Tag Archives: English Poetry

“A Shropshire Lad XXXVI” by A. E. Housman [w/ Audio]

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White in the moon the long road lies,
   The moon stands blank above;
 White in the moon the long road lies
   That leads me from my love.

Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
   Still, still the shadows stay:
 My feet upon the moonlit dust
   Pursue the ceaseless way.

The world is round, so travellers tell,
   And straight though reach the track,
 Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well,
   The way will guide one back.

But ere the circle homeward hies,
   Far, far must it remove:
 White in the moon the long road lies
   That leads me from my love.

NOTE: This poem is sometimes titled by its first line or an abbreviated form, thereof. So, it’s sometimes called: “White in the Moon the Long Road Lies.”

“Jerusalem” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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And did those feet in ancient time
 Walk upon England's mountains green?
 And was the holy Lamb of God
 On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
 Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
 And was Jerusalem builded here
 Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
 Bring me my Arrows of desire:
 Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
 Bring me Chariot of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
 Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand
 Till we have built Jerusalem
 In England's green and pleasant Land.

“On His Blindness” by John Milton [w/ Audio]

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When I consider how my light is spent,
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
 And that one Talent which is death to hide
 Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
 To serve therewith my Maker, and present
 My true account, lest he returning chide,
 "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
 I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
 That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
 Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His State
 Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
 And post o'er Land and Ocean without rest:
 They also serve who only stand and wait."

NOTE: This poem is sometimes called “Sonnet 19,” sometimes “On His Blindness,” and sometimes “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent.”

“Rooms” by Charlotte Mew [w/ Audio]

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I remember rooms that have had their part
  In the steady slowing down of the heart.
 The room in Paris, the room at Geneva,
 The little damp room with the seaweed smell,
 And that ceaseless maddening sound of the tide --
  Rooms where for good or for ill -- things died.
 But there is the room where we (two) lie dead,
 Though every morning we seem to wake and might just as well seem to sleep again
  As we shall somewhere in the other quieter, dustier bed
  Out there in the sun -- in the rain.

“The Night Has a Thousand Eyes” by Francis William Bourdillon [w/ Audio]

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The night has a thousand eyes,
 And the day but one;
 Yet the light of the bright world dies
 With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
 And the heart but one:
 Yet the light of a whole life dies
 When love is done.

“When You Are Old” by W. B. Yeats [w/ Audio]

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When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
 And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
 And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
 Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
 And loved your beauty with love false or true,
 But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
 And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
 Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
 And paced upon the mountains overhead
 And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

“When I Was One-and-Twenty” by A.E. Housman [w/ Audio]

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When I was one-and-twenty
 I heard a wise man say,
 "Give crowns and pounds and guineas
 but not your heart away;
 Give pearls away and rubies
 but keep your fancy free."
 But I was one-and-twenty,
 No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
 I heard him say again,
 "The heart out of the bosom
 Was never given in vain;
 'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
 And sold for endless rue."
 And I am two-and-twenty,
 And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley [w/ Audio]

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Out of the night that covers me,
 Black as the pit from pole to pole,
 I thank whatever gods may be
 For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance
 I have not winced nor cried aloud.
 Under the bludgeonings of chance
 My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
 Looms but the Horror of the shade,
 And yet the menace of the years
 Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
 How charged with punishments the scroll,
 I am the master of my fate,
 I am the captain of my soul.

“A Red, Red Rose” by Robert Burns [w/ Audio]

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O my Luve is like a red, red rose
 That's newly sprung in June;
 O my Luve is like the melody
 That's sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
 So deep in luve am I;
 And I will luve thee still, my dear,
 Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
 I will luve thee still, my dear,
 While the sand o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
 And fare thee weel awhile!
 And I will come again, my Luve,
 Though it were ten thousand mile.

“A Drinking Song” by William Butler Yeats [w/ Audio]

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Wine comes in at the mouth
 And love comes in at the eye;
 That's all we shall know for truth
 Before we grow old and die.
 I lift the glass to my mouth,
 I look at you, and I sigh.