The Open Door (Brazilian Verses)

England is a cosy little country,
Excepting for the draughts along the floor.
And that is why youre told,
When the passages are cold:
Darling, youve forgot to shut the Door!

The Awful East Wind blows it
Pussy or, the Hearthrug shows it,
Aunty at the Writing-table knows it
Darling, youve forgot to shut the Door!

Shut shut shut the Door, my darling!
Always shut the Door behind you, but
You can go when you are old
Where there isnt any cold
So there isnt any Door that need be shut!
And
The deep Verandah shows it
The pale Magnolia knows it
And the bold, white Trumpet-flower blows it:
There isnt any Door that need be shut!

The piping Tree-toad knows it
The midnight Firefly shows it
And the Beams of the Moon disclose it:
There isnt any Door that need be shut!

The milky Beaches know it
The silky Breezes blow it
And the Shafts of the Sunrise show it:
There isnt any Door that need be shut!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

Our Lady Of The Snows

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Seven Watchmen

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

A Translation

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Arterial

Rudyard , 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 Door Ajar

My door is always left ajar,
Lest you should suddenly slip through,
A little breathless frightened star;
Each footfall sets my heart abeat,
I always think it may be you,
Stolen in from the street.

My ears are evermore attent,
Waiting in vain for one blest sound -
The little frock, with lilac scent,
That used to whisper up the stair;
Then in my arms with one wild bound -
Your lips, your eyes, your hair.
Never the south wind through the rose,
Brushing its petals with soft hand,
Made such sweet talking as your clothes,
Rustling and fragrant as you came,
And at my aching door would stand -
Then vanish into flame.

Richard Le Gallienne

Shut Out That Moon

Close up the casement, draw the blind,
Shut out that stealing moon,
She wears too much the guise she wore
Before our lutes were strewn
With years-deep dust, and names we read
On a white stone were hewn.

Step not out on the dew-dashed lawn
To view the Lady's Chair,
Immense Orion's glittering form,
The Less and Greater Bear:
Stay in; to such sights we were drawn
When faded ones were fair.

Brush not the bough for midnight scents
That come forth lingeringly,
And wake the same sweet sentiments
They breathed to you and me
When living seemed a laugh, and love
All it was said to be.

Within the common lamp-lit room
Prison my eyes and thought;
Let dingy details crudely loom,
Mechanic speech be wrought:
Too fragrant was Lif...

Thomas Hardy

The Flowers

Buy my English posies!
Kent and Surrey may,
Violets of the Undercliff
Wet with Channel spray;
Cowslips from a Devon combe,
Midland furze afire,
Buy my English posies
And I'll sell your heart's desire!

Buy my English posies!
You that scorn the May,
Won't you greet a friend from home
Half the world away?
Green against the draggled drift,
Faint and frail but first,
Buy my Northern blood-root
And I'll know where you were nursed:
Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me!"
Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free.
All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain.
Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again!

Buy my English posies!
Here's to match your need,
Buy a tuft of royal heath,

Rudyard

Interlude. Next Door

Whenever Im moving my furniture in
Or shifting my furniture out,
Which is nearly as often and risky as Sin
In these days of shifting about,
There isnt a stretcher, there isnt a stick,
Nor a mat that belongs to the floor;
There isnt a pot (Oh, my heart groweth sick!)
That escapes from the glare of Next Door!
The Basilisk Glare of Next Door.

Be it morn, noon or night, be it early or late;
Be it summer or winter or spring,
I cannot sneak down just to list at the gate
For the song that the bottle-ohs sing;
With some bottles to sell that shall bring me a beer,
And lead up to one or two more;
But I feel in my backbone the serpentine sneer,
And the Basilisk Glare of Next Door.
The political woman Next Door.

I really cant say, being no one o...

Henry Lawson

Anchor Song

Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again!
Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards aback and full,
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love,
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say:
"You must take me while you may,
If you'd go to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"

Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah, break it out o' that!
Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear!
Port, port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot,
And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year!
Well, ah, fare y...

Rudyard

Interlude - Next Door

Whenever Im moving my furniture in
Or shifting my furniture out,
Which is nearly as often and risky as Sin
In these days of shifting about,
There isnt a stretcher, there isnt a stick,
Nor a mat that belongs to the floor;
There isnt a pot (Oh, my heart groweth sick!)
That escapes from the glare of Next Door!
The Basilisk Glare of Next Door.
Be it morn, noon or night, be it early or late;
Be it summer or winter or spring,
I cannot sneak down just to list at the gate
For the song that the bottle-ohs sing;
With some bottles to sell that shall bring me a beer,
And lead up to one or two more;
But I feel in my backbone the serpentine sneer,
And the Basilisk Glare of Next Door.
The political woman Next Door.

I really cant say, being no one of note...

Henry Lawson