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

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

Ode on Beauty.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

The Golden Moment.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Persuasion.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

A Hollow Elm

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.

The Morning Sun.

    Perhaps you sleep now, fifty miles to the south,
    While I sit here and dream of you by night.
    The thick soft blankets drawn about your mouth
    Have made for you a nest of warm delight;
    Your short crisp hair is thrown abroad and spilled
    Upon the pillow's whiteness and your eyes
    Are quiet and the round soft lids are filled
    With sleep.

                            But I shall watch until sunrise
    Creeps into chilly clouds and heavy air,
    Across the lands where you sleep and I wake,
    And I shall know the sun has seen you there,
    Unmoving though the winter morning break.
    Next, you will lift your hands and rub your eyes
    And turn to sleep again but wake and start
    And feel, half dreaming, with a dear surprise,
...

Edward Shanks

Song: Meadow and Orchard.

    My heart is like a meadow,
    Where clouds go over,
    Dappling the mingled grass and clover
    With mingled sun and shadow,
    With light that will not stay
    And shade that sails away.

    Your heart is like an orchard,
    That has the sun for ever in its leaves,
    Where, on the grass beneath the trees,
    There falls the shadow of the fruit
    That ripen there for me.

Edward Shanks

I Dream'd I Lay.

I.

    I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing
        Gaily in the sunny beam;
    List'ning to the wild birds singing,
        By a falling crystal stream:
    Straight the sky grew black and daring;
        Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;
    Trees with aged arms were warring.
        O'er the swelling drumlie wave.

II.

    Such was my life's deceitful morning,
        Such the pleasure I enjoy'd:
    But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
        A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.
    Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,
        She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;
    Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,
        I bear a heart shall support me still.

Robert Burns

Song: Love in the Open Air.

    I'll love you in the open air
        But stuffy rooms and blazing fires
    And mirrors with familiar stare
        Cloak and befoul my high desires.

    The dearest day that I have known
        Was in the fields, when driving rain
    Was like a veil around us thrown,
        A grey close veil without a stain.

    The young oak-tree was stripped and bare
        But naked twigs a shelter made,
    Where curious cows came round to stare
        And stood astonished and dismayed.

    Let it be rain or summer sun,
        Smell of wet earth or scent of flowers,
    Love, once more give me, give me one
        Of these enchanted lover's hours.

Edward Shanks

Woman's Song

No more upon my bosom rest thee,
Too often have my hands caressed thee,
        My lips thou knowest well, too well;
Lean to my heart no more thine ear
My spirit's living truth to hear
        It has no more to tell.

In what dark night, in what strange night,
Burnt to the butt the candle's light
        That lit our room so long?
I do not know, I thought I knew
How love could be both sweet and true:
        I also thought it strong.

Where has the flame departed? Where,
Amid the empty waste of air,
        Is that which dwelt with us?
Was it a fancy? Did we make
Only a show for dead love's sake,
        It being so piteous?

No more against my bosom press thee,
Seek no more that my hands caress thee,
        Leave the sad li...

Edward Shanks

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