A Rhymeless Song.

    Rhyme with its jingle still betrays
    The song that's meant for one alone.
    Dearest, I dedicate to you
    A little song without a rhyme.

    The most unpractised schoolboy knows
    That quiet kisses are the sweetest.
    Safe locked within my arms you lie,
    Let not a single sound betray us.

    Suppose your jealous mother came
    By chance this way and found us here...
    Be still, be still, and not a sound
    Shall give her warning that we love.

Edward Shanks

Edward Shanks was an English writer, poet, and novelist, known for his literary contributions during the early 20th century. Born on June 11, 1892, in London, Shanks attended Cambridge University where he was a member of the 'War Poets' of World War I. His works reflect the turmoil and changes of his time. Besides poetry, he wrote novels, essays, and book reviews, contributing significantly to English literature. He passed away on May 4, 1953.

Edward Shanks

The Winter Soldier: The Dead Poet.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Sonnets on Separation I.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Song: Who thinks that he possesses.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Sonnets on Separation II.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

An Old Song.

    The wild duck fly over
        From river to river
    And so the young lover
        Goes roving for ever.

    They fly together,
        He walks alone:
    No maiden can tether
        Him with her moan.

    At the bursting of blossom
        On her breast his head;
    He has left her bosom
        Ere the apples are red.

    Across the valley,
        Singing he goes.
    In highway and alley
        He seeks a new rose.

    Tell me, O maidens,
        You who all day
    In lyrical cadence
        Dance and play,

    Why do you proffer
        Your sweets to one,
    Who takes all you offer
        And leaves you to moan?

Edward Shanks

Sonnet

The baby sings not on its mother's breast;
Nor nightingales who nestle side by side;
Nor I by thine:    but let us only part,
Then lips which should but kiss, and so be still,
As having uttered all, must speak again -
O stunted thoughts!    O chill and fettered rhyme
Yet my great bliss, though still entirely blest,
Losing its proper home, can find no rest:
    So, like a child who whiles away the time
With dance and carol till the eventide,
Watching its mother homeward through the glen;
Or nightingale, who, sitting far apart,
Tells to his listening mate within the nest
The wonder of his star-entranced heart
Till all the wakened woodlands laugh and thrill -
    Forth all my being bubbles into song;
    And rings aloft, not smooth, yet clear and strong.

Charles Kingsley

Song in Time of Waiting.

    Because the days are long for you and me,
        I make this song to lighten their slow time,
    So that the weary waiting fruitful be
        Or blossomed only by my limping rhyme.
                The days are very long
        And may not shortened be by any chime
        Of measured words or any fleeting song.
    Yet let us gather blossoms while we wait
    And sing brave tunes against the face of fate.

    Day after day goes by: the exquisite
        Procession of the variable year,
    Summer, a sheaf with flowers bound up in it,
        And autumn, tender till the frosts appear
                And dry the humid skies;
        And winter following on, aloof, austere,
        Clad in the garments of a frore sunrise;
    And spring again.    Ma...

Edward Shanks

Song

As the inhastening tide doth roll,
Dear and desired, along the whole
    Wide shining strand, and floods the caves,
    Your love comes filling with happy waves
The open sea-shore of my soul.

But inland from the seaward spaces,
None knows, not even you, the places
    Brimmed, at your coming, out of sight,
    -The little solitudes of delight
This tide constrains in dim embraces.

You see the happy shore, wave-rimmed,
But know not of the quiet dimmed
    Rivers your coming floods and fills,
    The little pools 'mid happier hills,
My silent rivulets, over-brimmed.

What, I have secrets from you? Yes.
But, visiting Sea, your love doth press
    And reach in further than you know,
    And fills all these; and when you go,
There's l...

Alice Meynell

Song

As I lay in the early sun,
Stretched in the grass, I thought upon
My true love, my dear love,
Who has my heart for ever,
Who is my happiness when we meet,
My sorrow when we sever.
She is all fire when I do burn,
Gentle when I moody turn,
Brave when I am sad and heavy
And all laughter when I am merry.
And so I lay and dreamed and dreamed,
And so the day wheeled on,
While all the birds with thoughts like mine
Were singing to the sun.

Edward Shanks

Song

As the inhastening tide doth roll,
Dear and desired, along the whole
    Wide shining strand, and floods the caves,
    Your love comes filling with happy waves
The open sea-shore of my soul.

But inland from the seaward spaces,
None knows, not even you, the places
    Brimmed, at your coming, out of sight,
    --The little solitudes of delight
This tide constrains in dim embraces.

You see the happy shore, wave-rimmed,
But know not of the quiet dimmed
    Rivers your coming floods and fills,
    The little pools 'mid happier hills,
My silent rivulets, over-brimmed.

What, I have secrets from you?    Yes.
But, visiting Sea, your love doth press
    And reach in further than you know,
    And fills all these; and when you go,
There...

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell