sir - Popular Poems and stories from category

ST art, the stars above Were fated on thy birth to shine;
Oh, born of beauty and of love,
What early poetry was thine
The softness of Ionian

Southward with fleet of ice  Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and gast blew the blast,  And the east-wind was his breath
His lordly ships of ice  Glisten in the sun;
On each side, like pennons wide,  Flashing crystal streamlets run

KE souls that balance joy and pain,
With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sun-lit fall of rain
In crystal vapour everywhere Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between,
And far, in forest-deeps ...

Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye,
Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie;
His various worth through varied life attend,
And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end

Prelude to Part
Over his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay:
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hopes...

How blest art thou, canst love the countrey,
Wroth, Whether by choyce, or fate, or both
And, though so neere the Citie, and the Court, Art tane with neithers vice, nor sport:
That at great times, art no ambitious guest Of Sheriffes ...

Ho
is there any will ride with me,      Sir Giles, le bon des barrières
The clink of arms is good to hear,    The flap of pennons fair to see;      Ho
is there any will ride with me,      Sir Giles, le bon des barrières

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

AD
—it was like a thunderbolt To hear that he was dead;
Though for long weeks the words of
Came from his dying bed;

Even such is time, which takes in trust    Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us nought but age and dust;    Which in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days

It is the longest night in all the year, Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;
Six hours ago I came and sat down here, And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn
The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door, Sang out a moody tune, t...

Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturbed by wars, in quiet sleep;
Discharge the trust, which, when it was below,
Fairborne's undaunted soul did undergo,