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Eurydice

I

So you have swept me back,
I who could have walked with the live souls
above the earth,
I who could have slept among the live flowers
at last;

so for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I am swept back
where dead lichens drip
dead cinders upon moss of ash;

so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot;

if you had let me wait

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poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Atalanta's Race

Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went,
Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day;
But since his horn-tipped bow but seldom bent,
Now at the noontide nought had happed to slay,
Within a vale he called his hounds away,
Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling
About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring.

But when they ended, still awhile he stood,
And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear,
And all the day-long noises of the wood,
And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year
His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear,
And heavy breathing from their heads low hung,
To see the mighty corner bow unstrung.

Then smiling did he turn to leave the place,
But with his first step some new fleeting thought
A shadow cast across his sun-burnt face;
I think the golden net that April brought

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poem by William Morris
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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In Love

You were in love with praise as fear is gone,
The dedication prizes me as one,
Instead, my faith considers some saffron,
In this lies beauty like the amazon.
I buy this food from the excellent dawn,
The day has commented on elation;
For when did saffron mingle in kitchen
As that collapsed like masters and the drawn.
Of course, use this advice once you die,
Less trouble happens mightily and fine,
The desk contains a paper of us all.
Once laughter brings us happiness then sigh,
For when this sigh has killed our soul and wine,
Our science brought us kisses to appal.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Indian Tiranga (tricolour)

First unfurled was the Indian tricolor
on Everest the world's highest peak.
All the three colors are deliberated
to give some message and to speak.

Dark saffron, white and Indian green
three colors of Indian national flag
all in horizontal rectangular bars
top to bottom respectively placed.

Green band at bottom say to everyone
grow with greenery and agriculture,
White band in middle of it, gives us
message of peace, truth and culture,

Saffron say us be brave and courageous
don't hesitate to sacrifice if nation needs,
Wheel of twenty four spokes at centre
tells, on path of progress always proceed.

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poem by S.D. Tiwari
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To Dad

The spice of our life has gone
Our kashmiri saffron
Red and bright as the moon
He was such a wonderful Man

He loved life but lived for others
He was honest and so generous
What unforeseen occurrence
What untimely cruel death
Now empty house, empty space
With out him nothing makes sense
He was for us an iron door
A consultant and an advisor
What a mentor what a father
He is now departed gone forever

Our autumn leaf has gone
Carried by the wind and flown
Golden as the color of the sun
He was such a delightful man

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poem by Tigest Samuel
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The Urchin in Dr. Radhakrishnan Rd.

Still the din dashes about in his dreams
now louder in the spaced quiet:
an occasional auto-rickshaw backfiring revving
spluttering
too close for chancy comfort
some blaring tv hoisted above craning necks

Over the squeezed out crackling mud sidewalk
his head buried in the crook of his charred bony arm
his right elbow crusted in a masked-eye pattern
his left spindly leg knotted at the knee
jauntily splayed in a triangle on his right
the mud-soaked sole inturned at the angle
as if to cushion the prickly grains on bare scorched skin
a defensive gesture against cold dust wind noise pain
the slight lukewarm breeze lifting from Marina Beach
teasing the settled dust the strangled pores
he had for a blanket

Through the dropped jaw rosy-pink at the bled bitten lips

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poem by T. Wignesan
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The Wanderings of Oisin: Book I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Birth of The War-God (Canto Seventh ) - Uma''s Bridal

In light and glory dawned the expected day
Blest with a kindly star's auspicious ray,
When gaily gathered at Himálaya's call
His kinsmen to the solemn festival.
Through the broad city every dame's awake
To grace the bridal for her monarch's sake;
So great their love for him, this single care
Makes one vast household of the thousands there.
Heaven is not brighter than the royal street
Where flowers lie scattered 'neath the nobles' feet,
And banners waving to the breeze unfold
Their silken broidery over gates of gold.
And she, their child, upon her bridal day
Bears her dear parents' every thought away.
So, when from distant shores a friend returns,
With deeper love each inmost spirit burns.
So, when grim Death restores his prey again
Joy brighter shines from memory of pain.
Each noble matron of Himálaya's race
Folds his dear Umá in a long embrace,

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poem by Kalidasa
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Georgic 1

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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