And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,. From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,. Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops,. Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale.
Never / Hungry / The / Poem / Is
A land where all things always seem'd the same! Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave. His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;. And music in his ears his beating heart did make.
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Then some one said, "We will return no more";. Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam. Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,. And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
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While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone,. Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,. All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave. Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,. To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,. Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;. Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!
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And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change:. For surely now our household hearths are cold,. And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings. And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. There is confusion worse than death,. And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. How sweet while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly. To watch the long bright river drawing slowly. From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine—. Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,. Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone:.
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Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we,. Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free,. Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,. In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined. On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. Sometimes he writes poems. Carole Bromley lives in York, where she is the Stanza rep and runs poetry surgeries for the Poetry Society.
Sue Burge is a creative writing and film studies lecturer and sci-fi film fan based in Norfolk. She has had poems published in a wide range of magazines. He recently travelled to Alaska and saw a real grizzly bear. Shruti Chauhan is a poet and performer from Leicester. Alexandra Citron was born in the US. She remains tangled in history and poetry and mind-boggled by the idea of humanity in space. Frank Dullaghan is an Irish poet living in Dubai. His most recent collection is Lifting the Latch Cinnamon Press, He is hoping to publish the pamphlet as a stand-alone book.
She was born in Hertfordshire and now lives near Leeds.
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Rosie Garland is a novelist, poet, and singer in the post-punk band The March Violets. Matthew Haigh lives and works in Cardiff. His fourth collection, Blue Wallpaper , is forthcoming from Waterloo Press.
Susannah Hart is a London-based poet whose work has been widely published in magazines and online. Her sequence, Tidelines , commissioned by Poetry In Aldeburgh, appeared in the festival exhibition in Tim Kiely is a criminal barrister living and working in London. Alice Merry is a British poet living in Lima, Peru. She has previously been published by Orbis and has performed at events including the Cheltenham Poetry Festival. The title is the last line of her poem, which appears in this anthology in a shorter version.
Jessica Mookherjee is from Wales and now lives in Kent. Her first collection, Flood Cultured Llama , was published in and she has a second collection from Nine Arches Press forthcoming in summer Chloe Murphy lives in Brighton and is thrilled to have finally completed a full poem. This is her first published poem. Luke Palmer teaches English in Wiltshire. His first pamphlet, Spring in the Hospital , won the Prole Pamphlet competition. She is working on her first pamphlet.
In between writing poetry, she works as a veterinary surgeon in Saffron Walden.