Today's - Poem Of The Day

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Excellent poem, Robert!
(Who is Nicola Byrne, btw?)

Thanks for your comment my friend..

She is a poetess at my home poetry site. That is our first collaboration, and it rated extremely high at the poetry site.
We are now about to do at least one more--she waits for my first half to be sent to her.
THE ONE I HAVE NOT YET WRITTEN- NOT EVEN THE FIRST VERSE!
I'VE BEEN BUSY HERE AT CREATIVE WRITING FORM, BUSY AT HOME AND AM NOW AWAITING A TIME TO SIT DOWN AND WRITE AN EVEN BETTER HALF, AS HER HALF IN OUR FIRST COLLABORATION -APPEARS TO ME-, TO BE BETTER THAN MINE.
Although several top poets have disagreed with my judgment on that, I think it on the mark.
Never one not to be competitive in anything I do. I will now take a bit longer to slam out my next presentation to her.
Maybe instead of 25 minutes I took writing that first one, I'll donate a whole hour on this new one.---Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Poems By Ambrose Bierce

The Day of Wrath / Dies Iræ
An Inscription
The New Decalogue
The Statesmen
To the Bartholdi Statue
With a Book

The Day of Wrath / Dies Iræ
------------By Ambrose Bierce
Day of Satan's painful duty!
Earth shall vanish, hot and sooty;
So says Virtue, so says Beauty.

Ah! what terror shall be shaping
When the Judge the truth's undraping—
Cats from every bag escaping!

Now the trumpet's invocation
Calls the dead to condemnation;
All receive an invitation.

Death and Nature now are quaking,
And the late lamented, waking,
In their breezy shrouds are shaking.

Lo! the Ledger's leaves are stirring,
And the Clerk, to them referring,
Makes it awkward for the erring.

When the Judge appears in session,
We shall all attend confession,
Loudly preaching non-suppression.

How shall I then make romances
Mitigating circumstances?
Even the just must take their chances.

King whose majesty amazes,
Save thou him who sings thy praises;
Fountain, quench my private blazes.

Pray remember, sacred Saviour,
Mine the playful hand that gave your
Death-blow. Pardon such behavior.

Seeking me, fatigue assailed thee,
Calvary's outlook naught availed thee;
Now 'twere cruel if I failed thee.

Righteous judge and learnèd brother,
Pray thy prejudices smother
Ere we meet to try each other.

Sighs of guilt my conscience gushes,
And my face vermilion flushes;
Spare me for my pretty blushes.

Thief and harlot, when repenting,
Thou forgavest—complimenting
Me with sign of like relenting.

If too bold is my petition
I'll receive with due submission
My dismissal—from perdition.

When thy sheep thou hast selected
From the goats, may I, respected,
Stand amongst them undetected.

When offenders are indited,
And with trial-flames ignited,
Elsewhere I'll attend if cited.

Ashen-hearted, prone and prayerful,
When of death I see the air full,
Lest I perish too be careful.

On that day of lamentation,
When, to enjoy the conflagration,
Men come forth, O be not cruel:
Spare me, Lord—make them thy fuel

-----------------------------
-----------------------------

An Inscription
----- By Ambrose Bierce

For a Statue of Napoleon

A conqueror as provident as brave,
He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust.

------------------------------------
------------------------------------

The Statesmen
-----By Ambrose Bierce
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.

Behold them mounting every stump,
By speech our liberty to guard.
Observe their courage—see them jump,
And come down hard!

"Walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud,
"And learn from me what you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.

"Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all that pass.
I—I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."

They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make—I wish they'd go and make—
Of Heaven a Hell.

A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
Win warm applause.

Lo, D lifts up his voice: "You see
The single tax on land would fall
On all alike." More evenly
No tax at all.

"With paper money," bellows E,
"We'll all be rich as lords." No doubt—
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.

As many "cures" as addle-wits
Who know not what the ailment is!
Meanwhile the patient foams and spits
Like a gin fizz.

Alas, poor Body Politic,
Your fate is all too clearly read:
To be not altogether quick,
Nor very dead.

You take your exercise in squirms,
Your rest in fainting fits between.
'Tis plain that your disorder's worms—
Worms fat and lean.

Worm Capital, Worm Labor dwell
Within your maw and muscle's scope.
Their quarrels make your life a Hell,
Your death a hope.

God send you find not such an end
To ills however sharp and huge!
God send you convalesce! God send
You vermifuge.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ambrose_Bierce

Ambrose Bierce
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Ambrose Bierce
Abierce.jpg
Bierce around 1866
Born Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce
June 24, 1842
Meigs County, Ohio, United States
Died Circa 1914 (aged 71–72);[1]
last letter from Chihuahua, Chihuahua, Mexico
Occupation Soldier · Journalist · Writer
Genres Satire, journalism, short story, horror fiction, war fiction, fantasy, science fiction, western (genre), memoir, humor, literary criticism, poetry
Literary movement Realism
Notable works "Chickamauga"
"An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge"
"The Death of Halpin Frayser"
"The Moonlit Road"
The Devil's Dictionary
Tales of Soldiers and Civilians
Spouse Mary Ellen "Mollie" Day (m. 1871; div. 1904)
Children Day (1872–1889), Leigh (1874–1901), Helen (1875–1940)
Signature
Military career
Allegiance United States of America
Service/branch Union Army
Years of service 1861–1866
Rank Union army 1st lt rank insignia.jpg First Lieutenant
Unit 9th Indiana Infantry Regiment
Battles/wars American Civil War: Battle of Philippi (West Virginia), Battle of Laurel Mountain, Battle of Rich Mountain, Battle of Corrick's Ford, Battle of Cheat Mountain, Battle of Greenbrier River, Battle of Camp Allegheny, Battle of Shiloh, Siege of Corinth, Battle of Perryville, Battle of Stones River, Battle of Chickamauga, Chattanooga Campaign, Battle of Lookout Mountain, Battle of Missionary Ridge, Battle of Resaca, Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, Atlanta Campaign, Battle of Jonesborough, Battle of Franklin (1864), Battle of Nashville

Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce (June 24, 1842[2] – circa 1914[3]) was an American Civil War soldier, wit, and writer. In Bierce’s lifetime, eminent critic William Dean Howells said “Mr. Bierce is among our three greatest writers.” When told this, Bierce responded, “I am sure Mr. Howells is the other two.”[4]

Today Bierce is best known for his "howlingly funny"[5] book The Devil's Dictionary, which was named as one of "The 100 Greatest Masterpieces of American Literature" by the American Revolution Bicentennial Administration;[6] for his story “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” which is frequently anthologized and has been adapted into stage, radio, film, and television dramas more than a dozen times; and for his book Tales of Soldiers and Civilians (also published as In the Midst of Life), which was named by the Grolier Club as one of the 100 most influential American books printed before 1900.[7]

In addition, Bierce has been called “the one genuine wit that These States have ever seen” by H. L. Mencken[8] and “one of our preeminent satirists”.[9] A prolific and versatile writer, Bierce has earned recognition as “at the peak of his career, one of the most influential journalists in the United States,”[10] as “arguably the most important American writer of horror fiction—whether physical, psychological or supernatural—between Poe and Lovecraft,”[11] as a pioneering writer of realist fiction[12], as a writer of war stories who “was a demonstrable influence on Stephen Crane, Ernest Hemingway, and many others,”[13] and as an influential—and feared—literary critic.[14] In recent decades Bierce has gained wider respect as a fabulist because “both the quantity and consistently high quality of Ambrose Bierce’s fables should guarantee them a place in the canon of American literature,”[15] and for his talent as “a poet, one who occupies a unique niche in nineteenth-century American verse.”[16]

In December 1913, Bierce traveled to Chihuahua, Mexico to gain first-hand experience of the Mexican Revolution.[17] He was rumored to be traveling with rebel troops, and was never seen again.

Contents

1 Early life
2 Military career
3 Personal life
4 Journalism
4.1 Railroad Refinancing Bill
4.2 McKinley accusation
5 Literary works
6 Disappearance
7 Legacy and influence
8 Works
8.1 Volumes published
8.1.1 Published during Bierce's Lifetime
8.1.2 Published Posthumously
8.2 Short stories
9 See also
10 Notes
11 References
12 Further reading
13 External links

Early life

Bierce was born in a log cabin at Horse Cave Creek in Meigs County, Ohio, on June 24, 1842, to Marcus Aurelius Bierce (1799–1876) and Laura Sherwood Bierce.[2] His mother was a descendant of William Bradford.[citation needed] He was the tenth of thirteen children, whose father gave all names beginning with the letter "A": in order of birth, the Bierce siblings were Abigail, Amelia, Ann, Addison, Aurelius, Augustus, Almeda, Andrew, Albert, and Ambrose.[clarification needed]

His parents were a poor but literary couple who instilled in him a deep love for books and writing.[2] Bierce grew up in Kosciusko County, Indiana, attending high school at the county seat, Warsaw.

He left home at 15 to become a printer's devil at a small Ohio newspaper.[2]
Military career

At the outset of the American Civil War, Bierce enlisted in the Union Army's 9th Indiana Infantry. He participated in the Operations in Western Virginia campaign (1861); was present at the Battle of Philippi (the first organized land action of the war); and received newspaper attention for his daring rescue, under fire, of a gravely wounded comrade at the Battle of Rich Mountain. In February 1862 he was commissioned a first lieutenant, and served on the staff of General William Babcock Hazen as a topographical engineer, making maps of likely battlefields.

Bierce fought at the Battle of Shiloh (April 1862), a terrifying experience that became a source for several later short stories and the memoir "What I Saw of Shiloh". In June 1864, he sustained a serious head wound at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain,[18] and spent the rest of the summer on furlough, returning to active duty in September. He was discharged from the army in January 1865.

His military career resumed, however, when in mid-1866 he rejoined General Hazen as part of the latter's expedition to inspect military outposts across the Great Plains. The expedition proceeded by horseback and wagon from Omaha, Nebraska, arriving toward year's end in San Francisco, California.
Personal life
Ambrose Bierce, by J.H.E. Partington

Bierce married Mary Ellen "Mollie" Day on December 25, 1871. They had three children: sons Day (1872–1889)[19] and Leigh (1874–1901)[19] and daughter Helen (1875–1940). Both of Bierce's sons died before he did. Day committed suicide after a romantic rejection,[20][21] and Leigh died of pneumonia related to alcoholism.[19] Bierce separated from his wife in 1888, after discovering compromising letters to her from an admirer. They divorced in 1904.[19] Mollie Day Bierce died the following year.

Bierce was an avowed agnostic.[22] He suffered from lifelong asthma,[23] as well as complications from his war wounds.[24]
Journalism

In San Francisco, Bierce was awarded the rank of brevet major before resigning from the Army. He remained in San Francisco for many years, eventually becoming famous as a contributor or editor of a number of local newspapers and periodicals, including The San Francisco News Letter, The Argonaut, the Overland Monthly, The Californian and The Wasp. A selection of his crime reporting from The San Francisco News Letter was included in The Library of America anthology True Crime.

Bierce lived and wrote in England from 1872 to 1875, contributing to Fun magazine. His first book, The Fiend's Delight, a compilation of his articles, was published in London in 1873 by John Camden Hotten under the pseudonym "Dod Grile".[25][26]

Returning to the United States, he again took up residence in San Francisco. From 1879 to 1880, he traveled to Rockerville and Deadwood in the Dakota Territory, to try his hand as local manager for a New York mining company. When the company failed he returned to San Francisco and resumed his career in journalism.

From January 1, 1881 until September 11, 1885 he was editor of The Wasp magazine, in which he began a column titled "Prattle". He also became one of the first regular columnists and editorialists on William Randolph Hearst's newspaper, The San Francisco Examiner,[2] eventually becoming one of the most prominent and influential writers and journalists[citation needed] of the West Coast. He remained associated with Hearst Newspapers until 1909.[27]

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

IN ROSE TIME
----- by Willa Sibert Cather

Oh this is the joy of the rose;
That it blows, And goes.
Winter lasts a five-month
Spring-time stays but one;
Yellow blow the rye-fields
When the rose is done.
Pines are clad at Yuletide
When the birch is bare,
And the holly's greenest
In the frosty air.
Sorrow keeps a stone house
Builded grim and gray;
Pleasure hath a straw thatch
Hung with lanterns gay.
On her petty savings
Niggard Prudence thrives;
Passion, ere the moonset,
Bleeds a thousand lives.
Virtue hath a warm hearth—
Folly's dead and drowned;
Friendship hath her own
when Love is underground.
Ah! for me the madness
Of the spendthrift flower,
Burning myriad sunsets
In a single hour.
For this is the joy of the rose;
That it blows, And goes.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Song: Memory, hither come
----------by William Blake
Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes;
And, while upon the wind
Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song;
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along:

And, when night comes, I'll go
To places fit for woe,
Walking along the darken'd valley
With silent Melancholy.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Grieve Not, Ladies
--------- by Anna Hempstead Branch

Oh, grieve not, Ladies, if at night
Ye wake to feel your beauty going.
It was a web of frail delight,
Inconstant as an April snowing.

In other eyes, in other lands,
In deep fair pools, new beauty lingers,
But like spent water in your hands
It runs from your reluctant fingers.

Ye shall not keep the singing lark
That owes to earlier skies its duty.
Weep not to hear along the dark
The sound of your departing beauty.

The fine and anguished ear of night
Is tuned to hear the smallest sorrow.
Oh, wait until the morning light!
It may not seem so gone to-morrow!

But honey-pale and rosy-red!
Brief lights that made a little shining!
Beautiful looks about us shed --
They leave us to the old repining.

Think not the watchful dim despair
Has come to you the first, sweet-hearted!
For oh, the gold in Helen's hair!
And how she cried when that departed!

Perhaps that one that took the most,
The swiftest borrower, wildest spender,
May count, as we would not, the cost --
And grow more true to us and tender.

Happy are we if in his eyes
We see no shadow of forgetting.
Nay -- if our star sinks in those skies
We shall not wholly see its setting.

Then let us laugh as do the brooks
That such immortal youth is ours,
If memory keeps for them our looks
As fresh as are the spring-time flowers.

Oh, grieve not, Ladies, if at night
Ye wake, to feel the cold December!
Rather recall the early light
And in your loved one's arms, remember.

Anna Hempstead Branch

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Sorrowing Love
--- by Katherine Mansfield
And again the flowers are come,
And the light shakes,
And no tiny voice is dumb,
And a bud breaks
On the humble bush and the proud restless tree.
Come with me!

Look, this little flower is pink,
And this one white.
Here's a pearl cup for your drink,
Here's for your delight
A yellow one, sweet with honey.
Here's fairy money
Silver bright
Scattered over the grass
As we pass.

Here's moss. How the smell of it lingers
On my cold fingers!
You shall have no moss. Here's a frail
Hyacinth, deathyly pale.
Not for you, not for you!
And the place where they grew
You must promise me not to discover,
My sorrowful lover!
Shall we never be happy again?
Never again play?
In vain--in vain!
Come away!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Missing Mom

She's gone
no longer here
but I need her here
it wasn't time
not my time to let go
memories are clear

Can't live without her
the only one, only one
but the time since is a blur

I took you for granted
thought you'd always be there
you know I loved you so dear

I miss you Mom
the pain is still here
it will never die
I love you so dear

I love you Mom
that's unchanged
you held my heart first
that's unchanged

I think of you daily
morning, noon and night
this I know is true
I so love and miss you

**************************
Jim, you finally titled it, but you forgot to sign and date your poem..
I decided to post it as is, even tho' unsigned and not dated, by you the author..
Now posted as my choice for My, Poem Of The Day.....

One can never go wrong when they put this much heart and depth into a poem my friend...
You write poetry-- you just didn't know it previously - now you do.--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

This poem, using my new form , LinCrazyEights- written by Doug Vinson has made Poem Of The Day at my poetry site today.
Has gotten lots of comments even before being announced as POTD.
I hope you may enjoy reading his creation, as both he and his new poem are top level, IMHO.-Tyr

Robert Lindley's format of 100 words, 8 syllables per line.

Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem.


The Rider


In a mass grave so long ago,
They spoke to me before they died,
I saw their souls, the outward flow,
All hope buried beneath that tide.

The many starving, sent afar,
With wearied feet and hunger's burn,
Impel them on - my repertoire,
The children that fail to return.

I rose up tall against the shore,
Wood and iron to hold them fast,
Freedom vanished for evermore,
Slavery's journey to the last.

I set you fighting, tribe on tribe,
The dogs of war so fierce to roam,
Ensure no safety to describe,
What has worth if you can't go home?

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Fairer, Indeed
---------------------------------------------by Greg Barden

WOMEN ...

Truly amaze me ...
They possess the super-human

Strength to birth a child - one of
The most painful and demanding
Feats of endurance known to our
Species - yet they have the
Self-confidence to be meek and

Tender, with the gentle and sweet
Fortitude needed for motherhood ...
They have the extraordinary insight
To look into your eyes and know
What you're feeling ... they can be

Completely confident in who they
Are, and yet totally vulnerable in
Who they want to be ... they can
Have the strength of ten men in
Bearing young, and the sexuality to

Bring a hundred men to their knees ...
They are at one moment the most
Simple creatures in their need for
Love, and at the next so complicated
That they are unfathomable ...

They can be the most loving and
Accepting people you've ever
Known, or the most frighteningly
Fierce and formidable foes
Imaginable ... they can lay bare

Their soul before you and give it
Up with passion, or build walls so
Strong that nothing but time can
Bring them down ... they can let
You believe, in their confidence,

That you are the strongest being
Alive, or remind you that the very
Fires of Hell are at their beck-and-call ...
They are EACH and ALL an amazing
Creation of utter perfection and

Grace, and like brittle snowflakes,
Uniquely wondrous and different
In every way, at one moment a
Mystery beyond comprehension,
And at the next, the most delightfully

Familiar soul you've ever encountered ...
Their tears flow as freely as their
Laughter, and they are as spiritual as
They are sensible ... they measure
Their own elegance by how they

Feel INSIDE ... about themselves.
They are at once outspoken and
Demure ... they may need to be
Held and told everything will be
Alright, or they may need to take

The lead and be honored ... they
May want to hear about your
Wildest dreams, or need you to
Really LISTEN to how they feel ...
They may want YOU to take control

And show them your deepest desires,
Or they may need to have their
Every wish fulfilled ... they may want
You to be endlessly mysterious, then
Lay bare your broken spirit on the

Altar of their passion. A woman may
Want to look perfect, with every hair
And detail in place, or she may run wild
Through the rain ... she may share the
Fires of her deepest lust and desires,

Or she may make you feel the cold
Regard of her wrath ... she may want
You to be firm and forward, and then
Desire only tenderness and care ...
She may cry at your funniest joke,

Or laugh at your saddest story, and
Expect you to understand ... she
May howl at the moon in madness,
Yet require you to keep her sane ...
She may endear you with her ferocity,

Then frighten you with her kindness.
She may love you more in her anger
Than she ever could in her joy, or
Adore you for your carelessness,
Yet despise you for your attention.

A woman is the perfect vessel and
The ultimate contradiction, on
The pedestal one moment, and
At your feet the next. Their bodies
Are warm and cold, salty and sweet,

Rough and smooth, with hidden
Wonders and responses all their own,
First trembling at your lightest touch,
Then needing the firm press of flesh,
Every soft inch a sublime adventure,

Every subtle curve a joy ... but
Their minds are keen and as
Sharp-edged as any razor ... they
Can cut you with their words and
Their stare, then leave you bleeding ...

They are elation and anger, vigor
And vulnerability, coyness and
Carnality ... in a moment they
Can drag you through hell, or carry
You to heaven ... they can be angel

Or demon, mother or daughter,
Temptress or torturer ... they can
Make you the king of their heart,
Or remind you of your absolute
Insignificance ... they are told from

Birth that they are inferior to men -
Weaker, softer, more fragile - yet
Despite that they are more determined,
More durable, more wise, more
Diligent, more deft, more caring,

More tenacious, more hard-working,
And more intuitive, than most three
Men put together ... they can be
Great moms or be great boxers ...
They can be successful professionals

Or stay-at-home wives, they can
Do most jobs as well as any man,
And do a hundred other things that
Many men are never even taught!
They can teach, fight, love, paint,

Play drums, be weightlifters,
Ballerinas, truck drivers, nurses,
Army sergeants, cooks, seamstresses,
Basketball players, florists, pharmacists,
Doctors, lawyers ... women can

Wear dresses or they can wear work
Pants, they can wear toe shoes or
They can wear hockey skates,
They can wear ponytails or they
Can wear hard hats, they can wear

Steel-toed boots or they can wear
Stilettos, they can wear overalls
Or miniskirts. I believe that one
Of the primary reasons that they
Have been marginalized for so

Many centuries, is that men knew
That if women ever DID start doing
The things that men have always done,
Everyone would find out that women
Were BETTER at 99% of those things,

And would start demanding equal pay
And equal rights! That is starting to
Come to pass, and I think it scares
Many men ... women are told their
Whole lives what they CAN'T do, yet

They spend their whole lives doing
Things that many men are incapable
Of, things that men don't care to
Do or want to do or have to do ...
Men are intent on making a living,

Yet women are what we live FOR ...
Women have forever lived in the
Shadow of men, but men would
HAVE no shadow without the
Sunlight that women shine on our

Lives ... if Woman really WAS made
After Man, it's because the Creator
Didn't get human beings right the
First time, and perfected the species
With the female version ... and most

Of all, no matter how much you
Learn about them, or how much
You may know of all these things
I've touched on, or how much you
Listen and absorb what they tell

You about themselves, you will
Never, ever, EVER, understand them ...
Yet there is absolutely NOTHING in
Heaven or earth, that is as wonderfully
Sexy and sublime, entertaining and

Enticing, intently intense, or
Imperfectly perfect, as ...

WOMEN. <3


Copyright © Greg Barden | Year Posted 2017

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

http://www.thehypertexts.com/The%20B...All%20Time.htm

Wallace Stevens is one of the best modern free verse poets, although many of his best poems are written in what appears to be gorgeously-rhythmed blank verse (i.e., unrhymed iambic pentameter). His meter is so good it defies categorization; only Hart Crane rivals him when it comes to writing fluid verse.

The Snow Man
-----by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

************************************************** ***

Yes folks, I actually chose a free verse poem! When once , not too long ago, I detested free verse with an intense passion..
I guess an old dog can learn new tricks.... --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Brevi Tempore Magnum Perfecit Opus
- Poem by Digby Mackworth Dolben

I

'Twas not in shady cloister that God set His chosen one,
But in the van of battle and the streets of Babylon:
There he in patience served the days of his captivity,
Until the King made known to him the City of the Free.


There One who watched in Salem once beside the Treasury,
And reckoned up the riches of the widow's penury,
Received the offering of him who counted not the cost,
But burnt his soul and body in a living holocaust.


His life was in the Sanctuary and like a fountain sealed;
He to the Master's eyes alone its height and depth revealed;
Of that which every motion spoke he seldom told in word,
But on his face was written up the secret of the Lord.


Through many fiery places in innocence he trod;
We almost saw beside him one like the Son of God:
Where'er he went a perfume about his presence hung,
As tho' within that shrine of flesh a mystic censer swung.


We never heard him laugh aloud, we know he often wept:
We think the Bridegroom sometimes stood beside him as he slept,
And set upon those virgin lips the signet of His love,
That any other touch but His they never should approve.


He grew in grace and stature, he felt and understood
The stirring of the passions and the movement of the blood,
And clung with deepening tenderness about the wounded Feet,
And nestled in the Master's Breast with rapture new and sweet.


He stayed till seventeen Aprils here had budded into May,
Along the pleasant hedgerows that he knew not far away:
But scarcely seventeen summers yet the lily-beds had blown,
Before the angels carried him to gardens of their own.


II

They set the window open as the sun was going down:
Beneath went on the hurry and roar of London town.
But in the narrow room above the rush of life was done,
In silence, once for ever, the victory was won.


He came, the Strong, the Terrible, whose face the strongest fear,
(O world, behold thy Spoiler spoiled, the Stronger Man is here)
He came, the Loved, the Loveliest, whose Face the Saints desire,
To be his Fellow-pilgrim thro' the water and the fire.


Henceforth no more beneath the veils, Viaticum no more,
But Rest and Consummation upon the other Shore.
The bell was ringing Complin, the night began to fall;
They laid him in the ashes and waited for the call.


'Come up, come up from Lebanon,' he heard the Bridegroom say,
'Come up, my Love, my sister, for the shadows flee away.'
And as upon his face they caught the breaking of that morn
They spread his arms to fashion the Cross that he had borne


A smile, a whispered 'Jesus', then the fulness of the day:
Made perfect in a little while his spirit passed away;
And leaning on the Bridegroom's arm he scaled the golden stair
Through all the baffled legions of the powers of the air


Beneath the secret Altar now he tarrieth the End.
From earth he hears the pleadings of holy Mass ascend,
From heaven the voice of Jesus, Who bids the angels haste
To gather in the chosen to the Marriage and the Feast.
Digby Mackworth Dolben

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poe...s/detail/43640

The Dream
------------------By Aphra Behn
All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising breasts with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
Now the last mystery of Love she knows,
We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done.

‘Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!



Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child, the Last of Seven that Died Before

-------------------By Aphra Behn

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;
The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;
Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind,
And tho translated could not be refin'd ;
The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given,
Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ;
Where they the shining Host of Angels fill,
Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.



Aphra Behn

Aphra Behn was the first female writer to make her living through her art; she was a significant seventeenth‑century dramatist,The Rover being one of her best‑known plays. Little is known of her early life, but we do know that she was an accomplished poet, worked as a scribe for the King’s Company players, produced many plays, wrote a novel about an enslaved African prince (Oroonoko) and was a spy for the English Crown, operating for a period in the Netherlands.

She caused some scandal, touching as she did on topics of a sexual nature, and, during the late‑nineteenth century, her work was largely dismissed for this reason. Behn claimed that no such scandal would have arisen had such plays been penned by a man. Herpoetic voice is distinctive and strong. She often comments on contemporary events and situations, and writes from the position of both men and women.
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https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poe...ail/aphra-behn

Aphra Behn
Poet Details
1640–1689

Aphra Behn, one of the most influential dramatists of the late seventeenth century, was also a celebrated poet and novelist. Her contemporary reputation was founded primarily on her "scandalous" plays, which she claimed would not have been criticized for impropriety had a man written them. Behn's assertion of her unique role in English literary history is confirmed not only by the extraordinary circumstances of her writings, but by those of her life history as well.

No one really knows her birth name or when exactly she was born. Her parentage has been traced to Wye, and tradition has it that she was born in 1640. One version of her life postulates that her parents were a barber, John Amis, and Amy, his wife. Another speculation about Behn has her the child of a couple named Cooper. However, an essay by the unidentified "One of the Fair Sex" affixed to the collection of The Histories And Novels of the Late Ingenious Mrs. Behn (1696) maintains that Aphra was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. John Johnson of nearby Canterbury. Johnson was a gentleman related to Francis, Lord Willoughby, who appointed him lieutenant general of Surinam, for which Willoughby was the royal patentee. Whether Aphra was Johnson's natural child or fostered by him is not known, but what has been established with reasonable certainty was that in 1663 Aphra accompanied Johnson, his wife, and a young boy, mentioned as Behn's brother, on a voyage to take up residence in the West Indies. Johnson died on the way, and the mother and two children lived for several months in Surinam. This episode was to have lasting effects on Behn's life. Her most famous novel, Oroonoko (1688), is based on her experiences there and her friendship with a prince of the indigenous peoples. The facts about Behn's life after her return to England in 1664 are also unclear. She is known to have met and taken the name of a man considered to be her husband, who was perhaps a Dutch merchant whose name was either "Ben," "Beane," "Bene," or "Behn." Whatever the true circumstances, from that time on she was known publicly as "Mrs. Behn," the name she later used for her professional writing. Aphra Behn was propelled into writing for a living by the death of her husband in 1665, and her indebtedness as a result of her employment as a spy for King Charles II.

When her husband died, Behn was left without funds. Perhaps because of her association, through him, with the Dutch, she was appointed an intelligence gatherer for the king, who was, at least, to pay for her trip to Antwerp as his spy. But Charles did not respond to Behn's requests for money for her trip home, so in December 1666 she was forced to borrow for her passage back to England. Charles continued to refuse payment, and in 1668 Behn was thrown into debtor's prison. The circumstances of her release are unknown, but in 1670 her first play, The Forc'd Marriage (published, 1671), was produced in London, and Behn, having vowed never to depend on anyone else for money again, became one of the period's foremost playwrights. She earned her living in the theater and then as a novelist until her death on 16 April 1689.

Even before her arrest for indebtedness Aphra Behn had written poetry. These early poems are not as polished as the later incidental poems or those from her plays, but they indicate the versatility of her literary gifts and prefigure the skill and grace that characterize all of Behn's verse. Although it was impossible to make a living from writing poems exclusively, Behn, in the tradition of famous English playwrights whose poetry was also accorded distinction, pursued verse writing as an adjunct to her more lucrative work.

Behn's contemporary reputation as a poet was no less stunning than her notoriety as a dramatist. She was heralded as a successor to Sappho, inheriting the great gifts of the Greek poet in the best English tradition exemplified by Behn's immediate predecessor, Katherine Philips. Just as Philips was known by her pastoral nom de plume and praised as "The Matchless Orinda," so Behn was apostrophized as "The Incomparable Astrea," an appellation based on the code name she had used when she was Charles's spy.

Some of Behn's lyrics originally appeared in her plays, and there were longer verses, such as the Pindaric odes, published for special occasions. But the majority of her poetry was published in two collections that included longer narrative works of prose and poetry as well as Behn's shorter verses. Poems upon Several Occasions: with A Voyage to the Island of Love (1684) and Lycidus: Or The Lover in Fashion (1688) reflect Behn's customary use of classical, pastoral, courtly, and traditionally English lyric modes. Forty-five poems appeared in Poems upon Several Occasions; ten poems were appended to Lycidus. Ten more works appeared in the 1685 Miscellany. Posthumous publications include poems in Charles Gildon's Miscellany Poems Upon Several Occasions (1692) and in The Muses Mercury (1707-1708).

Behn's distinctive poetic voice is characterized by her audacity in writing about contemporary events, frequently with topical references that, despite their allegorical maskings, were immediately recognizable to her sophisticated audience. Although she sometimes addressed her friends by their initials or their familiar names, she might just as easily employ some classical or pastoral disguise that was transparent to the initiated. Behn's poetry, therefore, was less public than her plays or her prose fiction, as it depended, in some cases, on the enlightened audience's recognition of her topics for full comprehension of both the expression and implications of her verse. Such poetic technique involved a skill and craft that earned her the compliments of her cohorts as one who, despite her female form, had a male intelligence and masculine powers of reason.

Behn's response to this admiration was to display even more fully those characteristics which had earned her praise. Frequently her poems are specifically addressed to members of her social community and might employ mild satire as commentary, present events of their lives, and detail or explore the emotional states of their frequently complex relationships, expecially those of love and sex. Less commonly Behn might use a translation or adaptation of another author's verse to discuss these issues in her own style. In these cases the poems are frequently redrawn to reveal Behn's own emphases and display more her artistic perspective than that of the original author.

Whatever the source of the texts, whether her plays, a political or personal occasion, an adaptation or translation, or an emotional or psychological exploration, Behn's verse style is particular and identifiable, with a very distinctive voice. The speaker is usually identified as a character or as "Astrea," Behn's poetic self, and there is usually a specific audience. There may be dialogue within a poem, but, unlike the dialogue in her plays, in the poetry the voices are joined in lyrical rather than dramatic expression. In fact, the musicality of Behn's verse is another identifying characteristic. Whereas many of Behn's predecessors and contemporaries, including Philips, to whom Behn was frequently compared, are known for the Metaphysical aspects of their verse, Behn's poems are more classical, in the tradition of Ben Jonson rather than John Donne. As such they rely more on the heritage of sixteenth-century ornate lyricism as practiced by Sir Philip Sidney, Edmund Spenser, and William Shakespeare, along with the epigrammatic tradition of light Juvenalian satire in Jonson and Robert Herrick, than the Marvellian wit and Miltonic grandeur of later seventeenth-century verse. Behn shares with John Dryden a preference for the couplet, but she also uses a modified ballad stanza and more varied verse forms if the content permits. The decorum of her verse is based in a very traditional relationship between structure and meaning, so that her discourse has a sense of immediacy and directness despite the conventionality of her literary forms. Perhaps it is because her use of vocabulary and form is so traditional that Behn, who was in her lifetime criticized as outrageous for the content of her works, was able, nevertheless, to thrive as a successful author.

The first of the Poems upon Several Occasions, "The Golden Age," presents Behn's customary combination of tradition and innovation. It is described in the text as "A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French," and although Behn criticism usually emphasizes that the poem is a translation, Behn herself presents rather more of the aspect of paraphrase. The poem restates well-known concepts in a typically idiosyncratic way. Behn conventionally places her paradise in a prelapsarian garden but then goes on to describe that sinless state as devoid also of "civilized" constraints. Lovers' vows are "Not kept in fear of Gods, no fond Religious cause, / Nor in obedience to duller Laws" but merely for joy alone. Honor, rather than being perceived as a desirable characteristic, is furiously attacked in two long verses as responsible for introducing the shame and formality that "first taught lovely Eyes the art, / To wound, and not to cure the heart." This, she maintains, is "a Cruel Law." She asserts that women have sexuality and can teach men how to express their feelings if only this false value, honor, were not in the way.

Business and the rules of honor are also rejected in favor of a natural and easy "Love" in the poem "A Farewel to Celladon, On his Going into Ireland." These verses ask Celladon why he bothers with boring government business ("To Toyl, be Dull, and to be Great"), when he knows that success will not bring happiness. It is more important, the speaker advises him, to enjoy the company of his close good friend, Damon, to whom Celladon is "by Sacred Friendship ty'd," and from whom "Love nor Fate can nere divide" him. The tradition of close male friendships has both a literary and social history based in the classics. In this "Pindarique," Behn elevates such a relationship over politics and commerce. In her other poems as well, there is a precedence of close personal relationships over public enterprise. The portrayal of many of these relationships is in the classical pastoral tradition, and several of the poems also present the classical concept of the person with attributes of both sexes, the androgyne or hermaphrodite.

"Friendship" that is "Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain" is the basis for one section in the long poem describing Behn's social circle, "Our Cabal." The verses on "Mr. Ed. Bed." describe the relationship between Philander and Lycidas as conventionally androgynous, with implicit overtones of sexuality. Philander, she writes, "nere paid / A Sigh or Tear to any Maid: / ... / But all the Love he ever knew, / On Lycidas he does bestow."

Homoeroticism is standard in Behn's verse, either in descriptions such as these of male to male relationships or in depictions of her own attractions to women. Behn was married and widowed early, and as a mature woman her primary publicly acknowledged relationship was with a gay male, John Hoyle, himself the subject of much scandal. Behn was known to have had male lovers throughout her lifetime, most notably the man allegorized as "Amintas" in her verses, but she also writes explicitly of the love of women for each other. Just as the emotional and physical closeness of males is justified by their androgynous qualities, so, for women, hermaphroditic characteristics transcend conventional boundaries by allowing the enjoyment of female and male qualities in lovers.

The breaking of boundaries in poetry, as in her life, caused Behn to be criticized as well as admired publicly. Her best-known poem, "The Disappointment," finely illustrates Behn's ability to portray scandalous material in an acceptable form. The poem was sent to Hoyle with a letter asking him to deny allegations of ill conduct circulating about his activities. Both the letter and the poem were reprinted in early miscellaneous collections. "The Disappointment" has been traditionally interpreted to be about impotence. But it is also about rape, another kind of potency test, and presents a woman's point of view cloaked in the customary language of male physical license and sexual access to females. The woman's perspective in this poem provides the double vision that plays the conventional against the experiential.

One evening Lysander comes across Cloris in the woods. They are in love, and he makes sexual advances. She resists and tells him to kill her if he must, but she will not give up her honor, even though she loves him. He persists. She swoons. He undresses her. She lies defenseless and fully exposed to him, but he cannot maintain an erection. He tries self-stimulation without success. She recovers consciousness, discovers his limp penis with her hand, recoils in confusion, and runs away with supernatural speed. He rages at the gods and circumstance but mostly directs his anger at Cloris, blaming her for his impotence.

The traditional interpretation of this poem is that Cloris, having been aroused by Lysander's advances, flees from him in shame and that the lovers are both disappointed by Lysander's inability to consummate their relationship sexually. But that is only one line of meaning in the poem. Embedded in the text is another interpretation of these fourteen stanzas. Cloris is definite: she says leave me alone or kill me. For her, defloration is a fate worse than death, and she will not endure dishonor even for one she loves. When Lysander continues to force her "without Respect," she lies "half dead" and shows "no signs of life" but breathing. Traditionally her passion and breathlessness have been read as sexual arousal, but they might just as easily be read as signs of her struggle to escape Lysander, which exhausts her. As soon as her struggle ends, he is "unable to perform." In the poem, even though Cloris is unconscious, Lysander unsuccessfully tries self-stimulation, ostensibly to continue the attack. Cloris awakens, however, and takes the first opportunity she has to run away from him as fast as she can. Her decision to flee may clearly be seen as an attempt to escape. When she sees the state of things, she shows no sympathy. Lysander's anger is greater than mere disappointment--he rants at the gods and the universe for his impotence and accuses Cloris of witchcraft. The extent of his rage is more that of a thwarted assailant than an embarrassed lover.

For the first thirteen stanzas of the poem, the story is told in the third person, with an omniscient speaker. But in the last verse, in a startling change of voice to the first person, the speaker identifies herself with Cloris and closes the narrative in sympathy with the "Nymph's Resentments," which the speaker, as a woman, can "well Imagine" and "Condole." The usual interpretation of "The Disappointment" will stand in a conventional reading, but this point of view ignores a particularly female perspective that Behn clearly asserts when, in the last stanza, she identifies with Cloris and not Lysander. The unconventionality of this poem is apparent when it is contrasted with the presentation of joyous amorous relations in some of Behn's other poems.

One of her best-known verses, happily juxtaposed to "The Disappointment," is "Song: The Willing Mistriss." This poem describes how the female speaker becomes so aroused by the excellent courtship of her lover that she is "willing to receive / That which I dare not name." After three verses describing their lovemaking, she concludes with the coy suggestion, "Ah who can guess the rest?" The poem is a good example of Behn's treatment of conventional courtly and pastoral modes, as is the "Song. Love Arm'd," which describes Cupid's power to enamour.

Convention and ingenuity are further united in the poem "Song: The Invitation," where, witnessing Damon's pursuit of Sylvia, the speaker interposes herself to meet "the Arrows" of love and save Sylvia "from their harms" because Sylvia already has a lover and Damon would more appropriately be paired with the speaker.

In her poems Behn uses the dramatic qualities of voice which gave her such great stage success. Her verses are always spoken by a specific, identifiable individual, whose self-characterization becomes clear in the text. The effect of this technique is to give the poems a sense of immediacy and energy that reveals Behn's personality through her works. She almost always speaks from the point of view of a female, and her attitudes convey a woman's confidence in dealing with men's amorous advances and betrayals. In the poem "A Ballad on M. JH to Amoret, asking why I was so sad," the speaker tells how she was betrayed by her lover, and she warns Amoret to be careful and be sure to get the better of the man. Here the relationship between women is primary, as they are allies on the same side of the war of love. Men are frequently shown as enemies in the battle of the sexes, as Behn's poem "The Return" illustrates. In it she warns a tyrannous shepherd not to stray, since "Some hard-hearted Nymph may return you your own."

"The Reflection" is a classic song of betrayal with a twist. It is written from the point of view of a woman who gave in to her lover. He used every means he could to get her; then, the more she wanted him, the less he wanted her. Although he made many vows, he betrayed her. Since her pain is too great for tears, traditional consolation is inadequate; therefore, she will die. This poem is a variation on the standard pastoral "lover's complaint" of the male: conventionally the courtly beloved refuses to give in to her suitor, and he proclaims he will die of lovesickness. This poem uses the conventional pastoral mode, including the appeal to nature, to witness and participate in the lover's grief. But although the woman's sorrow is conventional, the consequences of betrayal are far more profound for her than they would be for a male counterpart. She is, in the old-fashioned meaning of the word, "dis-maid," bereft of her maidenhood, and as one no longer virgin, banished from consideration by future suitors. In her society there is nothing for her to look forward to, so she may as well die.

In "To Alexis in Answer to his Poem against Fruition. Ode" Behn asserts that men are only interested in conquest and that once they get what they want from one woman, they go on to another. This point of view, as presented by a male speaker, is also a highlight of the poems interspersed throughout the prose text of Lycidus: Or The Lover in Fashion. The popular "A Thousand Martyrs I have made" presents the philanderer's scorn for "the Fools that whine for Love" in the context of the narrator's lighthearted appraisal of his unreformed self. The speaker of the poem takes delight in his ability to play the game of love in appearances only, exempting himself from serious hurt. Because of his emotional detachment, ironically, he scores more conquests than those for whom love is serious.

One of Behn's strongest statements on the failure of a double standard in heterosexual love is "To Lysander, on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart then 'twas worth." This poem uses metaphors from banking and investment to illustrate Lysander's materialism, and the speaker promises to get even. She tells him to take back his heart, since he wants too much from her for it. He does not want an equal or fair return (her heart for his heart) but much more from her than he is willing to give. He does not allow her even to be friendly with others, but, at the same time, he is cheating on her. She protests that he gives her rival easily what she only gets with pain, and his intimacy with another hurts her. She calls for fairness in love--if he takes such liberties, she should be allowed them as well. If Lysander does not maintain honesty with her, she warns, he will find that she can play a trick too. Her "P. S. A Song" declares: "Tis not your saying that you love, / Can ease me of my Smart; / Your Actions must your Words approve, / Or else you break my Heart."

Behn's poems express anticonventional attitudes about other topics as well. She makes a strong antiwar statement in "Song: When Jemmy first began to Love," concluding with the question of what is to become of the woman left behind. In "To Mr. Creech (under the Name of Daphnis on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius)," she praises the translator for making accessible to unlearned women a work originally in Latin. As a member of the female class, which is denied education in the classics, she would like, she says, to express her admiration to him in an acceptable, manly fashion. Because she is a woman, however, her response to his translation is not mere admiration, but a fiery adoration, since women are thereby advanced to knowledge from ignorance. She describes the state of women as her own: "Till now, I curst my Birth, my Education, / And more the scanted Customes of the Nation: / Permitting not the Female Sex to tread, / The mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead."

Behn writes, then, as the representative of all women, allying herself openly with women against men in the war conventionally called love. She tells her friend Carola, "Lady Morland at Tunbridge," that even though she is a rival for Behn's lover, when she saw her, she grew to admire and love her. Because of that, she warns, beware of taking my lover as your own--he is experienced and can slip the chains of love. You deserve a virgin, she says, someone who has never loved before, who only has eyes for you and has a "soul as Great as you are Fair."

Women uniting to oppose a faithless male lover is the theme of Behn's entertainment, "Selinda and Cloris," in which the title characters befriend each other in order to deal with betrayal. First Selinda is warned by Cloris about Alexis, who was untrue to her. Selinda's response is to ally herself with the other woman and vow that Alexis will not conquer her as he did Cloris. The women praise each other's generosity and intelligence, agreeing to be good friends. The reciprocal relationship between the women includes both physical and intellectual attraction, friendship, and sexuality. Cloris "will sing, in every Grove, / The Greatness of your Mind," to which Selinda responds, "And I your Love." They trade verses and sing together just as traditional pastoral speakers do. In this case, however, in addition to being poets, lovers, singers, and shepherds, the speakers are also, untraditionally, female. The celebration of their mutual joy is a variant on the conventional masque of Hymen, and it presents in song and dance a formal poetic drama that emphasizes the eroticism of the women's relationship.

The bonding of women in female friendship is most clearly stated by Behn in her explicitly lesbian love poem, "To the fair Clarinda, who made Love to me, imagin'd more than woman." This is the last of the poems appended to Lycidus, and in it Behn shows how important to her were those androgynous qualities for which she herself was praised. Just as she was commended in the dedicatory verses of her Poems upon Several Occasions for having "A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace," Behn asserts the unity of "masculine" and "feminine" characteristics in her "beloved youth." She cleverly argues that she "loves" only the "masculine" part of Clarinda and to the "feminine" gives merely friendship. Since Clarinda's perfection manifests the idealized Platonic form, loving her cannot and should not be resisted. Further, since that by which society defines sex is not found in the female form, that is, women do not have the necessary physical equipment to consummate what is culturally considered "the sex act," love between women is, by definition, "innocent," and therefore not subject to censure. Clarinda is a hermaphrodite, a "beauteous Wonder of a different kind, / Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join'd."

The poem may be read as the speaker's justification of her own approach to a forbidden beloved, but Clarinda is not a passive fair maiden. She is the one who, the title states, "made Love" to the speaker, and, in the last quatrain, her "Manly part ... wou'd plead" while her "Image of the Maid" tempts. Clarinda, therefore, may also be seen as the initiator of their sexual activity, with the speaker justifying her own response in reaction to the public sexual mores of her time. As the poem ends, Behn, in a witty pun on her first name, asserts the multigendered sexuality of both Clarinda and the speaker, and "the noblest Passions do extend / The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend."

The complexity of Behn's verse, its logical argument, pastoral and courtly conventions, biblical and classical allusions, and incisive social comment define a unique poetic vision. Through the centuries, interest in at least some of her poetry has been maintained.

Aphra Behn's later reputation as a playwright, novelist, and poet has benefited from her value as a model for women writers as noted first by those distinguished Victorian women of letters, Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf. Sackville-West's early biography (1927) and Woolf's memorializing of Behn in A Room of One's Own (1929) as the first woman in England to earn her living by writing place Behn foremost in feminist literary history. Where she was previously criticized, today she is lauded, her poetry, along with her novels and plays, achieving the status it rightly deserves.
— Arlene Stiebel, California State University, Northridge
Bibliography

BOOKS

The Forc'd Marriage, Or The Jealous Bridegroom, A Tragi-Comedy, As it is Acted at His Highnesse The Duke of York's Theatre (London: Printed by H. L. & R. B. for James Magnus, 1671).
The Amorous Prince, or, The Curious Husband. A Comedy, As it is Acted at his Royal Highness, the Duke of York's Theatre (London: Printed by J. M. for Thomas Dring, 1671).
The Dutch Lover: A Comedy, Acted At The Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for Thomas Dring, 1673).
Abdelazer, or The Moor's Revenge. A Tragedy. As it is Acted at his Royal Highness the Duke's Theatre (London: Printed for J. Magnes & R. Bentley, 1677).
The Town-Fopp: Or Sir Timothy Tawdrey. A Comedy. As it is Acted at his Royal Highness the Duke's Theatre (London: Printed by T. N. for James Magnes & Rich Bentley, 1677).
The Debauchee: Or, The Credulous Cuckold, A Comedy. Acted at His Highness the Duke of York's Theatre (London: Printed for John Amery, 1677).
The Rover. Or, The Banish't Cavaliers. As it is Acted At His Royal Highness the Duke's Theatre (London: Printed for John Amery, 1677); modern edition, edited by Frederick M. Link (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1967; London: Arnold, 1967).
The Counterfeit Bridegroom: Or The Defeated Widow. A Comedy, As it is Acted at His Royal Highness The Duke's Theatre (London: Printed for Langley Curtiss, 1677).
Sir Patient Fancy: A Comedy. As it is Acted at the Duke's Theatre (London: Printed by D. Flesher for Richard Tonson & Jacob Tonson, 1678).
The Feign'd Curtizans, Or, A Nights Intrigue. A Comedy. As it is Acted at the Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for Jacob Tonson, 1679).
The Revenge: Or, A Match In Newgate. A Comedy. As it was Acted at the Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for W. Cademan, 1680).
The Second Part Of The Rover. As it is Acted by the Servants of His Royal Highness (London: Printed for Jacob Tonson, 1681).
A Farce Call'd The False Count, Or, A New Way to play An Old Game. As it is Acted at the Duke's Theatre (London: Printed by M. Flesher for Jacob Tonson, 1682).
The Roundheads Or, The Good Old Cause, A Comedy As it is Acted at His Royal Highness the Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for D. Brown, T. Benskin & H. Rhodes, 1682).
The City-Heiress: Or, Sir Timothy Treat-all. A Comedy. As it is Acted at his Royal Highness his Theatre (London: Printed for D. Brown, T. Benskin & H. Rhodes, 1682).
Prologue to Romulus [single sheet with epilogue on verso] (London: Printed by Nath. Thompson, 1682); republished in Romulus and Hersilia; or, The Sabine War. A Tragedy Acted at the Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for D. Brown & T. Benskin, 1683).
The Young King: Or, The Mistake. As 'tis acted at his Royal Highness The Dukes Theatre (London: Printed for D. Brown, T. Benskin & H. Rhodes, 1683).
Poems upon Several Occasions: with A Voyage to the Island of Love (London: Printed for R. Tonson & J. Tonson, 1684).
Prologue [to John Fletcher's Valentinian, altered by John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester] [single sheet] (London: Printed for Charles Tebroc, 1684).
Love-Letters Between a Noble-Man And his Sister, 2 volumes (London: Printed by Randal Taylor, 1684, 1687).
A Pindaric on the Death of Our Late Sovereign with an Ancient Prophecy on His Present Majesty (London: Printed by J. Playford for Henry Playford, 1685).
A Pindaric Poem on the Happy Coronation of His Most Sacred Majesty James II and His Illustrious Consort Queen Mary (London: Printed by J. Playford for Henry Playford, 1685).
La Montre; or, The Lover's Watch, Behn's translation of a work by Balthazar de Bonnecorse (London: Printed by R. H. for W. Canning, 1686).
The Luckey Chance, or An Alderman's Bargain. A Comedy. As it is Acted by their Majesty's Servants (London: Printed by R. H. for W. Canning, 1687).
The Emperor of the Moon: A Farce. As it is Acted by Their Majesties Servants, At the Queens Theatre (London: Printed by R. Holt for Joseph Knight & Francis Saunders, 1687).
A Congratulatory Poem to Her Most Sacred Majesty on the Universal Hopes of all Loyal Persons for a Prince of Wales (London: Printed for W. Canning, 1688).
The Fair Jilt: Or, The History of Prince Tarquin and Miranda (London: Printed by R. Holt for Will. Canning, 1688).
Oroonoko; Or, The Royal Slave. A True History (London: Printed for W. Canning, 1688).
The History of Oracles and the Cheats of the Pagan Priests, Behn's translation of Bernard Le Bovier Fontenelle's French adaptation of A. van Dale's De oraculis ethnicorum (London, 1688).
A Discovery of New Worlds. From the French. Made English by Mrs. A. Behn. To which is prefixed a preface, by way of essay on translated prose; wherein the arguments of Father Tacquet, and others, against the System of Copernicus ... are likewise considered, and answered, Behn's translation of, and preface to, a work by Fontenelle (London: Printed for William Canning, 1688).
Agnes de Castro or, The Force of Generous Love. Written in French by a Lady of Quality. Made English by Mrs. Behn, Behn's translation of a novel by J. B. de Brilhac (London: Printed for William Canning, 1688).
Lycidus: Or The Lover in Fashion. Being an Account from Lycidus to Lysander, of his Voyage from the Island of Love. From the French. By the Same Author Of the Voyage to the Isle of Love. Together with a Miscellany Of New Poems. By Several Hands, Behn's translation of a work by Paul Tallemant, with poems by Behn and others (London: Printed for Joseph Knight & F. Saunders, 1688)--includes the following poems by Behn: "Song. On Occasion"; "On the Honourable Sir Francis Fane, on his Play call'd the Sacrifice"; "To Damon. To inquire of him if he cou'd tell me by the Style, who writ me a Copy of Verses that came to me in an unknown Hand"; "To Alexis in Answer to his Poem against Fruition. Ode"; "To Alexis, On his saying, I lov'd a Man that talk'd much"; "A Pastoral Pindarick. On the Marriage of the Right Honourable the Earle of Dorset and Midlesex, to the Lady Mary Compton"; "On Desire A Pindarick"; "To Amintas, Upon reading the Lives of some of the Romans"; "On the first discovery of falseness in Amintas"; "To the fair Clarinda, who made Love to me, imagin'd more than woman".
The History of the Nun: Or, The Fair Vow-Breaker (London: Printed for A. Baskerville, 1689).
The Lucky Mistake: A New Novel (London: Printed by R. Bentley, 1689).
A Pindaric Poem to the Reverend Dr. Burnet (London: Printed for R. Bentley, 1689).
The Widdow Ranter or, The History of Bacon in Virginia. A Tragi-Comedy, Acted by their Majesties Servants (London: Printed for James Knapton, 1690).
The Younger Brother: Or, The Amorous Jilt. A Comedy, Acted at the Theatre Royal, By His Majesty's Servants (London: Printed for J. Harris & sold by R. Baldwin, 1696).
The Histories And Novels of the Late Ingenious Mrs. Behn: In One Volume.... Together with The Life and Memoirs of Mrs. Behn (London: Printed for S. Briscoe, 1696).
The Lady's Looking-Glass, to dress herself by; or, The Whole Art of Charming (London: W. Onley for S. Briscoe, 1697).
Histories, Novels, and Translations, written by the most ingenious Mrs. Behn; the second volume (London: Printed by W. O. for S. B. & sold by M. Brown, 1700).

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

It Rained That Day


Soft autumn rain ...
cascading over brightly colored cherry blossoms,
releasing a sweet scent of aromatic aphrodisiac
A fragrance of springtime love blowing in the gentle autumn wind
Our two hearts made a vow that day
We promised to fall in love anew
each day all over again
Fall madly in love a thousand times
every twenty-four hour spin
As the light, misty rain came down,
meeting our joyous laughter rising up to the clouds
Two lovebirds being purified,
two souls now joined together
as husband and wife
It rained gently that beautiful day
The maple and evergreen trees
greeted us with a mélange of bright promise,
of an ever evolving love that would last a lifetime
We beheld the colors of change all around us,
holding hands as our lives were changing as well
Upon the lifting of her white veil,
our eyes kissed and our lips looked
for no more words than two
I do
After a pregnant pause, we added another ...
I love you
Then we ran outside,
and frolicked like two little children
Me tugging at her beautiful, African zakiya dress,
she tossing aside my African kente vest
And when we pressed our cheeks together,
the soft autumn rain began to fall ... and we too were falling
more in love
I remember so well:
how it rained that day,
how gently the autumn rain fell

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Previously I had no plans to ever choose any of my poems to present in this thread----but,
this creation and my two great writing partners leads me to do so because of their verses, not mine!
I hope you may enjoy this collaboration as they both are top poets that spent over a month writing this poem with me!

Additional consideration is that, this poem posted at my home poetry site -only yesterday, was chosen as today's Top Poem of the Day there!
Thus I feel, they both ( Teppo Gren and Michael P Clarke) deserve to have it showcased here as it is truly a gem, a recognized gem by many others..
I have the greatest respect for these two friends and their poetic talents!!!! -Tyr

Remembered In Thy Full Bloom,Collaboration by Robert J Lindley, Teppo Gren and Michael P Clark

Remembered In Thy Full Bloom
A Collaboration By,
Robert Lindley, Teppo Gren
and Michael P Clarke.


Thou art remembered in thy full bloom,
a rose grown within my garden of life.
Thou art lost to me and this my doom,
Gone the tender love of my precious wife.

Ill wind had blown, poisoned arrows of fate,
love lost, ever I cry, we reunite.
Tho', should such be only at Heaven's gate,
illuminated, in true love's precious flight.

Thine effect so lives in my lonesome cast
as I meander in my ruthless path,
in darkened dust of my ill-fated past,
dying to break free from this endless wrath.

Yet memories sighs they recall our love,
when we did caress love's fiery desires.
In wondrous passions our hearts flew above,
Thou art memories ghost, kindling love's fires.

Pray I, your dream-winds soft and fair tonight,
eager heart leaps to melt in beauty's glows.
With yellow-moon kisses, all could be right,
our love's truth, written in destiny's scrolls.

As lonely spirits found love's true accord,
thy gentle soul caressed my heart with joy.
It was thy gracious beauty I adored,
for endless days thy soft caress enjoy.

Thou comest beloved, love for to bring,
thy wondrous beauty, darkness doth dispel.
In divinity thy heart it doth sing,
one moment of joy my heart did foretell.

Within each heart's spirit, desire to come
pray future treasures that announce their glow.
Thy touch, paradise in love's kingdom,
may we with grace, beg our romance to grow.

The light of life returned from dust to dust
be it not my destiny to abide,
and side with mortal ways in life unjust,
with a forlorn dream to be by my side.

Now back to the terror of my dark night,
once more into the pits of hell I fall.
Despair and sorrow darken God's bright light,
Deaths promised joys shall come, I hear death call.

Pray true, warmth and true color to the rose,
return pure gleam that sent my heart to thee.
Wherein all time, forever thee I chose,
thou art ripest flower, I thy lone bee.

Rejoice in death to treasure thine embrace
as end is nigh, with courage to depart.
A halo uncovers thy beauty's grace
to cast celestial light, and mend my heart.

And now doth come my end, I see death's light,
death doth touch my heart, now eternal love.
My beloved, I see thee shining bright,
I now praise death as I ascend above.

As my life's last shadow so swiftly falls,
pray I, this aching soul hears thy dear voice.
Ancient echoes whisper love words, thy calls,
now dear wife, I fly forth, your love my choice.

In heaven‘s garden thy rose blooms in trine,
as love’s eternal bond in sacred love
is cast beyond the faith of God’s design,
and prayers of truth are whispered up above.

Robert Lindley,Teppo Gren,
and Michael P Clarke.
4-10-2017

Notes:

This poem was written to try and find the sadness of a man lost in deep despair. His only escape are those small moments when his memories sigh his beloved to him. He is ready to welcome death so he can be with and hold his beloved again. Death will be a release.


I want to thank Micheal and Teppo, for the great pleasure it has been to
engage in this three way collaboration! Both for giving me such exquisite verses to write to and with...
I know this poem is long and took us a long time to complete, but to me it is well worth it .
As I could not be happier or any more proud of what our combined efforts have thus created.
I hope this fine poem gifts and pleases those that read it.. For such is the reward that any poet should hope for.
Mike and Teppo, my good friends may God bless you both..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Dream
----------by Louise Bogan
O God, in the dream the terrible horse began
To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows,
Fear kept for thirty-five years poured through his mane,
And retribution equally old, or nearly, breathed through his nose.

Coward complete, I lay and wept on the ground
When some strong creature appeared, and leapt for the rein.
Another woman, as I lay half in a swound
Leapt in the air, and clutched at the leather and chain.

Give him, she said, something of yours as a charm.
Throw him, she said, some poor thing you alone claim.
No, no, I cried, he hates me; he is out for harm,
And whether I yield or not, it is all the same.

But, like a lion in a legend, when I flung the glove
Pulled from my sweating, my cold right hand;
The terrible beast, that no one may understand,
Came to my side, and put down his head in love.