Lascelles Abercrombie

Lascelles Abercrombie Poems

We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
...

WHAT thing shall be held up to woman's beauty?
Where are the bounds of it? Yea, what is all
The world, but an awning scaffolded amid
The waste perilous Eternity, to lodge
...

She

ONLY to be twin elements of joy
In this extravagance of Being, Love,
...

ir, you shall notice me: I am the Man;
I am Good Fortune: I am satisfied.
All I desired, more than I could desire,
...

Said God, 'You sisters, ere ye go
Down among men, my work to do,
I will on each a badge bestow:
Hope I love best, and gold for her,
...

Thomas
To India! Yea, here I may take ship;
From here the courses go over the seas,
Along which the intent prows wonderfully
Nose like lean hounds, and tack their journeys out,
...

The sun drew off at last his piercing fires.
Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond
And moveless in the grey quieted street,
...

Make way, make way,
You thwarting stones;
Room for my play,
Serious ones.
...

BALKIS was in her marble town,
And shadow over the world came down.
Whiteness of walls, towers and piers,
That all day dazzled eyes to tears,
...

Roses can wound,
But not from having thorns they do most harm;
Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd,
Deep in the soul alarm.
...

The Dream

All round the knoll, on days of quietest air,
Secrets are being told; and if the trees
...

Too soothe and mild your lowland airs
for one whose hope is gone:
I'm think of the little tarn,
Brown, very lone.
...

Lascelles Abercrombie Biography

Lascelles Abercrombie (also known as the Georgian Laureate, linking him with the "Georgian poets") was a British poet and literary critic, one of the "Dymock poets". He was born in Ashton upon Mersey and educated at the University of Manchester. Before the First World War, he lived for a time at Dymock in Gloucestershire, part of a community that included Rupert Brooke and Robert Frost. Edward Thomas also visited. In 1922, he was appointed Professor of English at the University of Leeds. In 1929 he moved on to the University of London, and in 1935 to a prestigious readership at Oxford University. He wrote a series of works on the nature of poetry, and several volumes of original verse, that were collected in 'Poems' (1930). In the same year he published separately his most important poem, 'The Sale of Saint Thomas' in six 'Acts'. Non-poetic works of his include The Idea of Great Poetry (1925) and Romanticism (1926). He was the brother of the architect Patrick Abercrombie. His son was the cell biologist Michael Abercrombie.)

The Best Poem Of Lascelles Abercrombie

Hymn To Love

We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:

But burn’d not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce méood in a séong céaught,
We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.

For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,—
The lives travelling dark fears,
And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool
Thrown down abysmal places?

Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth
And our journeying time theirs;
As words of air, life makes of starry earth
Sweet soul-delighted faces;

As voices are we in the worldly wind;
The great wind of the world’s fate
Is turn’d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.

But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d,
Not borne down by the wind’s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fill’d with fires.

For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love’s meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like syllables to throng
His tunes of exultation.

Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly,
As rain blown along earth’s fields;
Yet are we god-desiring liturgy,
Sung joys of adoration;

Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife,
We go charged with a strong flame;
For as a language Love hath seized on life
His burning heart to story.

Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee,
Thy thought’s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory.

Lascelles Abercrombie Comments

invoker 23 February 2018

you idiots we need explainations aswell

1 0 Reply
Ãmmâñ Hasan 07 March 2018

Thought for my best friend.....

1 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 30 March 2024

I'd like to give the poem 5 Stars.

0 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 30 March 2024

I cannot find his poem THE BOX, very pity

0 0 Reply
MAHTAB BANGALEE 24 January 2021

There poem lives happily where the poetic thoughts travel thorougly the readers minds and govern mystically, this poet is such type; I love this classical poet

1 0 Reply
Alex Fangal 21 January 2021

For my Senior Class ‘mantra', I chose the final two lines in Stanza 6, "No faith can last that never sings."

1 0 Reply
M Asim Nehal 07 April 2019

Nice poems.

1 0 Reply

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