Charles Kingsley: Все стихи поэта

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Hypotheses Hypochondriacae

And should she die, her grave should be

Upon the bare top of a sunny hill,

Among the moorlands of her own fair land,

Amid a ring of old and moss-grown stones

In gorse and heather all embosomed.

There should be no tall stone, no marble tomb

Above her gentle corse;—the ponderous pile

Would press too rudely on those fairy limbs.

by Charles Kingsley

Frank Leigh's Song: AD 1586

Ah tyrant Love, Megaera's serpents bearing,

Why thus requite my sighs with venom'd smart?

Ah ruthless dove, the vulture's talons wearing,

Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart?

Is this my meed? Must dragons' teeth alone

In Venus' lawns by lovers' hands be sown?

Nay, gentlest Cupid; 'twas my pride undid me;

Nay, guiltless dove; by mine own wound I fell.

by Charles Kingsley

Elegiacs

Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;

Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.

Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, ??de? ya???,

Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife;

No more on magical steed borne free through the regions of ether,

But, like the hack which I ride, selling my sinew for gold.

Fruit-bearing autumn is gone; let the sad quiet winter hang o'er me—

What were the spring to a soul laden with sorrow and shame?

by Charles Kingsley

Dartside

I cannot tell what you say green leaves,

I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,

And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, rosy rocks,

I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,

And a word in you this day.

by Charles Kingsley

Down To The Mothers

Linger no more, my beloved, by abbey and cell and cathedral;

Mourn not for holy ones mourning of old them who knew not the Father,

Weeping with fast and scourge, when the bridegroom was taken from them.

Drop back awhile through the years, to the warm rich youth of the nations,

Childlike in virtue and faith, though childlike in passion and pleasure,

Childlike still, and still near to their God, while the day-spring of Eden

Lingered in rose-red rays on the peaks of Ionian mountains.

Down to the mothers, as Faust went, I go, to the roots of our manhood,

by Charles Kingsley

The Three Fishers

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,

Away to the West as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,

And the children stood watching them out of the town;

For men must work, and women must weep,

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

by Charles Kingsley

Christmas Day

How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?

A northern Christmas, such as painters love,

And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a year,

And dames who tell old legends by the fire?

Red sun, blue sky, white snow, and pearled ice,

Keen ringing air, which sets the blood on fire,

And makes the old man merry with the young,

Through the short sunshine, through the longer night?

by Charles Kingsley

Child Ballad

Jesus, He loves one and all,

Jesus, He loves children small,

Their souls are waiting round His feet

On high, before His mercy-seat.

While He wandered here below

Children small to Him did go,

At His feet they knelt and prayed,

On their heads His hands He laid.

by Charles Kingsley

A Lament

The merry merry lark was up and singing,

And the hare was out and feeding on the lea;

And the merry merry bells below were ringing,

When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow-yard,

And the lark beside the dreary winter sea;

And the baby in his cradle in the churchyard

Sleeps sound till the bell brings me.

by Charles Kingsley

A Christmas Carol

It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve,

I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary—

'Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,

And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery.

How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again?

Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary

The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain,

Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.'

by Charles Kingsley

A Hope

Twin stars, aloft in ether clear,

Around each other roll alway,

Within one common atmosphere

Of their own mutual light and day.

And myriad happy eyes are bent

Upon their changeless love alway;

As, strengthened by their one intent,

They pour the flood of life and day.

by Charles Kingsley

Airly Beacon

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh, the pleasant sight to see

Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,

While my love climbed up to me!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;

Oh, the happy hours we lay

Deep in fern on Airly Beacon,

Courting through the summer's day!

by Charles Kingsley