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“To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”

  • “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”

  • To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
  • Among strangèrs.   Father and mother dear,
  • Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near
  • And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.
  • England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife
  • To my creating thought, would neither hear
  • Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear-
  • y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.
  • I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd
  • Remove.   Not but in all removes I can
  • Kind love both give and get.   Only what word
  • Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven’s baffling ban
  • Bars or hell’s spell thwarts.   This to hoard unheard,
  • Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.

Tom’s Garland

  • Tom’s Garland

  • upon the Unemployed
  • Tom–garlanded with squat and surly steel
  • Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow piles pick
  • By him and rips out rockfire homeforth–sturdy Dick;
  • Tom Heart-at-ease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal
  • Sure, ‘s bed now. Low be it: lustily he his low lot (feel
  • That ne’er need hunger, Tom; Tom seldom sick,
  • Seldomer heartsore; that treads through, prickproof,
  • thick
  • Thousands of thorns, thoughts) swings though. Common-
  • weal
  • Little I reck ho! lacklevel in, if all had bread:
  • What! Country is honour enough in all us–lordly head,
  • With heaven’s lights high hung round, or, mother-ground
  • That mammocks, mighty foot. But no way sped,
  • Nor mind nor mainstrength; gold go garlanded
  • With, perilous, O nó; nor yet plod safe shod sound;
  • Undenizened, beyond bound
  • Of earth’s glory, earth’s ease, all; no one, nowhere,
  • In wide the world’s weal; rare gold, bold steel, bare
  • In both; care, but share care–
  • This, by Despair, bred Hangdog dull; by Rage,
  • Manwolf, worse; and their packs infest the age.

To R.B.

  • To R.B.

  • The fine delight that fathers thought; the strong
  • Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,
  • Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came,
  • Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song.
  • Nine months she then, nay years, nine years she long
  • Within her wears, bears, cares and moulds the same:
  • The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aim
  • Now known and hand at work now never wrong.
  • Sweet fire the sire of muse, my soul needs this;
  • I want the one rapture of an inspiration.
  • O then if in my lagging lines you miss
  • The roll, the rise, the carol, the creation,
  • My winter world, that scarcely breathes that bliss
  • Now, yields you, with some sighs, our explanation.

“Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend”

  • “Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend”

  • Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum: verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c.
  • Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
  • With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
  • Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
  • Disappointment all I endeavour end?
  • Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
  • How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
  • Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
  • Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
  • Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
  • Now, leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
  • With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
  • Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
  • Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
  • Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
photograph of chervil
lacèd they are again With fretty chervil
(see “Thou art indeed just, lord,” lines 10-11)

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