Classic Poetry Aloud

Wilmot read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- To My More Than Meritorious Wife by John Wilmot 2nd Earl of Rochester (1647 – 1680) I am, by fate, slave to your will And shall be most obedient still. To show my love, I will compose ye, For your fair finger's ring, a posy, In which shall be expressed my duty, And how I'll be forever true t'ye. With low-made legs and sugared speeches, Yielding to your fair bum the breeches, I'll show myself, in all I can, Your faithful, humble servant, John.

Vaughan read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Timber by Henry Vaughan (1621 – 1695) Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Pass'd o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still enduring skies, While the low violet thrives at their root. But thou beneath the sad and heavy line Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, Nor any thoughts of greenness, leaf, or bark. And yet—as if some deep hate and dissent, Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were still alive—thou dost great storms resent Before they come, and know'st how ne

Wilde read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Libertatis Sacra Fames by Oscar Wilde(1854 – 1900) Albeit nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republican Where every man is Kinglike and no man Is crowned above his fellows, yet I see, Spite of this modern fret for Liberty, Better the rule of One, whom all obey, Than to let clamorous demagogues betray Our freedom with the kiss of anarchy. Wherefore I love them not whose hands profane Plant the red flag upon the piled-up street For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reign Arts, Culture, Reverence, Honour, all things fade, Save Treason and the dagger of her trade, And Murder with his silent bloody feet.

Browning read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Lost Mistress by Robert Browning (1812 – 1889) All 's over, then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes? Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter About your cottage eaves! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that, to-day; One day more bursts them open fully —You know the red turns gray. To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign: For each glance of the eye so bright and black, Though I keep with heart's endeavour,— Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stay in my soul for ever!— Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer!

Crabbe read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- from Village Life - As It Is by George Crabbe (1754 – 1832) I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms For him that grazes or for him that farms; But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace The poor laborious natives of the place, And see the mid-day sun, with fervid ray, On their bare heads and dewy temples play; While some with feebler heads and fainter hearts, Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts: Then shall I dare these real ills to hide In tinsel trappings of poetic pride? No; cast by Fortune on a frowning coast, Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast; Where other cares than those the Muse relates, And other shepherds dwell with other mates; By such examples taught, I paint the Cot, As Truth will paint it, and as Bards will not: Nor you, ye poor, of letter'd scorn complain, To you the smoothest song is smooth in vain; O'erc

Wordsworth read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Reaper by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself;— Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for a vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chant More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands; No sweeter voice was ever heard In springtime from the cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago, Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again! Whate’er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could

Herrick read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- To Anthea, who may command him Anything by Robert Herrick (1591 – 1674) Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay To honour thy decree: Or bid it languish quite away, And 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep While I have eyes to see: And, having none, yet will I keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair Under that cypress-tree: Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death to die for thee. Thou art my life, my love my heart, The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part To live and die for thee.

Whitman read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Unfolded Out of the Folds by Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Unfolded out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, and is always to come unfolded; Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the superbest man of the earth; Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the friendliest man; Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can a man be form’d of perfect body; Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the woman, can come the poems of man—(only thence have my poems come; ) Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love; Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman I love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the man; Unfolded out of the folds of the woman’s brain, come all the folds of the man’s brain, duly obedient; Unf

McCrae read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Unsolved by John McCrae (1872 – 1918) Amid my books I lived the hurrying years, Disdaining kinship with my fellow man; Alike to me were human smiles and tears, I cared not whither Earth's great life-stream ran, Till as I knelt before my mouldered shrine, God made me look into a woman's eyes; And I, who thought all earthly wisdom mine, Knew in a moment that the eternal skies Were measured but in inches, to the quest That lay before me in that mystic gaze. "Surely I have been errant: it is best That I should tread, with men their human ways." God took the teacher, ere the task was learned, And to my lonely books again I turned.

Wyatt read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- I am as I am by Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503 – 1542) I am as I am and so will I be But how that I am none knoweth truly, Be it evil be it well, be I bond be I free I am as I am and so will I be. I lead my life indifferently, I mean nothing but honestly, And though folks judge diversely, I am as I am and so will I die. I do not rejoice nor yet complain, Both mirth and sadness I do refrain, And use the mean since folks will fain Yet I am as I am be it pleasure or pain. Divers do judge as they do true, Some of pleasure and some of woe, Yet for all that no thing they know, But I am as I am wheresoever I go. But since judgers do thus decay, Let every man his judgement say: I will it take in sport and play, For I am as I am who so ever say nay. Who judgeth well, well God him send; Who judgeth evil, God them amend; To judge the best there

Wilde read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- from The Ballard of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed. He walked amongst the Trial Men In a suit of shabby grey; A cricket cap was on his head, And his step seemed light and gay; But I never saw a man who looked So wistfully at the day. I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky, And at every drifting cloud that went With sails of silver by. I walked, with other souls in pain, Within another ring, And was wondering if the man had done A great or little thing, When a voice behind me whispered low, "That fellow’s got to swing." Dear Christ! the very prison walls Suddenly seemed to re

Seeger read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- I have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger (1888 – 1916) I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air – I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath – It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear... But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in

Rossetti read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Sudden Light by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828 – 1882) I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before,— How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow’s soar Your neck turn’d so, Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time’s eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death’s despite, And day and night yield one delight once more?

Wilcox read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Reunited by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855 – 1919) Let us begin, dear love, where we left off; Tie up the broken threads of that old dream, And go on happy as before, and seem Lovers again, though all the world may scoff. Let us forget the graves which lie between Our parting and our meeting, and the tears That rusted out the gold-work of the years, The frosts that fell upon our gardens green. Let us forget the cold, malicious Fate Who made our loving hearts her idle toys, And once more revel in the old sweet joys Of happy love. Nay, it is not too late! Forget the deep-ploughed furrows in my brow; Forget the silver gleaming in my hair; Look only in my eyes! Oh! darling, there The old love shone no warmer then than now. Down in the tender deeps of thy

Sidney read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- My True Love Hath My Heart And I Have His by Sir Philip Sidney (1554 – 1586) My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given. I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss: There never was a bargain better driven. His heart in me keeps me and him in one; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his because in me it bides. His heart his wound received from my sight; My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his hurt did light, So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart: Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, My true love hath my heart and I have his.

Dickinson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Surrender by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) Doubt me, my dim companion! Why, God would be content With but a fraction of the love Poured thee without a stint. The whole of me, forever, What more the woman can, -- Say quick, that I may dower thee With last delight I own! It cannot be my spirit, For that was thine before; I ceded all of dust I knew, -- What opulence the more Had I, a humble maiden, Whose farthest of degree Was that she might, Some distant heaven, Dwell timidly with thee!

Marvell read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Fair Singer by Andrew Marvell (1621 – 1678) To make a final conquest of all me, Love did compose so sweet an enemy, In whom both beauties to my death agree, Joining themselves in fatal harmony; That, while she with her eyes my heart does bind, She with her voice might captivate my mind. I could have fled from one but singly fair ; My disentangled soul itself might save, Breaking the curlèd trammels of her hair ; But how should I avoid to be her slave, When subtle art invisibly can wreathe My fetters of the very air I breathe ? It had been easy fighting in some plain, Where victory might hang in equal choice, But all resistance against her is vain, Who has the advantage both of eyes and voice; And all my forces needs must be undone, She having gained both the wind and sun.

Gosse read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Revelation by Sir Edmund Gosse (1849–1928) Into the silver night She brought with her pale hand The topaz lanthorn-light, And darted splendour o'er the land; Around her in a band, Ringstraked and pied, the great soft moths came flying, And flapping with their mad wings, fann'd The flickering flame, ascending, falling, dying. Behind the thorny pink Close wall of blossom'd may, I gazed thro' one green chink And saw no more than thousands may,— Saw sweetness, tender and gay,— Saw full rose lips as rounded as the cherry, Saw braided locks more dark than bay, And flashing eyes decorous, pure, and merry. With food for furry friends She pass'd, her lamp and she, Till eaves and gable-ends Hid all that saffron sheen from me: Aro

Bridges read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Absence by Robert Bridges (1844–1930) When my love was away, Full three days were not sped, I caught my fancy astray Thinking if she were dead, And I alone, alone: It seem'd in my misery In all the world was none Ever so lone as I. I wept; but it did not shame Nor comfort my heart: away I rode as I might, and came To my love at close of day. The sight of her still'd my fears, My fairest-hearted love: And yet in her eyes were tears: Which when I question'd of, 'O now thou art come,' she cried, ''Tis fled: but I thought to-day I never could here abide, If thou wert longer away.' This poem is part of Love Poetry Week on Classic Poetry Aloud. For the week's introductory podcast, visit: http://classicpoetryaloud.podomatic.com/entry/2008-02-07T08_04_59-08_00

Love Poetry read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Poetry in the lead up to Valentine’s Day will include: 8th February: New love – Absence by Robert Bridges 9th February: The need for love – Revelation by Sir Edmund Gosse 10th February: Love as conquest – The Fair Singer by Andrew Marvell 11th February: Love as surrender – Surrender by Emily Dickinson 12th February: Love of friendship – My True-Love Hath my Heart by Sir Philip Sidney 13th February: Love after many years – Reunited by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 14th February: The promise of future love – Sudden Light by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Love’s Secret by William Blake (1757 – 1827) Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart; Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears, Ah! she did depart! Soon as she was gone from me, A