John Kenyon

(1784-1856 / Jamaica)

John Kenyon Poems

1. Attica Mella 10/12/2010
2. Blushing 10/12/2010
3. Bordighiera 10/12/2010
4. Brook Of Sanguinetto, 10/12/2010
5. Casa Mia 10/12/2010
6. Champagne Rose - I 10/12/2010
7. Champagne Rose - Ii 10/12/2010
8. Childhood - I 10/12/2010
9. Childhood - Ii 10/12/2010
10. Childhood - Iii 10/12/2010
11. Destiny 10/12/2010
12. Dorchester Amphitheatre . 10/12/2010
13. Earthly Parting 10/12/2010
14. Eclipse 10/12/2010
15. Epitaph 10/12/2010
16. Experimentum Crucis 10/12/2010
17. Flowers From Waterloo 10/12/2010
18. For The Same Book 10/12/2010
19. For The Sister’s Album 10/12/2010
20. Fragment. 10/12/2010
21. Freedom 10/12/2010
22. From Anacreon 10/12/2010
23. Gossip 10/12/2010
24. Grammarye 10/12/2010
25. Growing Attachment 10/12/2010
26. Growing Old 10/12/2010
27. Happiness 10/12/2010
28. Hint To The Poets 10/12/2010
29. In A Portrait Gallery 10/12/2010
30. Inscription For A Vase 10/12/2010
31. Inscription For An Eagle’s Foot 10/12/2010
32. L’envoi To A Poem On Tolerance 10/12/2010
33. La Piquante 10/12/2010
34. Lines For The Late Caroline K.’s Album 10/12/2010
35. Lines Sent To Elia, 10/12/2010
36. Lines Suggested By Ode Xxix. Book I. Of Horace 10/12/2010
37. Lines, 10/12/2010
38. Love 10/12/2010
39. Love In Disguise 10/12/2010
40. Love’s Auction 10/12/2010
Best Poem of John Kenyon

Past And Future

Our Past—how strangely swift! Its years—mere months!
Months—clipped to weeks! and longest day—an hour!
But oh! how slow the Future; slow to all
Of every age and being. Yon school-urchin,
Fresh from his Christmas-home, as now he bends him
With saddened brow o'er the black greasy slate;
Or strains himself, at stroke of early clock,
His all-unwelcome bedtime, to confront
Cold touch of wiry sheet, ah! not like home's;
How vainly would he pierce the dim half year

To his next holidays; and asks himself,
'And will they—will they—can they ever come?'
Youth too, ...

Read the full of Past And Future

A Fragment

TO---


Dear H---, it was you who laid it down
That up to Christmas we've no fogs in town;
And then you asked me, as I well remember,
What can the country offer in November?
To which I answer prospects, ne'er more fair,
Stream, wood and valley, seen through smokeless air;

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