Sonnet -- To Science - Edgar Allan Poe

I can definitely imagine this poem sparking some interesting discussion!

Sonnet -- To Science

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise?
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

Young Lambs - John Clare

Young Lambs

The spring is coming by a many signs;
The trays are up, the hedges broken down,
That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines
Like some old antique fragment weathered brown.
And where suns peep, in every sheltered place,
The little early buttercups unfold
A glittering star or two—till many trace
The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold.
And then a little lamb bolts up behind
The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe,
And then another, sheltered from the wind,
Lies all his length as dead—and lets me go
Close bye and never stirs but baking lies,
With legs stretched out as though he could not rise.

Concord Hymn - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I thought to post this one on April 19th, since it's the anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord, but since that was during Holy Week, I'm posting it now.  This was composed by Emerson for the dedication of a monument on the spot of the battle.  I like this simple poem quite a lot.

Concord Hymn

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 

   Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
    And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
    Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
    Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
    We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
    When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those spirits dare

    To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
    The shaft we raise to them and thee.

Sonnet 29 - William Shakespeare

Shakespeare's birthday was on Saturday, and since I didn't post something by him then, I'll post a sonnet today!

Sonnet 29

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee -- and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
   For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Sonnet 68 - Edmund Spenser

Spenser used intentionally archaic wording at times, which is (I believe) why his spelling is not generally modernized like that of most early modern poets.  Anyhow, here is another Easter poem!

Sonnet 68

Most glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day,
  Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:
  and having harrowd hell didst bring away,
  captivity thence captive us to win.
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin,
  and grant that we for whom thou diddest dye
  being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
  may live forever in felicity.
And that thy love we weighing worthily,
  may likewise love thee for the same againe:
  and for thy sake that all lyke deare didst buy,
  with love may one another entertayne.
So let us love, deare love, lyke as we ought,
  love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

Resurrection - John Donne

This was supposed to be yesterday's poem, but I forgot to post it last night....so I'll be posting two today!

Resurrection

Moist, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul

Shall (though she now be in extreme degree

Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly) be

Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard, or foul,

And life, by this death abled, shall control

Death, whom thy death slew; nor shall to me

Fear of first or last death, bring misery,

If in thy little book my name thou enroll,

Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,

But made that there, of which, and for which 'twas;

Nor can by other means be glorified.

May then sins sleep, and deaths soon from me pass,

That waked from both, I again risen may

Salute the last, and everlasting day.

Crucifying - John Donne

Crucifying

By miracles exceeding power of man,
He faith in some, envy in some begat,
For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious hate:
In both affections many to Him ran.
But O! the worst are most, they will and can,
Alas! and do, unto th' Immaculate,
Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a fate,
Measuring self-life's infinity to span,
Nay to an inch. Lo! where condemned He
Bears His own cross, with pain, yet by and by
When it bears him, He must bear more and die.
Now Thou art lifted up, draw me to Thee,
And at Thy death giving such liberal dole,
Moist with one drop of Thy blood my dry soul.

The Agony - George Herbert

The last Herbert poem for the week, but you must admit that it's a very appropriate one for Holy Thursday.

The Agony

        Philosophers have measured mountains,
Fathomed the depths of seas, of states, and kings,
Walked with a staff to heaven, and traced fountains,
        But there are two vast, spacious things,
The which to measure it doth more behoove:
Yet few there are that sound them; Sin and Love.

        Who would know Sin, let him repair
Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see
A man, so wrung with pains, that all his hair,
        His skin, his garments, bloody be.
Sin is that Press and Vice, which forceth pain
To hunt his cruel food through every vein.

        Who knows not Love, let him assay,
And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike
Did set again abroach; then let him say
        If ever he did taste the like.
Love is that liquor sweet and most divine,
Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine.

Love (III) - George Herbert

Another Herbert poem for Holy Week.  This one makes me think of the Lord's Supper, among other things, but we'll take it a day early.  :)

Love (III)

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here";
        Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
        I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
        "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
        "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
        So I did sit and eat.