Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

Short Poetry Collections, Short Story Collections, and our Weekly Poetry Project
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Newgatenovelist
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Post by Newgatenovelist » April 8th, 2021, 12:02 pm

I'd like to suggest 'I Love my Love in the Morning' by the Irish author Gerald Griffin (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerald_Griffin). He has a couple of poems in a collection by 'various', but I think perhaps he's not in the catalogue with his own separate author page.

I Love my Love in the Morning

I love my love in the morning,
For she like morn is fair-
Her blushing cheek, its crimson streak,
It clouds her golden hair.
Her glance, its beam, so soft and kind;
Her tears, its dewy showers;
And her voice, the tender whispering wind
That stirs the early bowers.

I love my love in the morning,
I love my love at noon,
For she is bright, as the lord of light,
Yet mild as autumn’s moon:
Her beauty is my bosom’s sun,
Her faith my fostering shade,
And I will love my darling one,
Till even the sun shall fade.

I love my love in the morning,
I love my love at even;
Her smile’s soft play is like the ray
That lights the western heaven:
I loved her when the sun was high,
I loved her when he rose,
But best of all when the evening’s sigh
Was murmuring at its close.

Taken from:
https://archive.org/details/poeticaldramatic00grif/page/116/mode/2up

Erin

Vik1
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Joined: March 21st, 2021, 5:41 pm

Post by Vik1 » April 11th, 2021, 5:36 am

* Here is the link to the poem - https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/the-gift-of-india/
Vik1 wrote:
April 6th, 2021, 3:26 pm
May I suggest the following poem by Sarojini Naidu (1879 - 1949), the female activist who worked with Gandhi during India's struggle for independence from Britain.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarojini_Naidu

Some of her other works are in our catalog but not the following poem. This piece is about soldiers from British India who fought in World War I:


The Gift of India - by Sarojini Naidu

Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo! I have flung to the East and West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of duty, the sabers of doom.


Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands,
They are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France.


Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro’ my heart’s despair
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of Victory?


When the terror and the tumult of hate shall cease
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought in your dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the deathless ones,
Remember the blood of thy martyred sons!

aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » April 11th, 2021, 7:44 am

Thank you Vik1, reading through the Poetry by Heart site and Terms and Conditions, "All poems on the Website are protected by copyright." and therefore not able to be used by LibriVox and our public domain policy.
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!

TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG » April 11th, 2021, 10:22 am

I found it in an Archive scanned book, published 1917: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.95756/page/n25/mode/2up
Bulwer-Lytton novel: The Caxtons
New York scenes, 1897: Darkness and Daylight
Boring works 30-70 minutes long: Insomnia Collection 5

Vik1
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Post by Vik1 » April 11th, 2021, 7:01 pm

Thank you TriciaG.
TriciaG wrote:
April 11th, 2021, 10:22 am
I found it in an Archive scanned book, published 1917: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.95756/page/n25/mode/2up

pschempf
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Post by pschempf » April 13th, 2021, 9:30 pm

David -

Here's a suggestion -

The Churchyard By The Sea. A Memory. by Jessie C. Howden

Across the waste of years I see
One spot for ever soft and green,
Which, shrined within my memory,
In evening glow or morning sheen,
Tells of the golden, vanished years,
When smiles came oftener far than tears.

A churchyard by the restless sea,
Where, in deep calm and dreamless sleep,
The Dead lay resting peacefully,
Unheeding the tempestuous deep;
Careless alike of sun and breeze,
Or ebbing of those changeful seas.

And oft when shipwreck and despair
Came to the little sea-beat town,
Pale women, with dishevelled hair,
To the wild shore went hurrying down,
And tenderly dead eyes would close,
And smooth dead limbs for long repose.

Full many a weary, storm-tossed wight,
Year after year, in quiet was laid,
Safe from the blustering storms of night,
In this green spot, and undismayed,
Slept close beside the breakers’ roar,
Whose wrath should mar his rest no more.

And over each low-sleeping head,
Where thymy turf grew green and soft,
The wild bee hummed, and rosy-red
The brier-flower bloomed, and up aloft
The fleecy clouds went drifting by
Like shades, across the summer sky.

And ever as the years go by,
And one by one old memories creep
From out the sweet Past solemnly,
I seem to see, beside the deep,
That little, lonely, silent spot,
With many a childish dream enwrought.

The Churchyard By The Sea. A Memory. by Jessie C. Howden (1857-1935)

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65015/65015-h/65015-h.htm#THE_CHURCHYARD_BY_THE_SEA

I don't believe Howden is in the catalog yet. Bio - https://dvpp.uvic.ca/prs_2095.html
Fritz

"A small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labors of a spasmodic Hercules."

Trollope

Newgatenovelist
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Joined: February 17th, 2015, 7:22 am

Post by Newgatenovelist » May 11th, 2021, 2:44 am

I'd like to propose a sonnet by Joseph Blanco White:

Night and Death

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet ‘neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,
And lo! creation widened in man’s view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad’st us blind!
Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife?
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

Text source: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.b4632963&view=1up&seq=50

I don't believe the author is in the catalogue. His wiki page is at:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Blanco_White
And if a short bio helps:
Joseph Blanco White was a Spanish poet, theologian and political writer and editor of Irish descent.

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