A WINTER NIGHT

Sara Teasdale 1884-1933

My window-pane is starred with frost,

The world is bitter cold to-night,

The moon is cruel, and the wind

Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,

The beggars pacing to and fro,

God pity all the poor to-night

Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June,

Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,

But somewhere, like a homeless child,

My heart is crying in the cold. 

-o0o-

THE DARKLING THRUSH

Thomas Hardy  1840-1928

I leant upon a coppice gate

      When Frost was spectre-grey,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

      The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

      Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

      Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

      The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

      The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

      Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

      Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

      The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

      Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

      In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

      Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

      Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

      Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

      His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

      And I was unaware.

-o0o-

From "The Merchant of Venice" Act 4 Scene 1

William Shakespeare  1564-1616

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown;

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;

But mercy is above this sceptred sway;

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this,

That, in the course of justice, none of us

Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much

To mitigate the justice of thy plea;

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

-o0o-

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
Thomas Moore  1779-1852

 'Tis the last rose of summer,
            Left blooming alone ;
      All her lovely companions
            Are faded and gone ;
      No flower of her kindred,
            No rose-bud is nigh,
      To reflect back her blushes,
            Or give sigh for sigh.

      I'll not leave thee, thou lone one !
            To pine on the stem ;
      Since the lovely are sleeping,
            Go sleep thou with them.
      Thus kindly I scatter
            Thy leaves o'er the bed,
      Where thy mates of the garden
            Lie scentless and dead.

      So soon may I follow,
            When friendships decay,
      And from Love's shining circle
            The gems drop away.
      When true hearts lie wither'd,
            And fond ones are flown,
      Oh ! who would inhabit
            This bleak world alone ?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-