Posts tagged ‘1925’

Tuesday, 5 February 2019

Arabia by John Meade Falkner

Hogarth’s Penetration of Arabia

Who are these from the strange, ineffable places,
From the Topaze Mountain and Desert of Doubt,
With the glow of the Yemen full on their faces,
And a breath from the spices of Hadramaut?

Travel-apprentices, travel-indenturers,
Young men, old men, black hair, white,
Names to conjure with, wild adventurers,
From the noonday furnace and purple night.

Burckhardt, Halévy, Niebuhr, Slater,
Seventeenth, eighteenth-century bays,
Seetzen, Sadleir, Struys, and later
Down to the long Victorian days.

A thousand miles at the back of Aden,
There they had time to think of things;
In the outer silence and burnt air laden
With the shadow of death and a vulture’s wings.

There they remembered the last house in Samna,
Last of the plane-trees, last shepherd and flock,
Prayed for the heavens to rain down manna,
Prayed for a Moses to strike the rock.

Famine and fever flagged their forces
Till they died in a dream of ice and fruit,
In the long-forgotten watercourses
By the edge of Queen Zobeide’s route.

They have left the hope of the green oases,
The fear of the bleaching bones and the pest,
They have found the more ineffable places—
Allah has given them rest.

From: Larkin, Philip (ed.), The Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, 1973, Clarendon Press: Oxford, pp. 43-44.
(https://archive.org/details/PhilipLarkinOxfordBookOf20thCenturyEnglishVerse)

Date: 1925

By: John Meade Falkner (1858-1932)

Saturday, 15 July 2017

No Question by George Hill Dillon

Seeing at last how each thing here beneath
The glimmering stars is lawful: having found
By a wide watch how scrupulously Death
To keep his tacit promises is bound,
How from their vagrance the disbanded dusts
Resume integrity in blood or bloom,
How punctually the sun-struck red rose thrusts
Its rigid flame into the golden gloom;

Knowing that ultimate prospect where appears
The accurate ebb and flood of furious water,
The undirected wind’s clean course, the sphere’s
Deliberate strong spinning, I would utter
No question now, nor prosecute in words
Why birds must fly, seeing the flight of birds.

From: http://www.openlettersmonthly.com/the-summery-night-before-the-frost/

Date: 1925

By: George Hill Dillon (1906-1968)

Sunday, 25 October 2015

The Wise by Countee Cullen

(For Alain Locke)

Dead men are wisest, for they know
How far the roots of flowers go,
How long a seed must rot to grow.

Dead men alone bear frost and rain
On throbless heart and heatless brain,
And feel no stir of joy or pain.

Dead men alone are satiate;
They sleep and dream and have no weight,
To curb their rest, of love or hate.

Strange, men should flee their company,
Or think me strange who long to be
Wrapped in their cool immunity.

From: http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/cullen/online_poems.htm

Date: 1925

By: Countee Cullen (1903-1946)

Friday, 28 September 2012

The Victor by Grace Strickler Dawson

I will go
Like a queen,
With a garland
In my hair.
None shall know
From my mien
What of bitterness
I bear.

I will woo
Those to envy
Who would pity
If they guessed—
If they knew
The ceaseless beating
Of the wings
In my breast.

I will wear
Their jealous glances
Like a silken mantle—
Proud
That I dare
Walk down endless
Empty days
Unbowed.

From: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse/26/4#20575128

Date: 1925

By: Grace Strickler Dawson (1891-1981)

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Poem or To F S by James Mercer Langston Hughes

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There is nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began, —
I loved my friend.

From: http://lifeoflangstonhughes.blogspot.com.au/

Date: 1925

By: James Mercer Langston Hughes (1902-1967)