bardachd: (Default)
2012-11-27 12:11 am
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The Hearth of Rheged - anon

The Hearth of Rheged

Many a lively hound and spirited hawk
were fed on its floor
before this place was in ruins.

This hearth-
It was more accustomed on its floor
to mead and drinkers petitioning.

This hearth- nettles hide it.

(from Marwnad Urien Rheged, The Red Book of Hergest, written down c. 1382)
bardachd: (Default)
2011-01-25 09:57 pm
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Anna Imroth - Carl Sandburg

Cross the hands over the breast here-so.
Straighten the legs a little more-so.
And call for the wagon to come and take her home.
Her mother will cry some and so will her sisters and
brothers.
But all of the others got down and they are safe and
this is the only one of the factory girls who
wasn't lucky in making the jump when the fire broke.
It is the hand of God and the lack of fire escapes.
bardachd: (Default)
2010-09-02 11:42 pm

Sileas na Ceapaich: Alasdair à Gleanna Garadh

Alasdair à Gleanna Garadh,
Thug thu 'n-diugh gal air mo shùilibh;Read more... )
bardachd: (Default)
2010-09-02 11:20 pm
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Shiloh - A Requiem (April 1862) by Herman Melville

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh -
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh -
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there -
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.
bardachd: (Default)
2010-09-02 10:24 pm

Chidiock Tichborne's Elegy

Chidiock (Charles) Tichborne (1558 – September 20, 1586) is remembered as an English conspirator and poet. He was executed at the age of 25 for his involvement in the Babington plot.


My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;Read more... )