Poem of the Day @poemoftheday - Tumblr Blog

Posts

Poem of the Day 27 December 2025

Artillery

BY GEORGE HERBERT

As I one evening sat before my cell,

Methought a star did shoot into my lap.

I rose and shook my clothes, as knowing well

That from small fires comes oft no small mishap;

When suddenly I heard one say,

“Do as thou usest, disobey,

Expel good motions from thy breast,

Which have the face of fire, but end in rest.”

I, who had heard of music in the spheres,

But not of speech in stars, began to muse;

But turning to my God, whose ministers

The stars and all things are: “If I refuse,

Dread Lord,” said I, “so oft my good,

Then I refuse not ev’n with blood

To wash away my stubborn thought;

For I will do or suffer what I ought.

“But I have also stars and shooters too,

Born where thy servants both artilleries use.

My tears and prayers night and day do woo

And work up to thee; yet thou dost refuse.

Not but I am (I must say still)

Much more obliged to do thy will

Than thou to grant mine; but because

Thy promise now hath ev’n set thee thy laws.

“Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deign

To enter combat with us, and contest

With thine own clay. But I would parley fain:

Shun not my arrows, and behold my breast.

Yet if thou shunnest, I am thine:

I must be so, if I am mine.

There is no articling with thee:

I am but finite, yet thine infinitely.”

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #george herbert

Poem of the Day 28 December 2025

Aaron

BY GEORGE HERBERT

Holiness on the head,

Light and perfections on the breast,

Harmonious bells below, raising the dead

To lead them unto life and rest:

Thus are true Aarons drest.

Profaneness in my head,

Defects and darkness in my breast,

A noise of passions ringing me for dead

Unto a place where is no rest:

Poor priest, thus am I drest.

Only another head

I have, another heart and breast,

Another music, making live, not dead,

Without whom I could have no rest:

In him I am well drest.

Christ is my only head,

My alone-only heart and breast,

My only music, striking me ev'n dead,

That to the old man I may rest,

And be in him new-drest.

So, holy in my head,

Perfect and light in my dear breast,

My doctrine tun'd by Christ (who is not dead,

But lives in me while I do rest),

Come people; Aaron's drest.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #george herbert

Poem of the Day 26 December 2025

Redemption

BY GEORGE HERBERT

Having been tenant long to a rich lord,

Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold,

And make a suit unto him, to afford

A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old.

In heaven at his manor I him sought;

They told me there that he was lately gone

About some land, which he had dearly bought

Long since on earth, to take possessiòn.

I straight returned, and knowing his great birth,

Sought him accordingly in great resorts;

In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts;

At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied,

Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #george herbert

Poem of the Day 24 December 2025

The Pearl

BY GEORGE HERBERT

MATTHEW xiii

I know the ways of learning; both the head

And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;

What reason hath from nature borrowed,

Or of itself, like a good huswife, spun

In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,

What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire;

Both th'old discoveries and the new-found seas,

The stock and surplus, cause and history;

All these stand open, or I have the keys:

Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of honour; what maintains

The quick returns of courtesy and wit;

In vies of favours whether party gains

When glory swells the heart and moldeth it

To all expressions both of hand and eye,

Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,

And bear the bundle wheresoe'er it goes;

How many drams of spirit there must be

To sell my life unto my friends or foes:

Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of pleasure; the sweet strains

The lullings and the relishes of it;

The propositions of hot blood and brains;

What mirth and music mean; what love and wit

Have done these twenty hundred years and more;

I know the projects of unbridled store;

My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live,

And grumble oft that they have more in me

Than he that curbs them, being but one to five:

Yet I love thee.

I know all these and have them in my hand;

Therefore not seeled but with open eyes

I fly to thee, and fully understand

Both the main sale and the commodities;

And at what rate and price I have thy love,

With all the circumstances that may move.

Yet through the labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,

But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me

Did both conduct and teach me how by it

To climb to thee.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #george herbert

Poem of the Day 25 December 2025

Virtue

BY GEORGE HERBERT

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

The bridal of the earth and sky;

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,

For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,

A box where sweets compacted lie;

My music shows ye have your closes,

And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #george herbert

Poem of the Day 23 December 2025

To Lesbia, (of Lesbos—Clodia?) by Catullus translated by Richard Burton

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,

Rumoresque senum severiorum

Omnes unius aestimemus assis.

Soles occidere et redire possunt:

Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,

[9]

Nox est perpetua una dormienda.

Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,

Dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,

Deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.

Dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,

Conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,

Aut nequis malus invidere possit,

Cum tantum sciet esse basiorum.

To Lesbia, (of Lesbos—Clodia?)

Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day,

While all stern sayings crabbed sages say,

At one doit's value let us price and prize!

The Suns can westward sink again to rise

But we, extinguished once our tiny light,

Perforce shall slumber through one lasting night!

Kiss me a thousand times, then hundred more,

Then thousand others, then a new five-score,

Still other thousand other hundred store.

Last when the sums to many thousands grow,

The tale let's trouble till no more we know,

Nor envious wight despiteful shall misween us

Knowing how many kisses have been kissed between us.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #catullus #richard burton

Poem of the Day 22 December 2025

Archy's Song from Charles I (A Widow Bird Sate Mourning)

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Heigho! the lark and the owl!

One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:

Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,

Sings like the fool through darkness and light.

"A widow bird sate mourning for her love

Upon a wintry bough;

The frozen wind crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

"There was no leaf upon the forest bare,

No flower upon the ground,

And little motion in the air

Except the mill-wheel's sound."

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Poem of the Day 21 December 2025

A Coronet for his Mistress, Philosophy

BY GEORGE CHAPMAN

Muses that sing love's sensual empery,

And lovers kindling your enraged fires

At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,

Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;

You that prefer the painted cabinet

Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,

That all your joys in dying figures set,

And stain the living substance of your glory;

Abjure those joys, abhor their memory,

And let my love the honour'd subject be

Of love, and honour's complete history.

Your eyes were never yet let in to see

The majesty and riches of the mind,

But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #George Chapman

Poem of the Day 20 December 2025

The Old Man's Complaints. And how he gained them

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

The few locks which are left you are grey;

You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,

Now tell me the reason I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abused not my health and my vigour at first

That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,

Now tell me the reason I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

And life must be hastening away;

You are chearful, and love to converse upon death!

Now tell me the reason I pray.

I am chearful, young man, Father William replied,

Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!

And He hath not forgotten my age.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #robert southey

Poem of the Day 19 December 2025

The Well of St. Keyne

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY

A Well there is in the west country,

And a clearer one never was seen;

There is not a wife in the west country

But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,

And behind doth an ash-tree grow,

And a willow from the bank above

Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne;

Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,

And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,

For thirsty and hot was he,

And he sat down upon the bank

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by

At the Well to fill his pail;

On the Well-side he rested it,

And he bade the Stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,

"For an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day

That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,

Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life

She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here."

The Stranger he made reply,

"But that my draught should be the better for that,

I pray you answer me why?"

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time

Drank of this crystal Well,

And before the Angel summon'd her,

She laid on the water a spell.

"If the Husband of this gifted Well

Shall drink before his Wife,

A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be Master for life.

"But if the Wife should drink of it first,—

God help the Husband then!"

The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,

And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?"

He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake,

And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,

And left my Wife in the porch;

But i' faith she had been wiser than me,

For she took a bottle to Church."

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #robert southey

Poem of the Day 18 December 2025

Hellas: Chorus

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

CHORUS

The world's great age begins anew,

The golden years return,

The earth doth like a snake renew

Her winter weeds outworn:

Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam

Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains

From waves serener far;

A new Peneus rolls his fountains

Against the morning star.

Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep

Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,

Fraught with a later prize;

Another Orpheus sings again,

And loves, and weeps, and dies.

A new Ulysses leaves once more

Calypso for his native shore.

Oh, write no more the tale of Troy,

If earth Death's scroll must be!

Nor mix with Laian rage the joy

Which dawns upon the free:

Although a subtler Sphinx renew

Riddles of death Thebes never knew.

Another Athens shall arise,

And to remoter time

Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,

The splendour of its prime;

And leave, if nought so bright may live,

All earth can take or Heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose

Shall burst, more bright and good

Than all who fell, than One who rose,

Than many unsubdu'd:

Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,

But votive tears and symbol flowers.

Oh cease! must hate and death return?

Cease! must men kill and die?

Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn

Of bitter prophecy.

The world is weary of the past,

Oh might it die or rest at last!

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Poem of the Day 17 December 2025

Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

She left me at the silent time

When the moon had ceas'd to climb

The azure path of Heaven's steep,

And like an albatross asleep,

Balanc'd on her wings of light,

Hover'd in the purple night,

Ere she sought her ocean nest

In the chambers of the West.

She left me, and I stay'd alone

Thinking over every tone

Which, though silent to the ear,

The enchanted heart could hear,

Like notes which die when born, but still

Haunt the echoes of the hill;

And feeling ever—oh, too much!—

The soft vibration of her touch,

As if her gentle hand, even now,

Lightly trembled on my brow;

And thus, although she absent were,

Memory gave me all of her

That even Fancy dares to claim:

Her presence had made weak and tame

All passions, and I lived alone

In the time which is our own;

The past and future were forgot,

As they had been, and would be, not.

But soon, the guardian angel gone,

The daemon reassum'd his throne

In my faint heart. I dare not speak

My thoughts, but thus disturb'd and weak

I sat and saw the vessels glide

Over the ocean bright and wide,

Like spirit-winged chariots sent

O'er some serenest element

For ministrations strange and far,

As if to some Elysian star

Sailed for drink to medicine

Such sweet and bitter pain as mine.

And the wind that wing'd their flight

From the land came fresh and light,

And the scent of winged flowers,

And the coolness of the hours

Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day,

Were scatter'd o'er the twinkling bay.

And the fisher with his lamp

And spear about the low rocks damp

Crept, and struck the fish which came

To worship the delusive flame.

Too happy they, whose pleasure sought

Extinguishes all sense and thought

Of the regret that pleasure leaves,

Destroying life alone, not peace!

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Poem of the Day 16 December 2025

Psalm 84

BY MARY SIDNEY HERBERT COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE

How lovely is thy dwelling,

Great god, to whom all greatness is belonging!

To view thy courts far, far from any telling

My soul doth long and pine with longing

Unto the God that liveth,

The God that all life giveth,

My heart and body both aspire,

Above delight, beyond desire.

Alas, the sparrow knoweth

The house where free and fearless she resideth;

Directly to the nest the swallow goeth,

Where with her sons she safe abideth.

Oh, altars thine, most mighty

In war, yea, most almighty:

Thy altars, Lord, ah, why should I

From altars thine excluded lie?

Oh, happy who remaineth

Thy household-man and still thy praise unfoldeth!

Oh, happy who himself on thee sustaineth,

Who to thy house his journey holdeth!

Me seems I see them going

Where mulberries are growing:

How wells they dig in thirsty plain,

And cisterns make for falling rain.

Me seems I see augmented

Still troop with troop, till all at length discover

Zion, where to their sight is represented

The Lord of hosts, the Zion lover.

O Lord, O God, most mighty

In war, yea, most almighty:

Hear what I beg; hearken, I say,

O Jacob’s God, to what I pray.

Thou art the shield us shieldeth:

Then, Lord, behold the face of thine anointed

One day spent in thy courts more comfort yieldeth

Than thousands otherwise appointed.

I count it clearer pleasure

To spend my age’s treasure

Waiting a porter at thy gates

Than dwell a lord with wicked mates.

Thou art the sun that shineth;

Thou art the buckler, Lord that us defendeth:

Glory and grace Jehovah’s hand assigneth

And good without refusal sendeth

To him who truly treadeth

The path to pureness leadeth.

O Lord of might, thrice blessed he

Whose confidence is built on thee.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #Mary Sidney

Poem of the Day 15 December 2025

Milk for the Cat by Harold Monro

When the tea is brought at five o'clock,

And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,

The little black cat with bright green eyes

Is suddenly purring there.

At first she pretends, having nothing to do,

She has come in merely to blink by the grate,

But, though tea may be late or the milk may be sour,

She is never late.

And presently her agate eyes

Take a soft large milky haze,

And her independent casual glance

Becomes a stiff, hard gaze.

Then she stamps her claws or lifts her ears,

Or twists her tail and begins to stir,

Till suddenly all her lithe body becomes

One breathing, trembling purr.

The children eat and wriggle and laugh;

The two old ladies stroke their silk:

But the cat is grown small and thin with desire,

Transformed to a creeping lust for milk.

The white saucer like some full moon descends

At last from the clouds of the table above;

She sighs and dreams and thrills and glows,

Transfigured with love.

She nestles over the shining rim,

Buries her chin in the creamy sea;

Her tail hangs loose; each drowsy paw

Is doubled under each bending knee.

A long, dim ecstasy holds her life;

Her world is an infinite shapeless white,

Till her tongue has curled the last holy drop,

Then she sinks back into the night,

Draws and dips her body to heap

Her sleepy nerves in the great arm-chair,

Lies defeated and buried deep

Three or four hours unconscious there.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #harold monro

Poem of the Day 14 December 2025

A Lament

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

O world! O life! O time!

On whose last steps I climb,

Trembling at that where I had stood before;

When will return the glory of your prime?

No more—Oh, never more!

Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight;

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,

Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight

No more—Oh, never more!

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Poem of the Day 13 December 2025

The Fitful Alternations of the Rain

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

The fitful alternations of the rain,

When the chill wind, languid as with pain

Of its own heavy moisture, here and there

Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Poem of the Day 12 December 2025

Art thou pale for weariness

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,

And ever changing, like a joyless eye

That finds no object worth its constancy?

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #percy bysshe shelley

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Poem of the Day