Statio Tertia

The stream is very sweet
To-day . . . Just see the swallow dart!
How fleet!
It sent a shiver to my heart.
If he had lived, you say,
Well, well, if he had lived, what then?
Some men
Will always argue, yes, I know . . . of course . .
The argument has force.
If he had lived, he might have changed,
From bad to worse?
Nay, my shrewd balance-setter,
Why not from good to better?
Why not to best? to joy
And splendour? O, my boy!
I did not want this argument in the least,
My soul had ceased
From doubt and questioning,
That swallows wing!
What a transcendent rush!
Hush! hush!
Or, if you talk, talk low:
For . . . do you know . . .
Just as the swallow dipt,
I felt as if a soft hand slipt
Its fingers into mine hes near
Hes with us . . . tis not right the child should hear
This jangling . . . low then, low!
Or this is better . . . go,
Go, darling; play upon the bank,
And prank
Your hair with daisy and with buttercup,
And we will meet you higher up.
Now then . . . If he had lived? if my sweet son
Had lived? . . . You stare . . .
There! there!
Tis gone, tis gone,
It was the swallows dart
That sent a shiver to my heart.

Thomas Edward Brown

Thomas Edward Brown was a Manx poet, scholar, and teacher known primarily for his humorous and satirical dialect poems. Born on May 5, 1830, in the Isle of Man, Brown's poetry often depicted rural Manx life, blending humor with a keen eye for detail. He spent a significant part of his career as a teacher and headmaster in England, which influenced his literary work. Brown's best-known collection, 'Fo'c's'le Yarns,' published in 1881, cemented his reputation as a significant literary figure in Manx culture. He passed away on October 29, 1897.

Thomas Edward Brown

Disguises

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

Salve!

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

Land, Ho!

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

I Bended Unto Me A Bough Of May

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Statio Secunda

Just listen to the blackbird, what a note
The creature has! God bless his happy throat!
He is so absolutely glad
I fear he will go mad.
Look here! this very grit
I crush beneath my boot
His little foot
Trod crisp that day, Thats it! thats it
O, what is there to say?
The little foot so warm and pink!
O, what is there to think?
His mother kissed it every night
When she put out the light, And where?
What is it now? a fascicle
Of crumbling bones
J ammed in with earth and stones.
You say that this is old,
A tale twice-told, Say what you will:
Old, new, I swear
That it is horrible,
Horrible, blackbird, howsoeer
The Spring rejoice you with its budding bloom,
Yes, horrible, most horrible!
Though you should carol to the crack of do...

Thomas Edward Brown

The Swallow

Pretty swallow, once again
Come and pass me in the rain.
Pretty swallow, why so shy?
Pass again my window by.

The horsepond where he dips his wings,
The wet day prints it full of rings.
The raindrops on his [        ] track
Lodge like pearls upon his back.

Then again he dips his wing
In the wrinkles of the spring,
Then oer the rushes flies again,
And pearls roll off his back like rain.

Pretty little swallow, fly
Village doors and windows by,
Whisking oer the garden pales
Where the blackbird finds the snails;

Whewing by the ladslove tree
For something only seen by thee;
Pearls that on the red rose hing
Fall off shaken by thy wing.

On that low thatched cottage stop,
In the sooty chimney pop,
Where thy w...

John Clare

Statio Quarta

We have not seen the sun for many days,
But now through East-wind haze
He makes a shift
To send a luminous drift,
To which, as to his full unclouded splendour,
The meek, contented earth makes glad surrender.
God bless the simple earth
That gave me birth!
God bless her that she looks so pleased,
The soul thai is diseased
With this world's sorrow,
Well, sir? ought to look?
Beyond, and yet beyond: not in this narrow nook of His creation
Will God make up His book.
The whole is one great scheme of compensation
The net result
Is all . . . I too have had my dream,
As from my nonage dedicate a meustgx
Of that great cult.
I saw Lord Love upon his galley pass
Westward from Cyprus; smooth as glass
The sea was all before him. He, as keleustgx

Thomas Edward Brown

Itylus

Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow,
How can thine heart be full of the spring?
A thousand summers are over and dead.
What hast thou found in the spring to follow?
What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?
What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?

O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow,
Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south,
The soft south whither thine heart is set?
Shall not the grief of the old time follow?
Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth?
Hast thou forgotten ere I forget?

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow,
Thy way is long to the sun and the south;
But I, fulfilled of my hearts desire,
Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow,
From tawny body and sweet small mouth
Feed the heart of the night with fire.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Audley Court

Audley Court


The Bull, the Fleece are crammd, and not a room
For love or money. Let us picnic there
At Audley Court.

I spoke, while Audley feast

Hummd like a hive all round the narrow quay,
To Francis, with a basket on his arm,
To Francis just alighted from the boat,
And breathing of the sea. With all my heart,
Said Francis. Then we shoulderd thro the swarm,
And rounded by the stillness of the beach
To where the bay runs up its latest horn.

We left the dying ebb that faintly lippd
The flat red granite; so by many a sweep
Of meadow smooth from aftermath we reachd
The griffin-guarded gates, and passd thro all
The pillard dusk of sounding sycamores,
And crossd the garden to the gardeners lodge,
With all its c...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

A Morning Walk

"Lie there," I said, "my Sorrow! lie thou there!
And I will drink the lissome air,
And see if yet the heavens have gained their blue."
Then rose my Sorrow as an aged man,
And stared, as such a one will stare,
A querulous doubt through tears that freshly ran;
Wherefore I said: "Content! thou shalt go too."

So went we throughthe sunlit crocus-glade,
I and my Sorrow, casting shade
On all the innocent things that upward pree,
And coax for smiles: but, as I went, I bowed,
And whispered    "Be no whit afraid!
He will pass sad and gentle as a cloud,
It is my Sorrow leave him unto me

And every floweret in that happy place
Yearned up into the weary face
With pitying love, and held its golden breath,
Regardless seeming he, as though within
Was not...

Thomas Edward Brown