliss for the great blue weather.
If ever there was a bag could beat
The box possessed by Miss Pandora,
'Tis that in which there cuddle neat
The tools to shape the flying Fourer.
Gentlemen, watch the purple ball!
Gentlemen, keep your wits in tether!
Take your joy with the heart of a boy
Under the dome of the big blue weather.
If ever I feel my veins abound
With zealous blood more fit for Twenty,
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poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The Pigeon Shooting
They say that Monte Carlo is
A sunny place for shady people;
But I'm not in the gambling biz,
And sober as a parish steeple.
so though this paradisal spot
The devil's playground of the rich is,
I love it and I love it not,
As men may sometimes fall for bitches.
I lazed beneath the sky's blue bliss,
The sea swooned with a sequin glimmer;
The breeze was shy as maiden kiss,
The palms sashayed in silken shimmr.
The peace I soaked in every pore
did me more good than ten religions . . .
And then: Bang! Bang! my joy was o'er;
Says I: "There goes them poor dam pigeons."
I see them bob from out their traps,
the swarded green aroud them ringing;
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poem by Robert William Service
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Herr Weiser
Herr Weiser--! Three-score-years-and-ten--,
A hale white rose of his country-men,
Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam,
And blossomy as his German home--
As blossomy and as pure and sweet
As the cool green glen of his calm retreat,
Far withdrawn from the noisy town
Where trade goes clamoring up and down,
Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife,
May not trouble his tranquil life!
Breath of rest, what a balmy gust--!
Quite of the city's heat and dust,
Jostling down by the winding road,
Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode--.
Tether the horse, as we onward fare
Under the pear-trees trailing there,
And thumping the wood bridge at night
With lumps of ripeness and lush delight,
Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn,
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Expectations
Our fabulous flying wheel galaxy
plows head-first through intergalactic space.
Seven thousand mile per minute taxi
bound for the Virgo Cluster's misty trace.
Our Sun bounces on gravity's tether,
speck in a collective starry flower.
Astrophysicists predict fair weather
ahead, half a million miles per hour.
A quarter of a billion year trip
carries Earth once around the Milky Way.
We plummet through the thick and thin of it;
gas pockets, dust clouds, Spiral arms' melee.
Our present course is relatively clear
and beyond the Oort Cloud's icy comets
the solar wind of our heliosphere
expands to shield the inner planets.
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poem by Diane Hine
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Howard At Atlanta
RIGHT in the track where Sherman
Ploughed his red furrow,
Out of the narrow cabin,
Up from the cellar's burrow,
Gathered the little black people,
With freedom newly dowered,
Where, beside their Northern teacher,
Stood the soldier, Howard.
He listened and heard the children
Of the poor and long-enslavëd
Reading the words of Jesus,
Singing the songs of David.
Behold! —the dumb lips speaking,
The blind eyes seeing!
Bones of the Prophet's vision
Warmed into being!
Transformed he saw them passing
Their new life's portal!
Almost it seemed the mortal
Put on the immortal.
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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