Lent.

"Oh lend me five," the young man cried,
    "My money all is spent."
The maiden shook her head and sighed,
    "I'm sorry but it's Lent."

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

Modern Maud Muller.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

The Doodle Bug.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

An Irish Toast.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

Transcendentalism.

Edwin C. Ranck, 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.

A Hardship.

I never saw a loaf of bread
    Conspicuous in its purity,
But that I sadly shook my head
    And left five-cents as surety.

Edwin C. Ranck

Upon Bungy.

Bungy does fast; looks pale; puts sackcloth on;
Not out of conscience, or religion:
Or that this younker keeps so strict a Lent,
Fearing to break the king's commandement:
But being poor, and knowing flesh is dear,
He keeps not one, but many Lents i' th' year.

Robert Herrick

A Rosebud In Lent.

        You saw her last, the ball-room's belle,
            A soufflé, lace and roses blent;
        Your worldly worship moved her then;
            She does not know you now, in Lent.

        See her at prayer! Her pleading hands
            Bear not one gem of all her store.
        Her face is saint-like. Be rebuked
            By those pure eyes, and gaze no more

        Turn, turn away! But carry hence
            The lesson she has dumbly taught
        That bright young creature kneeling there
            With every feeling, every thought

        Absorbed in high and holy dreams
            Of new Spring dresses truth to say,
        To them the time is sanctified
            From Shrove-tide until Easter day.

George Augustus Baker, Jr.

To Keep A True Lent.

Is this a fast, to keep
    The larder lean?
        And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish
    Of flesh, yet still
        To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
    Or ragg'd to go,
        Or show
A downcast look and sour?

No; 'tis a fast to dole
    Thy sheaf of wheat,
        And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
    From old debate
        And hate;
To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
    To starve thy sin,
        Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.

Robert Herrick

The Twins

Give and It-shall-be-given-unto-you.


I.
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables, flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?

II.
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, Were poor!

III.
Poor, who had plenty once,
When gifts fell thick as rain:
But they give us nought, for the nonce,
And how should we give again?

IV.
Then the beggar, See your sins!
Of old, unless I err,
Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
Date and Dabitur.

V.
While Date was in good case
Dabitur flourished too:
For Dabiturs lenten face
No wonder if Date rue.

VI.
Would ye retrie...

Robert Browning

Pennies

A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand
Behold him stand;
A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and sad.
The joy that once he had,
The first delight of ownership is fled.
He bows his little head.
Ah, cruel Time, to kill
That splendid thrill!

Then in his tear-dimmed eyes
New lights arise.
He drops his treasured pennies on the ground,
They roll and bound
And scattered, rest.
Now with what zest
He runs to find his errant wealth again!

So unto men
Doth God, depriving that He may bestow.
Fame, health and money go,
But that they may, new found, be newly sweet.
Yea, at His feet
Sit, waiting us, to their concealment bid,
All they, our lovers, whom His Love hath hid.

Lo, comfort blooms on pain, and peace on strife,
    And gai...

Alfred Joyce Kilmer