Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

41. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxx 4/13/2010
42. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxi 4/13/2010
43. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxii 4/13/2010
44. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxiii 4/13/2010
45. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxiv 4/13/2010
46. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxix 4/13/2010
47. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxv 4/13/2010
48. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxvi 4/13/2010
49. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxvii 4/13/2010
50. A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxviii 4/13/2010
51. A Nocturne 4/13/2010
52. A Perfect Sonnet 4/13/2010
53. A Relapse 4/13/2010
54. A Rhapsody 4/13/2010
55. A Storm In Summer 4/13/2010
56. A Summer In Tuscany 4/13/2010
57. A Vision Of Folly 4/13/2010
58. A Wedding March 4/13/2010
59. A Woman’s Sonnets: I 4/13/2010
60. A Woman’s Sonnets: Ii 4/13/2010
61. A Woman’s Sonnets: Iii 4/13/2010
62. A Woman’s Sonnets: Iv 4/13/2010
63. A Woman’s Sonnets: Ix 4/13/2010
64. A Woman’s Sonnets: V 4/13/2010
65. A Woman’s Sonnets: Vi 4/13/2010
66. A Woman’s Sonnets: Vii 4/13/2010
67. A Woman’s Sonnets: Viii 4/13/2010
68. A Woman’s Sonnets: X 4/13/2010
69. A Woman’s Sonnets: Xi 4/13/2010
70. A Woman’s Sonnets: Xii 4/13/2010
71. Across The Pampas 4/13/2010
72. Adonis 4/13/2010
73. Alfred Tennyson 4/13/2010
74. All White 4/13/2010
75. All White Continued 4/13/2010
76. Ambition 4/13/2010
77. An Autumn Sonnet 4/13/2010
78. An Inscription 4/13/2010
79. An Unwritten Tragedy 4/13/2010
80. Antara 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Laughter And Death

THERE is no laughter in the natural world
Of beast or fish or bird, though no sad doubt
Of their futurity to them unfurled
Has dared to check the mirth-compelling shout.
The lion roars his solemn thunder out
To the sleeping woods. The eagle screams her cry.
Even the lark must strain a serious throat
To hurl his blest defiance at the sky.
Fear, anger, jealousy, have found a voice.
Love’s pain or rapture the brute bosoms swell.
Nature has symbols for her nobler joys,
Her nobler sorrows. Who had dared foretell
That only man, by some sad ...

Read the full of Laughter And Death

The Desolate City

DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
   Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
   A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.

Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
   Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
   Each one sang to his love;

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