Posts tagged ‘1875’

Thursday, 9 May 2019

Divergence by John Charles Earle

When hearts that long have travelled on one line
Diverge, and will no further run abreast,
Who can the end of such a course divine?
And where shall weary feet like theirs find rest?
For Eden forfeited how vain the quest!
For fruits ambrosial how the wanderers pine!
Their sun has set behind the mountain’s crest,
And life has entered on its dim decline.
Ah! not for them the sympathy that made
E’en pain consoling because duly shared;
Ah! not for them the mutual light that played
From loving eyes o’er all they hoped and dared;
Ah! not for them the feverish thirst allayed,
The lives lived doubly and the cares discared.

From: Earle, John Charles, Light Leading Unto Light; A Series of Sonnets and Poems, 1875, Burns & Oates: London, p. 19.

Date: 1875

By: John Charles Earle (1849-1903)

Monday, 14 August 2017

Fading Beauty by Richard Abbot

Fading beauty, bending o’er thee,
Here before high heaven I swear,
Doubt me not, love, I adore thee,
Thou art still my joy and care.
Still devoted and unchanging,
Through all change my heart shall be,
Nor, through all my fancies ranging
Can it rest on aught but thee.

Fading beauty! nay, not fading,
‘Tis but change of loveliness,
And my heart needs no persuading,
To believe thy charms no less.
True, the rose is turning whiter,
True, thy locks are silvery now,
But thy loving eyes, once brighter,
Still with love to me o’erflow.

Fading beauty! still unfaded,
Still the charms of riper years
Keep the light of love unshaded,
While thy beauty brighter wears;
And, though time at length succeed in
Leading captive thee, my bride,
Shall not I the same path tread in,
Linked for ever by thy side?

From: Andrews, William (ed.), North Country Poets: Poems and Biographies of Natives or Residents of Northumberland, Cumberland, Westmoreland, Durham, Lancashire and Yorkshire, Volume 2, 1889, Simpkin, Marshall & Co: London, pp. 69-70.

Date: c1875

By: Richard Abbot (1818-1904)

Friday, 15 May 2015

Cupid at Court by Samuel Minturn Peck

Young Cupid strung his bow one day;
And sallied out for sport;
As country hearts were easy prey
Odds Darts! he went to court.

Of all that wore the puff and patch,
Belinda led the fair:
With falbala, and fan to match,
I trow she made him stare!

“Oho! ” he cried, and quickly drew
His bow upon the sly;
But though he pierced her bosom through,
She never breathed a sigh!

This was a turn, beyond a doubt,
That filled him with amaze,
And so he sought his mother out,
With tear-bewildered gaze.

“You silly boy,” Dame Venus said,
” Why did you waste your art?
Go clip your curls and hide your head–
Belinda has no heart! ”

From: Peck, Samuel Minturn, Caps and Bells, 1875, Frederick A. Stokes Company: New York and London, pp. 40-41.

Date: 1875

By: Samuel Minturn Peck (1854-1938)

Thursday, 18 September 2014

Sonnet by Francis William Bourdillon

As strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea,
Though by the wind made restless as the wind,
By billows fretted and by rocks confined,
So strong, so deep, so wide my love for thee.
And as the sea; though oft huge waves arise,
So oft that calms can never quite assuage,
So huge that ocean’s whole self seems to rage;
Yet tranquil, deep, beneath the tempest lies:
So my great love for thee lies tranquil, deep,
Forever; though above it passions fierce,
Ambition, hatred, jealousy; like waves
That seem from earth’s core to the sky to leap,
But ocean’s depths can never really pierce;
Hide its great calm, while all the surface raves.

From: Bourdillon, F.W., “Sonnet” from Scribner’s Monthly, an illustrated magazine for the people, Volume 9, issue 3, January 1874, pp. 359-360.

Date: 1875

By: Francis William Bourdillon (1852-1921)

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Those Annual Bills by Mark Twain (Samuel Leghorne Clemens)

These annual bills! these annual bills!
How many a song their discord trills
Of “truck” consumed, enjoyed, forgot,
Since I was skinned by last year’s lot!

Those joyous beans are passed away;
Those onions blithe, O where are they?
Once loved, lost, mourned–now vexing ILLS
Your shades troop back in annual bills!

And so ’twill be when I’m aground
These yearly duns will still go round,
While other bards, with frantic quills,
Shall damn and damn these annual bills!


Date: 1875

By: Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) (1835-1910)

Saturday, 23 February 2013

Love by John Townsend Trowbridge

In sad foreknowledge of man’s state, that he
Might not despair and perish utterly,
By rude distractions hither and thither hurled,
In the beginning the dear lords above,
With infinite compassion, gave him Love;
And Love is the sweet band that binds the world.

What holds the convex ocean in his place,
Pillars the starry vault, and guides through space
The myriad-motioned planets swiftly whirled, –
What it may be that made and keeps them so
(If ‘t be Love) I know not:  yet I know
That Love is the sweet band that binds the world.

Dreams, laughter, hope, derision, toil, and grief,
These are man’s portion, and his time is brief;
A little leaf by wild winds tossed and twirled;
In trouble and in doubt he draws his breath,
Illusion leads him, and his way is death;
Yet Love is a sweet band that binds the world.

Strong to destroy, and very weak to save
Is man; at once a tyrant and a slave;
And every war’s red banner is unfurled;
But, Love, since thou art left us, all is well;
If Love were banished heaven itself were hell;
Immortal Love! sweet band that binds the world!

Bitter companions met me everywhere,
Sin-wasted Youth, and Folly with white hair,
And keen-eyed Craft, and Scorn with sad lip curled,
Sorrows and masks, and miseries manifold;
But, “O my heart!” I said, “be thou consoled,
For Love is the sweet band that binds the world.”

Birds build their nests:  Love taught the gentle art;
The babe laughs in its mother’s arms: her heart
With Love’s fresh morning thoughts is all impearled;
Chaste Comfort sits beside the household hearth;
The sun with golden girdle clasps the earth,
And Love is the sweet band that binds the world.

From: Trowbridge, J T, The Poetical Works of John Townsend Trowbridge, 1903, Houghton, Mifflin and Company: Boston, pp. 114-115.

Date: 1875

By: John Townsend Trowbridge (1827-1916)

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Life’s Uncertain Day by Thomas Love Peacock

The briefest part of life’s uncertain day,
Youth’s lovely blossom, hastes to swift decay:
While love, wine, song, enhance our gayest mood
Old age creeps on, nor thought, nor understood.


Date: 1875 (published)

By: Thomas Love Peacock (1785-1866)

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


Date: 1875

By: William Ernest Henley (1849-1903)

Thursday, 12 January 2012

Letter from a Girl to Her Own Old Age by Alice Meynell

Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,
O time-worn woman, think of her who blesses
What thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.

O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!
O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,
And from the changes of my heart must make thee!

O fainting traveller, morn is gray in heaven.
Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?
And are they calm about the fall of even?

Pause near the ending of thy long migration;
For this one sudden hour of desolation
Appeals to one hour of thy meditation.

Suffer, O silent one, that I remind thee
Of the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,
Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.

Know that the mournful plain where thou must wander
Is but a gray and silent world, but ponder
The misty mountains of the morning yonder.

Listen:-the mountain winds with rain were fretting,
And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting.
I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting.

What part of this wild heart of mine I know not
Will follow with thee where the great winds blow not,
And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not.

Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in it
Tell what the way was when thou didst begin it,
And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it.

I have not writ this letter of divining
To make a glory of thy silent pining,
A triumph of thy mute and strange declining.

Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded;
Only one morning, and the day was clouded;
And one old age with all regrets is crowded.

O hush, O hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.
O hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?
Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?

Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.
Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter
That breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her:

The one who now thy faded features guesses,
With filial fingers thy gray hair caresses,
With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.


 Date: 1875

 By: Alice Meynell (1847-1922)