Fair Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few,Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame,Part from thee without pity dyed in shame:I could not while from Venice we withdrew,Led on till an Alpine strait confined our viewWithin its depths, and to the shore we cameOf Lago Morto, dreary sight and name,Which o'er sad thoughts a sadder colouring threw,Italia! on the surface of … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XXV. – After Leaving Italy, By: William Wordsworth
Remains, By: Paddy Kelly
She always lied that oneA right mad lying cowSlipping the stuff out bit by bitThe good stuff now, not the rubbishShe had a fine eye for it The old man didn’t noticeHow would he, expiring on that couchWith the far end worn right downFrom his feet with all their pressingLike kneading the wall of a womb You had to hand it to the vikingsPiling themselves and all their stuffOn … [Read more...] about Remains, By: Paddy Kelly
The Boy And His Labrador, By: Lewis Olden
Out in the mystic hills,Walks a boy and his dog,Shrouded in secrecy,Always concealed in fog,Some say they’re mad,Some say they’re lost,They will always be searching,Even through Christmas frost,Question every breath,With which they walk the floor,This is the tale,Of the boy and his Labrador, They’re rarely seen,A presence of a ghost,Glide like a dream,To become the world’s … [Read more...] about The Boy And His Labrador, By: Lewis Olden
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XXIV. – In Lombardy, By: William Wordsworth
See, where his difficult way that Old Man winsBent by a load of Mulberry leaves! most hardAppears 'his' lot, to the small Worm's compared,For whom his toil with early day begins.Acknowledging no task-master, at will(As if her labour and her ease were twins)'She' seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;And softly sleeps within the thread she spins.So fare they, the Man serving … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XXIV. – In Lombardy, By: William Wordsworth
Red Gate, By: Patricia Walsh
Yellow horse and silver sky and mistAnd a red gate are driven to distraction..If I can accept my fate as wellAnd trust the truth if thingsI won't swing off my hinges.We'll all cross all the oceansAnd God's love is what we'll see -We're not marooned.In all our hard lessonsIn all our fragility -It's not God's fault! A red gate flung open.No longer a red rag to a bull,A little … [Read more...] about Red Gate, By: Patricia Walsh