Classic Poetry Aloud

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Oxford by Gerald Gould Oct 01, 2007

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Gould read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- Oxford by Gerald Gould (1885 – 1936) I came to Oxford in the light Of a spring-coloured afternoon; Some clouds were grey and some were white, And all were blown to such a tune Of quiet rapture in the sky, I laughed to see them laughing by. I had been dreaming in the train With thoughts at random from my book; I looked, and read, and looked again, And suddenly to greet my look Oxford shone up with every tower Aspiring sweetly like a flower. Home turn the feet of men that seek, And home the hearts of children turn, And none can teach the hour to speak What every hour is free to learn; And all discover, late or soon, Their golden Oxford afternoon. Comments Although the New York Times proclaimed in 1912 that “Gerald Gould Can Now Be Called a Great Poet” (for the review see: http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?_r=1&res=9B00E5DB133AE633A25753C1A9659C946396D6CF&oref=slogin), time has not favoured him. I think this may be a mistake. Classic Poetry Aloud aims to balance famous with worthy, but less well-known poets such as Gould. It would be a pity if a man who played a part in the evolution of British 20th Century verse as a reviewer and journalist was not also remembered for his own poetry.

Where a Roman Villa Stood Above Freiburg by Mary E Coleridge Sep 27, 2007

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Mary Coleridge read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- Where a Roman Villa Stood, Above Freiburg Mary E. Coleridge (1861 – 1907) On alien ground, breathing an alien air, A Roman stood, far from his ancient home, And gazing, murmured, "Ah, the hills are fair, But not the hills of Rome!" Descendant of a race to Romans-kin, Where the old son of Empire stood, I stand. The self-same rocks fold the same valley in, Untouched of human hand. Over another shines the self-same star, Another heart with nameless longing fills, Crying aloud, "How beautiful they are, But not our English hills!"

The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord Tennyson Sep 26, 2007

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Tennyson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- The Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 – 92) Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismay’d? Not tho’ the soldier knew Some one had blunder’d: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley’d and thunder’d; Storm’d at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flash’d all their sabres bare, Flash’d as they turn’d in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder’d: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro’ the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel’d from the sabre-stroke Shatter’d and sunder’d. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley’d and thunder’d; Storm’d at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro’ the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder’d. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! To learn more about the history of the Charge of Light Brigade, I strongly recommend listening to In Our Time: The Charge of The Light Brigade, via one of these links: http://209.85.62.159/audio/channels/in_our_time http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/radio4/iot/iot_20080110-1115.mp3 http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=73330895 And here are two articles on the Charge of the Light Brigade, reflecting on why it is such a large piece of British culture, despite being militarily unimportant: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/3944699.stm http://www.uea.ac.uk/edu/learn/braysher/charge.htm And this is an extract of Tennyson reading his poem: http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/poetry/outloud/tennyson.shtml

Meeting at Night & Parting at Morning by Robert Browning Sep 25, 2007

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Browning read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- Meeting at Night by Robert Browning (1812 – 1889) The grey sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i' the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Three fields to cross till a farm appears; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match, And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each! Parting at Morning by Robert Browning (1812 – 1889) Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun look'd over the mountain's rim: And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me.

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson Sep 24, 2007

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E Dickinson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then ’t is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity. First aired: 23 September 2007 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

The Good-morrow by John Donne Sep 21, 2007

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Donne read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- The Good-morrow by John Donne (1572 – 1631) I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den? T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee. And now good morrow to our waking soules, Which watch not one another out of feare; For love, all love of other sights controules, And makes one little roome, an every where. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne, Let us possesse one world, each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares, And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, Where can we finde two better hemispheares Without sharpe North, without declining West? What ever dyes, was not mixt equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe Sep 20, 2007

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Marlowe read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe (1564 – 1593) Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair linèd slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love.

The Drum by John Scott Sep 17, 2007

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John Scott read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- The Drum by John Scott (1731 – 1783) I hate that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round: To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, And lures from cities and from fields, To sell their liberty for charms Of tawdry lace and glitt'ring arms; And when Ambition's voice commands, To fight and fall in foreign lands. I hate that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round: To me it talks of ravaged plains, And burning towns and ruin'd swains, And mangled limbs, and dying groans, And widow's tears, and orphans moans, And all that Misery's hand bestows, To fill a catalogue of woes. First aired: 17 September 2007 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

Drinking by Abraham Cowley Sep 17, 2007

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Cowley read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Drinking by Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667) The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and when he 's done, The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun: They drink and dance by their own light, They drink and revel all the night: Nothing in Nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round. Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high, Fill all the glasses there—for why Should every creature drink but I? Why, man of morals, tell me why? For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2007

Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold Sep 13, 2007

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Arnold read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to classic poetry. --------------------------------------------------- Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold (1822 – 1888) The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand; Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.

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