EDWARD SHILLITO 1871-1948

Invalided

He limps along the city street,

Men pass him with a pitying glance;

He is not there, but on the sweet

And troubled plains of France.

Once more he marches with the guns,

Reading the way by merry signs,

His Regent Street through trenches runs,

His Strand among the pines.

For there his comrades jest and fight,

And others sleep in that fair land;

They call him back in dreams of night

To join their dwindling band.

He may not go; on him must lie

The doom, through peaceful years to live,

To have a sword he cannot ply,

A life he cannot give.

Edward Shillito was an English pastor and poet who wrote many poems about the First World War.

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THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND

Anon

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,

Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

'Twas there that we parted, in yon shady glen,

On the steep, steep side o' Ben Lomond,

Where in purple hue, the hieland hills we view,

And the moon coming out in the gloaming.

The wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring,

And in sunshine the waters are sleeping.

But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again,

Though the waeful may cease frae their grieving.

O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road,

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,

But me and my true love will never meet again,

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

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MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE 1861-1907

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AN INSINCERE WISH ADDRESSED TO A BEGGAR

We are not near enough to love,

I can but pity all your woe;

For wealth has lifted me above,

And falsehood set you down below.

If you were true, we still might be

Brothers in something more than name;

And were I poor, your love to me

Would make our differing bonds the same.

But golden gates between us stretch,

Truth opens her forbidding eyes;

You can't forget that I am rich,

Nor I that you are telling lies.

Love never comes but at love's call,

And pity asks for him in vain;

Because I cannot give you all,

You give me nothing back again.

And you are right with all your wrong,

For less than all is nothing too;

May Heaven beggar me ere long,

And Truth reveal herself to you! 

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge was a British poet,  essayist and novelist. Robert Bridges, the Poet Laureate described her poetry as "wondrously beautiful . . . but mystical rather and enigmatic."  

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JESA MacBETH (nothing known about this poet)

SPEAKING TRUTH

It is possible to speak truth in anger.

When so done, people tend to hear the anger and not the truth.

It is possible to speak truth in arrogance.

When so done, people tend to hear the arrogance

and not the truth.

It is possible to speak truth in deceitful ways.

When so done, people tend to sense the deceit and take the truth for more deceit

It is possible to speak truth in loving kindness.

When so done, people tend to hear the love and the truth.

Or so it seems in my experience.

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RICHARD DAVIES 1833-77

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MYFANWY

Why is it anger, O Myfanwy,

That fills your eyes so dark and clear?

Your gentle cheeks, O sweet Myfanwy,

Why blush they not when I draw near?

Where is the smile that once most tender

Kindled my love so fond, so true?

Where is the sound of your sweet words,

That drew my heart to follow you?

What have I done, O my Myfanwy,

To earn your frown? What is my blame?

Was it just play, my sweet Myfanwy,

To set your poet's love aflame?

You truly once to me were promised,

Is it too much to keep your part?

I wish no more your hand, Myfanwy,

If I no longer have your heart.

Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime

Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,

And on your cheeks O may the roses

Dance for a hundred years or so.

Forget now all the words of promise

You made to one who loved you well,

Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,

But one last time, to say "farewell".

Richard Davies was a popular Welsh language poet. The words of "Myfanwy" were set to music by Wilfred Parry and the song is still popular with male voice choirs.

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Archimedes Was All Wet

Anon (?)

King Hero of old Syracuse had doubts that made him frown.

"Perhaps my goldsmith did not use pure gold to make the crown."

Since proof of mischief must be strong to put a thief in collar,

The king who feared his judgment wrong called on his science scholar.

"Archimedes, friend of old, find me the solution!

Is my crown pure solid gold, or is that an illusion?"

The scholar's task was serious; he struggled hard with math.

His mind was near delirious until he poured his bath.

He noticed how the water pushed him up as he stepped in.

He thought about it harder as he stroked his bearded chin.

"The weight of displaced liquid should always let me know

When any golden solid has a density too low!"

"Eureka!", he resounded. "I have such a clever mind".

Yet his claim was unfounded 'cause he left his clothes behind!

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THOMAS DEKKER 1572-1632

GOLDEN SLUMBERS

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, 

Smiles awake you when you rise ; 

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, 

And I will sing a lullaby, 

Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, 

You are care, and care must keep you ; 

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, 

And I will sing a lullaby, 

Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 

Thomas Dekker was an English dramatist and pamphleteer of the Elizabethan era.

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