Posts tagged ‘1919’

Saturday, 27 May 2017

The Autumn Wind by Wu Ti

Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.
Grass and trees wither: geese go south.
Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.
I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.
Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fen River.
Across the mid-stream white waves rise;
Flute and drum keep time to sound of rowers’ song;
Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;
Youth’s years how few! Age how sure!

From: http://www.potw.org/archive/potw315.html

Date: c175 BCE (original); 1919 (translation)

By: Wu Ti (157-187 BCE)

Translated by: Arthur David Waley (1889-1966)

Monday, 15 May 2017

Life Hurt Me by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

Life hurt me —
But I welcomed even pain —
So keen I was the full deep cup to drain,
I courted all the clamor and the strife,
The grief, the joy — I was in love with life.

Death hurt me —
But I wept and bowed my head
To learn the lesson Christ interpreted.
With dear Love’s help I raised my anguished eyes
And thought I read the message of the skies.

And then Love hurt me —
And I lost the whole
Of faith and peace. “Ah!” cried my struggling soul,
“If Love can fail its own, why live?*’ it said —
And lo! still-born, I found my soul was dead!

From: Robinson, Corinne Roosevelt, The Poems of Corinne Roosevelt Robinson, 1921, Charles Scribner’s Sons: New York, p. 211.
(https://archive.org/details/poemscorinneroo00robigoog)

Date: 1919

By: Corinne Roosevelt Robinson (1861-1933)

Saturday, 12 November 2016

Airman, R.F.C. by Agnes Grozier Herbertson

He heard them in the silence of the night
Whirring and thudding through the moonlit sky
And wondered where their target, pondered why.
Unsleeping, saw again with a young sight
The docks, yards, aerodromes revealed and white,
Heard the guns crack, saw searchlights sidle by,
Felt the bombs fall, the débris mounting high,
Knew the earth blazing and the skies alight.

They had his task; they did what he had done:
Their youth– as his– by battle was hemmed round:
Their lives hung on a thread– how finely spun!–
(Little they cared as on their way they wound!).
He prayed they might come safely through, each one,
And find a better world than he had found.

From: http://nsfg12d3.blogspot.com.au/2014/01/airman-rfc-agnes-grozier-herbertson.html

Date: 1919

By: Agnes Grozier Herbertson (1873-1958)

Saturday, 4 July 2015

The History of the United States by Winifred Sackville Stoner, Junior

In fourteen hundred ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue
And found this land, land of the Free, beloved by you, beloved by me.

And in the year sixteen and seven, good Captain Smith thought he’d reach Heav’n,
And then he founded Jamestown City, alas, ’tis gone, oh, what a pity.

’Twas in September sixteen nine, with ship, Half Moon, a read Dutch sign,
That Henry Hudson found the stream, the Hudson River of our dream.

In sixteen twenty, pilgrims saw our land that had no unjust law.
Their children live here to this day, proud citizens of U.S.A.

In sixteen hundred eighty-three, good William Penn stood ’neath a tree
And swore that unto his life’s end he would be the Indian’s friend.

In seventeen hundred seventy-five, good Paul Revere was then alive;
He rode like wild throughout the night, and called the Minute Men to fight.

Year seventeen hundred seventy-six, July the fourth, this date please fix
Within your minds, my children dear, for that was Independence Year.

In that same year on a bitter night at Trenton was an awful fight,
But by our brave George Washington the battle was at last well won.

Two other dates in your mind fix—Franklin born in seventeen six,
And Washington first said “Boo-Hoo” in seventeen hundred thirty-two.

In seventeen hundred seventy-nine, Paul Jones, who was a captain fine,
Gained our first naval victory fighting on the big, wide sea.

And in the year eighteen and four, Lewis and Clark both went before,
And blazed for us the Oregon Trail where men go now in ease by rail.

In eighteen hundred and thirteen, on great Lake Erie could be seen
Our Perry fight the Union Jack and drive it from our shores far back.

In eighteen hundred and sixty-one, an awful war was then begun
Between the brothers of our land, who now together firmly stand.

In eighteen hundred sixty-three, each slave was told that he was free
By Lincoln, with whom few compare in being kind and just and fair.

In eighteen hundred eighty-one, at Panama there was begun
By good De Lesseps, wise and great, the big canal, now our ship’s gate.

At San Juan, eighteen ninety-eight, our brave Rough Riders lay in wait,
And on the land brought victory, while Dewey won it on the sea.

In nineteen hundred and fifteen, was shown a panoramic screen
At San Francisco’s wondrous fair; all peoples were invited there.

But cruel war in that same year kept strangers from our land o’ cheer,
And nineteen seventeen brought here the war that filled our hearts with fear.

Thank God in nineteen eighteen Peace on earth again was seen,
And we are praying that she’ll stay forever in our U.S.A.

From: http://www.emule.com/2poetry/phorum/read.php?4,34481,34549

Date: 1919

By: Winifred Sackville Stoner, Junior (1902-1983)

Thursday, 26 February 2015

A Bird by Anyte of Tegea

You will never rise up again with a flutter of thick wings and rouse me from my bed in the morning;
For a thief came silently upon you in your sleep and killed you, pressing his finger into your throat.

From: http://elfinspell.com/ClassicalTexts/Poetry/AnyteOfTegea-Sappho/Aldington-Anyte.html

Date: 3rd century BCE (original); 1919 (translation)

By: Anyte of Tegea (3rd century BCE)

Translated by: Richard (Edward Godfree) Aldington (1892-1962)

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

I Too Have Loved by Florence van Leer Earle Nicholson Coates

I, too, have loved the Greeks, the Hero-sprung,
The glad, spoiled children of Posterity :
Have closed my eyes, more near their shrines to be,
Have hushed my heart, to hear their epics sung.
Upon their golden accents I have hung,
With Thyrsis wooed to vales of Sicily,
And Homer, blind, has given me to see
Olympus, where the deathless Gods were young.

But still, that one remembering with awe
Whose vision deeper than all others saw,
I feel the dearer debt my spirit owes
To him, who towers, peerless and sublime,
The noblest, largest intellect of Time,
Born where the English Avon softly flows.

From: http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/I_Too_Have_Loved

Date: 1919

By: Florence van Leer Earle Nicholson Coates (1850-1927)

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Lochanilaun by Francis Brett Young

My soul shall be a little lonely lake,
So hidden that no shadow of man may break
The folding of its mountain battlement;
Only the beautiful and innocent
Whiteness of sea-born cloud drooping to shake
Cool rain upon the reed-beds, or the wake
Of churn’d cloud in a howling wind’s descent.
For there shall be no terror in the night
When stars that I have loved are born in me,
And cloudy darkness I will hold most fair;
But this shall be the end of my delight:
That you, my lovely one, may stoop and see
Your image in the mirrored beauty there.

From: Young, Francis Brett, Poems 1916-1918, 1919, W Collins & Sons: London.
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40344/40344-h/40344-h.html)

Date: 1919

By: Francis Brett Young (1884-1954)

Sunday, 9 September 2012

Sunday in an Office Building by Charles Hanson Towne

The corridors are strangely still;
The offices are bleak and chill.
The elevators do not run
On busy errands. Life seems done,
And no one guards the marble door
Where through, on Monday, there will pour
Hundreds — nay, thousands — like a tide;
Legions that cannot be denied.

The desks are empty; mice confer
Like ghouls within a sepulchre.
This is the temporary grave
Of volumes over which men slave.
To-morrow it will be alive
With rushing feet, a sounding hive.
Yet for these few brief hours it knows
The stillness of the dreaming rose.

From: Towne, Charles Hanson, A World of Windows and Other Poems, 1919, George H Doran Company: New York, p. 65.
(http://archive.org/stream/aworldwindowsan00towngoog#page/n72/mode/2up)

Date: 1919

By: Charles Hanson Towne (1847-1949)

Thursday, 30 August 2012

Driftwood by Winifred Welles

Life gave me these —
The beauty that can only branch in trees
Who are content, knowing the roots’ securities —
The strength to stand up straight and bear the wings
Of a brave ship on her adventurings —
The bitterness of being broken, being tossed
And driven on the waters and the winds, and lost
In desolation, mist and stinging foam,
And being beaten back at last to home.

Now love has kindled me —
Strange that my beauty of dear, green tree
Should vanish into smoke and memory.
Strange that strength, magnificently mine,
Should fall before the flame without a sign.
But oh most strange that bitterness should be
Drawn up in colour after colour out of me.

From: Welles, Winifred, The Hesitant Heart, 1919, B W Huebsch: New York, p. 21.
(http://www.unz.org/Pub/WellesWinifred-1919?View=ReadIt)

Date: 1919

By: Winifred Welles (1893-1939)

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

The Poppy by Nan Terrell Reed

Like a Poppy in a field of daisies
You have always seemed to me,
As I watched you in the different phases
Of a life so trouble-free.

And those who do not see the blue of skies.
Or note the green of velvet grass.
Will never fail to turn admiring eyes
To greet a Poppy as they pass.

Oh! lovely little flower — after all,
A breeze can bow your silken head;
A day or two, and then the petals fall
And leave a crimson Poppy — dead.

From: http://www.archive.org/stream/proseandpoems00reedgoog/proseandpoems00reedgoog_djvu.txt

Date: 1919

By: Nan Terrell Reed (?-?)