Twee gedichten van Ella Wheeler Wilcox

LIFE

I FEEL the great immensity of life.
All little aims slip from me, and I reach
My yearning soul toward the Infinite.

As when a mighty forest, whose green leaves
Have shut it in, and made it seem a bower
For lovers' secrets, or for children's sports,
Casts all its clustering foliage to the winds,

And lets the eye behold it, limitless,
And full of winding mysteries of ways :
So now with life that reaches out before,
And borders on the unexplained Beyond
I see the stars above me, world on world :
I hear the awful language of all Space ;
I feel the distant surging of great seas,
that hide the secrets of the Universe
In their eternal bosoms ; and I know
That I am but an atom of the Whole.




MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER

THOUGH with the gods the world is cumbered,

Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,
Never god was known to be
Who had not his devotee.

So I dedicate to mine,
Here in verse, my temple-shrine.

'Tis not Ares—mighty Mars,

Who can give succes in wars.

'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep

Guard above us while we sleep,

'Tis not Venus, she whose duty
'Tis to give us love and beauty ;
Hail to these, and others, after
Momus, gleesome god of laughter.
Quirinus would gueard my health,
Plutus would insure me wealth ;

Mercurys looks aftert trade,
Hera smiles on youth and maid.

All are kind, I own their worth,
After Momus, god of mirth.

Though Apollo, out of spite,
Hides away his face of light

Though Minerva looks askance,
Deigning me no smiling glance,
Kings and queens may envy me

While I claim the god of glee.

Wisdom wearies, Love has wings—
Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings,

Glory proves a thorny crown—

So all gifts the gods throw down

Bring their pains and troubles after ;

All save Momus, god of laughter.
He alone gives constant joy,
Hail to Momus, happy boy.

Ella Wheeler-Wilcox (1850-1919)

Uit Poems of Life

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Een gedicht van Christina Rossetti

SEASONS

In Springtime when the leaves are young,
Clear dowdrops gleam like jewels, hung
On boughs the fair birds roost among.

When ummer comes with sweet unrest,
Birds weary of their mother's breast,
And look abroad and leave the nest.

In Autumn ere the waters freeze,
The swallows fly across the seas:—
If we could fly away with these!

In Winter when the birds are gone,
The sun himself looks starved and wan,
And starved the snow he shines upon.


Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
Uit The Illustrated Poets — Christina Rossetti
Selected and with an introduction by Peter Porter
Oxford University Press, 1986

William Edward Hartpole Lecky: A missed destiny

Weary of life, but yet afraid to die,
Sated and soured too, he slowly sinks,
With genius, knowledge, eloquence and wit,
And all the gifts of fortune vanly given ;
Some morbid ply that flaws the heart or brain,
Some strange infirmity of thought or will,
Has marred the mall ; nothing remains behind
But fragmentary thoughts and broken schemes,
Some brilliant sayings and a social fame
Already fading ; but his mind is yet
Keen, clear, and vivid, though his nerveless will
Can never rise to action ; so he ends—
The eagle's eye without the eagle's wing.

William Edward Hartpole Lecky (1838-1903)
Uit Poems (1891)

Voor meer poëzie van deze voornamelijk vergeten dichter zij verwezen naar de website All art is quite useless van Rond 1900.nl. Weer een ander gedicht is te vinden op onze zustersite Tempel der Letteren. Voort raadplege men de site Kunst en cultuur, waar twee gedichten van deze auteur te vinden zijn.

Moods van William Edward Hartpole Lecky

OH happy the hour when morning breaks
And the spirit of man refreshed awakes,
Eager and strong for its daily strife,
Too busy to think of the ills of life ;
And happy the hour of the setting sun,
When the battle is over, the labour is done,
And the weary fly home, like the bird to the nest,
And the voice of the loved one is calling to rest !
'Tis the hour of peace when our troubles depart,
And the calm in the evening is felt in the heart.

But laden with care move the hours of the night,
When sleepless, yet weary, we measure their flight,
When the darkness around us has thrown its hue
Om all we think and on all we do ;
And the heart grows chill with a sudden fear,
And the things that we dread the most seem near,
And we think of the dead who lie sleeping below,
And of those whom we love who may soon be so ;
Of age and of weakness, of sickness and pain,
And all our lives seem hollow and vain,

So fast they fly, and the long grass waves
Tangled and dank on our graves ;
And the steps of the last of the mourners have gone,
And we are forgot, while the world rolls on.
For the hearts we love and the things we prize,
They pass like the swarms of the summer flies,
Or the clouds that float on an idle wind,
And leave not a trace in the world behind.


William Edward Hartpole Lecky (1838-1903)
Uit Poems (1891)
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Van deze auteur kunt u het gedicht He found his work but could not find vinden op de fin de siècle website All art is quite useless van rond1900.nl.
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Afbeelding: Karikatuur van W.E.H. Lecky door Spy, afgedrukt in Vanity Fair, 1882.