Classic Poetry Aloud

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296. Scorn not the Sonnet by William Wordsworth Jul 21, 2008

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W Wordsworth read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Scorn not the Sonnet by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief; The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains--alas, too few! For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

295. London by William Blake Jul 20, 2008

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W Blake read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- London by William Blake (1757 – 1827) I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infants cry of fear, In every voice: in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldiers sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls. But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear, And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

294. San Miniato by Oscar Wilde Jul 19, 2008

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O Wilde read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- San Miniato by Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900) See, I have climbed the mountain side Up to this holy house of God, Where once that Angel-Painter trod Who saw the heavens opened wide, And throned upon the crescent moon The Virginal white Queen of Grace, - Mary! could I but see thy face Death could not come at all too soon. O crowned by God with thorns and pain! Mother of Christ! O mystic wife! My heart is weary of this life And over-sad to sing again. O crowned by God with love and flame! O crowned by Christ the Holy One! O listen ere the searching sun Show to the world my sin and shame. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

293. The Child by Sara Coleridge Jul 18, 2008

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S Coleridge read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Child by Sara Coleridge (1802 – 1850) See yon blithe child that dances in our sight! Can gloomy shadows fall from one so bright? Fond mother, whence these fears? While buoyantly he rushes o'er the lawn, Dream not of clouds to stain his manhood's dawn, Nor dim that sight with tears. No cloud he spies in brightly glowing hours, But feels as if the newly vested bowers For him could never fade: Too well we know that vernal pleasures fleet, But having him, so gladsome, fair, and sweet, Our loss is overpaid. Amid the balmiest flowers that earth can give Some bitter drops distil, and all that live A mingled portion share; But, while he learns these truths which we lament, Such fortitude as ours will sure be sent, Such solace to his care. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

292. Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen Jul 17, 2008

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W Owen read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen (1893 – 1918) What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, – The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires. What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. First aired: 6 September 2007 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

291. A Garden: Written after the Civil Wars by Andrew Marvell Jul 16, 2008

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A Marvell read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- A Garden: Written after the Civil Wars by Andrew Marvell (1621 – 1678) See how the flowers, as at parade, Under their colours stand display'd: Each regiment in order grows, That of the tulip, pink, and rose. But when the vigilant patrol Of stars walks round about the pole, Their leaves, that to the stalks are curl'd, Seem to their staves the ensigns furl'd. Then in some flower's beloved hut Each bee, as sentinel, is shut, And sleeps so too; but if once stirr'd, She runs you through, nor asks the word. O thou, that dear and happy Isle, The garden of the world erewhile, Thou Paradise of the four seas Which Heaven planted us to please, But, to exclude the world, did guard With wat'ry if not flaming sword; What luckless apple did we taste To make us mortal and thee waste! Unhappy! shall we never more That sweet militia restore, When gardens only had their towers, And all the garrisons were flowers; When roses only arms might bear, And men did rosy garlands wear? For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

290. The Toys by Coventry Patmore Jul 15, 2008

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C Patmore read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Toys by Coventry Patmore (1823 – 1896) My little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, I struck him, and dismiss'd With hard words and unkiss'd, — His Mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, But found him slumbering deep, With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; For, on a table drawn beside his head, He had put, within his reach, A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, A piece of glass abraded by the beach, And six or seven shells, A bottle with bluebells, And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art, To comfort his sad heart. So when that night I pray'd To God, I wept, and said: Ah, when at last we lie with trancèd breath, Not vexing Thee in death, And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys, How weakly understood Thy great commanded good, Then, fatherly not less Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, 'I will be sorry for their childishness.' For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

289. from the Daughter of Herodias by Arthur O’Shaughnessy Jul 14, 2008

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A. O’Shaughnessy read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- from the Daughter of Herodias by Arthur O’Shaughnessy (1844 – 1881) Her long black hair danced round her like a snake Allured to each charmed movement she did make; Her voice came strangely sweet; She sang: “ O, Herod, wilt thou look on me – Have I no beauty thy heart cares to see ?” And what her voice did sing her dancing feet Seemed ever to repeat. She sang:” O, Herod, wilt thou look on me ? What sweet I have, I have it all for thee”. And through the dance and song She freed and floated on the air her arms Above dim veils that hid her bosom’s charms: The passion of her singing was so strong It drew all hearts along. Her sweet arms were unfolded on the air, They seemed like floating flowers the most fair – White lilies the most choice; And in the gradual bending of her hand There lurked a grace that no man could withstand; Yea, none knew whether hands, or feet, or voice, Most made his heart rejoice. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

288. Sonnet 130 My Mistress' Eyes by William Shakespeare Jul 13, 2008

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W Shakespeare read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Sonnet 130 My Mistress' Eyes by William Shakespeare My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,--yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

287. The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Jul 12, 2008

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HW Longfellow read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life’s endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

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