Inexorable

My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deckd with beautys rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.

William Henry Drummond

William Henry Drummond was a Canadian poet, best known for his humor-filled verse that captured the dialect and lifestyle of French Canadian habitants. Born on April 13, 1854, in Ireland, he immigrated to Canada during his childhood. Drummond pursued a career in medicine but garnered fame for his poetry, which was rich with character and wit. He passed away on April 6, 1907, leaving behind a cherished legacy in Canadian literature.

William Henry Drummond

Ole Tam On Bord-A-Plouffe

William Henry Drummond, Simple Poetry

De Stove Pipe Hole

William Henry Drummond, Simple Poetry

Le Vieux Temps

William Henry Drummond, Simple Poetry

Strathcona's Horse

William Henry Drummond, Simple Poetry

English

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A Lament

My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize:
But he, grim grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having decked with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.

William Henry Drummond

To Ruin.

I.

    All hail! inexorable lord!
    At whose destruction-breathing word,
        The mightiest empires fall!
    Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
    The ministers of grief and pain,
        A sullen welcome, all!
    With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,
        I see each aimed dart;
    For one has cut my dearest tie,
        And quivers in my heart.
            Then low'ring and pouring,
                The storm no more I dread;
            Though thick'ning and black'ning,
                Round my devoted head.

II.

    And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd,
    While life a pleasure can afford,
        Oh! hear a wretch's prayer!
    No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
    I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
       ...

Robert Burns

Invocation

Phoebus, arise!
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red;
Rouse Memnons mother from her Tithons bed,
That she thy càreer may with roses spread;
The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;
Make an eternal spring!
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;
Spread forth thy golden hair
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:
Chase hence the ugly night
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.
This is that happy morn,
That day, long wishèd day
Of all my life so dark
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn
And fates not hope betray),
Which, only white, deserves
A diamond for ever should it mark:
This is the morn should bring into this grove
My ...

William Henry Drummond

Canzone XXI.

I' vo pensando, e nel pensier m' assale.

SELF-CONFLICT.


    Ceaseless I think, and in each wasting thought
So strong a pity for myself appears,
That often it has brought
My harass'd heart to new yet natural tears;
Seeing each day my end of life draw nigh,
Instant in prayer, I ask of God the wings
With which the spirit springs,
Freed from its mortal coil, to bliss on high;
But nothing, to this hour, prayer, tear, or sigh,
Whatever man could do, my hopes sustain:
And so indeed in justice should it be;
Able to stay, who went and fell, that he
Should prostrate, in his own despite, remain.
But, lo! the tender arms
In which I trust are open to me still,
Though fears my bosom fill
Of others' fate, and my own heart alarms,
Which...

Francesco Petrarca

Call Not The Royal Swede Unfortunate

Call not the royal Swede unfortunate,
Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;
Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly
Temptation; and whose kingly name and state
Have "perished by his choice, and not his fate!"
Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted Potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great Servant of a righteous cause
Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,
Yet may a sympathising spirit pause,
Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain
In thankful joy and gratulation pure.

William Wordsworth

Lines on His Twenty-Third Birthday

Last evening's huge lax clouds of turbid white
Grew dark and louring, burthened with the rain
Which that long wind monotonous all night
Swept clashing loud through Dreamland's still domain,

Until my spirit in fatigue's despite
Was driven to weary wakefulness again:
With such wild dirge and ceaseless streaming tears
Died out the last of all my ill-used years.

The morn his risen pure and fresh and keen;
Its perfect vault of bright blue heaven spreads bare
Above the earth's wide laughter twinkling green.
The sun, long climbing up with lurid glare
Athwart the storm-rack's rent and hurrying screen,
Leapt forth at dawn to breathe this stainless air;
The strong west wind still streams on full and high,
Inspiring fresher life through earth and sky.

Y...

James Thomson