The Eagle - Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

1851

The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees, 
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor, 
And the highwayman came riding-- 
Riding--riding-- 
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. 

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin; 
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin. 
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh! 
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle-- 
His rapier hilt a-twinkle-- 
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky. 

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, 
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred, 
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- 
Bess, the landlord's daughter-- 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. 

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked 
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked-- 
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, 
But he loved the landlord's daughter-- 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter; 
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say: 

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight, 
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light. 
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, 
Then look for me by moonlight, 
Watch for me by moonlight, 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." 

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, 
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand 
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast, 
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight 
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!), 
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. 

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon. 
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, 
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor, 
The redcoat troops came marching-- 
Marching--marching-- 
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. 

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead, 
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed. 
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side; 
There was Death at every window, 
And Hell at one dark window, 
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. 

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest! 
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! 
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say, 
"Look for me by moonlight, 
Watch for me by moonlight, 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way." 

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! 
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! 
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, 
Till, on the stroke of midnight, 
Cold on the stroke of midnight, 
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! 

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest; 
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast. 
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again, 
For the road lay bare in the moonlight, 
Blank and bare in the moonlight, 
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain. 

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear; 
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? 
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, 
The highwayman came riding-- 
Riding--riding-- 
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still. 

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night! 
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! 
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath, 
Then her finger moved in the moonlight-- 
Her musket shattered the moonlight-- 
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death. 

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood 
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood! 
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear 
How Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. 

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, 
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! 
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat 
When they shot him down in the highway, 
Down like a dog in the highway, 
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat. 

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, 
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor, 
The highwayman comes riding-- 
Riding--riding-- 
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. 

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, 
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred, 
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- 
Bess, the landlord's daughter-- 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Paper Shavings and Coffee Beans - Tempest Watling

All I Want To Know Is All I Want To See,
Writing On The Wall Is Like Paper On The Floors.
Underneath My Head Says You Are All I Need,
The Drawings In My Book Are Like The feelings That You Are,
The Mirrors In My Eyes Think That Dreaming Is A fire Blazing Cold
Against My Memories Of Papershavings And Coffee Beans.
The World Is Like A Book Never Stopping for Breath,
The Languid Changing Sky Is Like A Pencil On It's End,
And The Sea Of Ending Feet Is A Picture In My Mind.
The Colors Of Your Song Burn Dark Across The Walls Of Grey And Night,
All I Understand Is All I Ever See,
Looking At The Thoughts Of Darkness And Of Green,
Seeing Only That Which Comes and Can't Be Seen,
I Wish That Stars Would Come So That We Would All Be Clean,
Seeing That The Wall Is Only On The Floor,
The Dots All Can't Be More.
Erasers Of My Mind Seeing You Are Only Blind,
Come And Hold The Key Of Pictures On The Floor

The Ballad of Oriana - Alfred Tennyson

My heart is wasted with my woe,
Oriana.
There is no rest for me below,
Oriana.
When the long dun wolds are ribb’d with snow,
And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow,
Oriana,
Alone I wander to and fro,
Oriana.

Ere the light on dark was growing,
Oriana,
At midnight the cock was crowing,
Oriana;
Winds were blowing, waters flowing,
We heard the steeds to battle going,
Oriana,
Aloud the hollow bugle blowing,
Oriana.

In the yew-wood black as night,
Oriana,
Ere I rode into the fight,
Oriana,
While blissful tears blinded my sight
By star-shine and by moonlight,
Oriana,
I to thee my troth did plight,
Oriana.

She stood upon the castle wall,
Oriana;
She watch’d my crest among them all,
Oriana;
She saw me fight, she heard me call,
When forth there stept a foeman tall,
Oriana,
Atween me and the castle wall,
Oriana.

The bitter arrow went aside,
Oriana:
The false, false arrow went aside,
Oriana;
The damned arrow glanced aside,
And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride,
Oriana!
Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride,
Oriana!

O, narrow, narrow was the space,
Oriana!
Loud, loud rung out the bugle’s brays,
Oriana.
O, deathful stabs were dealt apace,
The battle deepen’d in its place,
Oriana;
But I was down upon my face,
Oriana.

They should have stabb’d me where I lay,
Oriana!
How could I rise and come away,
Oriana?
How could I look upon the day?
They should have stabb’d me where I lay,
Oriana–
They should have trod me into clay,
Oriana.

O breaking heart that will not break,
Oriana!
O pale, pale face so sweet and meek,
Oriana!
Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak,
And then the tears run down my cheek,
Oriana.
What wantest thou? whom dost thou seek,
Oriana?

I cry aloud; none hear my cries,
Oriana.
Thou comest atween me and the skies,
Oriana.
I feel the tears of blood arise
Up from my heart unto my eyes,
Oriana.
Within thy heart my arrow lies,
Oriana.

O cursed hand! O cursed blow!
Oriana!
O happy thou that liest low,
Oriana!
All night the silence seems to flow
Beside me in my utter woe,
Oriana.
A weary, weary way I go,
Oriana!

When Norland winds pipe down the sea,
Oriana,
I walk, I dare not think of thee,
Oriana.
Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree,
I dare not die and come to thee,
Oriana.
I hear the roaring of the sea,
Oriana.

Rain - Robert Louis Stevenson

I adore the simplicity of this poem.

The rain is falling all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.

The Lady of Shalott - Alfred Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Fire and Ice - Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Farewell - Anne Brontё

Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O, beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less; -
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still,
The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past
With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?

The Forsaken Merman - Matthew Arnold

Come, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below!
Now my brothers call from the bay,
Now the great winds shoreward blow,
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away!
This way, this way!

Call her once before you go -
Call once yet!
In a voice that she will know:
`Margaret! Margaret!'
Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear;
Children's voices, wild with pain -
Surely she will come again!
Call her once and come away;
This way, this way!
`Mother dear, we cannot stay!
The wild white horses foam and fret.'
Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down;
Call no more!
One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little grey church on the windy shore;
Then come down!
She will not come though you call all day;
Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sate with you and me,
On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sate on her knee.
She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.
She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea;
She said: `I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore today.
'Twill be Easter-time in the world -ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee.'
I said: `Go up, dear heart, through the waves;
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!'
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?
`The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan;
Long prayers,' I said, `in the world they say;
Come,' I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town;
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still,
To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.
We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.
She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
`Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here!
Dear heart,' I said, `we are long alone;
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.'
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes we sealed to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Come away, children, call no more!
Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down!
Down to the depths of the sea!
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: `O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun!'
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle drops from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh;
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children;
Come children, come down!
The ho**censored** wind blows coldly;
Lights shine in the town.
She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl,
Singing: `Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she!
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.'

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow,
When clear fall the moonlight,
When spring-tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starred with broom,
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanched sands a gloom;
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie,
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white sleeping town;
At the church on the hillside -
And then come back down.
Singing: `There dwells a loved one,
But cruel is she!
She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea.'