Time can say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you, I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time can say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you, I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time can say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you, I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away?
Time can say nothing but I told you so.
If I could tell you, I would let you know.
--W. H. Auden
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse me, bless me, now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
--Dylan Thomas
WINE and
woman and song,
Three things garnish our way:
Yet is day over long.
Lest
we do our youth wrong,
Gather them while we may:
Wine and woman and song.
Three
things render us strong,
Vine leaves, kisses and bay;
Yet is day over long.
Unto
us they belong,
Us the bitter and gay,
Wine and woman and song.
We,
as we pass along,
Are sad that they will not stay;
Yet is day over long.
Fruits
and flowers among,
What is better than they:
Wine and woman and song?
Yet is day over long.
--Ernest Dowson
A
DAINTY thing's the Villanelle,
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A
double-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And
if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You
must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime--
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And,
filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still
fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
--William Ernest Henley
O SINGER of the
field and fold,
THEOCRITUS!
Pan's pipe was thine,--
Thine was the
happier Age of Gold.
For thee the
scent of new-turned mould,
The bee-hives,
and the murmuring pine,
O Singer of
the field and fold!
Thou sang'st
the simple feasts of old,--
The beechen
bowl made glad with wine . . .
Thine was the
happier Age of Gold.
Thou bad'st the
rustic loves be told,--
Thou bad'st
the tuneful reeds combine,
O Singer of
the field and fold!
And round thee,
ever-laughing, rolled
The blithe and
blue Sicilian brine:
Thine was the
happier Age of Gold.
Alas for us!
Our songs are cold;
Our Northern
suns too sadly shine:--
O Singer of
the field and fold,
Thine was the
happier Age of Gold.
--Austin Dobson
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow,
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of thse so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a windeirng stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do,
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should Know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
--Theodore Roethke