Exmoor Verses II. Saturn

From my farm, from hèr farm
    Furtively we came.
In either home a hearth was warm:
    We nursed a hungrier flame.

Our feet were foul with mire,
    Our faces blind with mist;
But all the night was naked fire
    About us where we kiss'd.

To her farm, to my farm,
    Loathing we returned;
Pale beneath a gallow's arm
    The planet Saturn burned.

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, born on November 21, 1863, and died on May 12, 1944, was a Cornish writer, who published under the pen name Q. His legacy includes a vast body of critical and anthological work, most notably 'The Oxford Book of English Verse 1250–1900'. Quiller-Couch was knighted in 1910 and also served as a professor of English at the University of Cambridge. His works have influenced many, including writers like Virginia Woolf.

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

In A College Garden.

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, Simple Poetry

To Maurice Hewlett

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, Simple Poetry

Mary Leslie

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, Simple Poetry

Chant Royal Of High Virtue

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, 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.

Exmoor Verses I. Vashti's Song

Over the rim of the Moor,
    And under the starry sky,
Two men came to my door
    And rested them thereby.

Beneath the bough and the star,
    In a whispering foreign tongue,
They talked of a land afar
    And the merry days so young!

Beneath the dawn and the bough
    I heard them arise and go:
And my heart it is aching now
    For the more it will never know.

Why did they two depart
    Before I could understand?
Where lies that land, O my heart?
    --O my heart, where lies that land?

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Exmoor Verses III. Dereliction

O'er the tears that we shed, dear
    The bitter vines twist,
And the hawk and the red deer
    They keep where we kiss'd:
All broken lies the shieling
    That sheltered from rain,
With a star to pierce the ceiling,
    And the dawn an empty pane.

Thro' the mist, up the moorway,
    Fade hunters and pack;
From the ridge to thy doorway
    Happy voices float back ...
O, between the threads o' mist, love,
    Reach your hands from the house.
Only mind that we kiss'd, love,
    And forget the broken vows!

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Under Saturn

Do not because this day I have grown saturnine
Imagine that lost love, inseparable from my thought
Because I have no other youth, can make me pine;
For how should I forget the wisdom that you brought,
The comfort that you made? Although my wits have gone
On a fantastic ride, my horse's flanks are spurred
By childish memories of an old cross Pollexfen,
And of a Middleton, whose name you never heard,
And of a red-haired Yeats whose looks, although he died
Before my time, seem like a vivid memory.
You heard that labouring man who had served my
people. He said
Upon the open road, near to the Sligo quay --
No, no, not said, but cried it out -- "You have come again,
And surely after twenty years it was time to come."
I am thinking of a child's vow sworn in vain
Neve...

William Butler Yeats

Hesperus

Down in the street the last late hansoms go
        Still westward, but with backward eyes of red
        The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed;
The tall policeman pauses but to throw
A flash into the empty portico;
        Then he too passes, and his lonely tread
        Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread
And ties them to one planet swinging low.

O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend
        O'er Helen's bosom in the trancèd west--
        To watch the hours heave by upon her breast
And at her parted lip for dreams attend:
        If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deem'd.
        Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Retrospection.

After C. S. C.

When the hunter-star Orion
    (Or, it may be, Charles his Wain)
Tempts the tiny elves to try on
    All their little tricks again;
When the earth is calmly breathing
    Draughts of slumber undefiled,
And the sire, unused to teething,
    Seeks for errant pins his child;

When the moon is on the ocean,
    And our little sons and heirs
From a natural emotion
    Wish the luminary theirs;
Then a feeling hard to stifle,
    Even harder to define,
Makes me feel I 'd give a trifle
    For the days of Auld Lang Syne.

James--for we have been as brothers
    (Are, to speak correctly, twins),
Went about in one another's
    Clothing, bore each other's sins,
Rose together, ere the pearly
    Tint of morn ha...

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

Apollo

CALLICLES (front below)


Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
Thick breaks the red flame;
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-clothd frame.

Not here, O Apollo
Are haunts meet for thee.
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea,

Where the moon-silverd inlets
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O speed, and rejoice!

On the sward at the cliff-top
Lie strewn the white flocks;
On the cliff-side the pigeons
Roost deep in the rocks.

In the moonlight the shepherds,
Soft lulld by the rills,
Lie wrapt in their blankets,
Asleep on the hills.

What forms are these coming
So white through the gloom:
What garments out-glistening
The gold-flowerd broom?
...

Matthew Arnold