An Impression Received From A Symphony

    There was a day, when I, if that was I,
    Surrendered lay beneath a burning sky,
    Where overhead the azure ached with heat,
    And many red fierce poppies splashed the wheat;
    Motion was dead, and silence was complete,
    And stains of red fierce poppies splashed the wheat,

    And as I lay upon a scent-warm bank,
    I fell away, slipped back from earth, and sank,
    I lost the place of sky and field and tree,
    One covering face obscured the world for me,
    And for an hour I knew eternity,
    For one fixed face suspended Time for me.

    O had those eyes in that extreme of bliss
    Shed one more wise and culminating kiss,
    My end had come, nor had I lived to quail,
    Frightened and dumb as things must do that fail,
    And in this last black devil-mocking gale,
    Battered and dumb to fight the dark and fail.

John Collings Squire, Sir

John Collings Squire, also known as Sir John Squire, was an influential British poet, writer, historian, and influential literary editor of the early 20th century. He is best known for his role as editor of the London Mercury, a powerful literary journal of the time. Squire was a leading figure in the Georgian poetry movement, which sought to return English poetry to its traditional form and diction.

John Collings Squire, Sir

Constantinople

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Lines

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Meditation In Lamplight

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Envoi

John Collings Squire, Sir, 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.

To A Musician

    Musician, with the bent and brooding face,
    White brow and thunderous eyes: you are not playing
    Merely the music that dead hand did trace.

    Musician, with the lifted resolute face,
    And scornful smile about your closed mouth straying,
    And hand that moves with swift or fluttering grace,
    It is not that man's music you are playing.

    The grave and merry tunes he made you are playing,
    Each march and dirge and dance he made endures,
    But changed and mastered, and these things you're saying,
    These joys and sorrows are not his but yours.

    You take those notes of his: you seize and fling
    His music as a dancer flings her veil,
    Toss it and twist it, mould it, make it sing,
    Whisper, shout savagely, lament and w...

John Collings Squire, Sir

Starlight

    Last night I lay in an open field
    And looked at the stars with lips sealed;
    No noise moved the windless air,
    And I looked at the stars with steady stare.

    There were some that glittered and some that shone
    With a soft and equal glow, and one
    That queened it over the sprinkled round,
    Swaying the host with silent sound.

    "Calm things," I thought, "in your cavern blue,
    I will learn and hold and master you;
    I will yoke and scorn you as I can,
    For the pride of my heart is the pride of a man."

    Grass to my cheek in the dewy field,
    I lay quite still with lips sealed,
    And the pride of a man and his rigid gaze
    Stalked like swords on heaven's ways.

    But through a sudden gate there st...

John Collings Squire, Sir

Elegy

I vaguely wondered what you were about,
    But never wrote when you had gone away;
Assumed you better, quenched the uneasy doubt
    You might need faces, or have things to say.
    Did I think of you last evening? Dead you lay.
        O bitter words of conscience!
        I hold the simple message,
And fierce with grief the awakened heart cries out:
        'It shall not be to-day;

It is still yesterday; there is time yet!'
    Sorrow would strive backward to wrench the sun,
But the sun moves. Our onward course is set,
    The wake streams out, the engine pulses run
    Droning, a lonelier voyage is begun.
        It is all too late for turning,
        You are past all mortal signal,
There will be time for nothing but regret
        And the memo...

John Collings Squire, Sir

In An Orchard

    Airy and quick and wise
    In the shed light of the sun,
    You clasp with friendly eyes
    The thoughts from mine that run.

    But something breaks the link;
    I solitary stand
    By a giant gully's brink
    In some vast gloomy land.

    Sole central watcher, I
    With steadfast sadness now
    In that waste place descry
    'Neath the awful heavens how

    Your life doth dizzy drop
    A little foam of flame
    From a peak without a top
    To a pit without a name.

John Collings Squire, Sir

In The Park

    This dense hard ground I tread.
    These iron bars that ripple past,
    Will they unshaken stand when I am dead
    And my deep thoughts outlast?

    Is it my spirit slips,
    Falls, like this leaf I kick aside;
    This firmness that I feel about my lips,
    Is it but empty pride?

    Mute knowledge conquers me;
    I contemplate them as they are,
    Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee,
    Less hard, more transient far

    Than those unbodied hues
    The sunset flings on the calm river;
    And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes
    And my hands with empire quiver.

    Now light the ground I tread,
    I walk not now but rather float;
    Clear but unreal is the scene outspread,
    Pitiful,...

John Collings Squire, Sir

Echoes

    There is a far unfading city
    Where bright immortal people are;
    Remote from hollow shame and pity,
    Their portals frame no guiding star
    But blightless pleasure's moteless rays
    That follow their footsteps as they dance
    Long lutanied measures through a maze
    Of flower-like song and dalliance.

    There always glows the vernal sun,
    There happy birds for ever sing,
    There faint perfumed breezes run
    Through branches of eternal spring;
    There faces browned and fruit and milk
    And blue-winged words and rose-bloomed kisses
    In galleys gowned with gold and silk
    Shake on a lake of dainty blisses.

    Coyness is not, nor bear they thought,
    Save of a shining gracious flow;
    All natural joys ...

John Collings Squire, Sir