Christopher Pearse Cranch Poems

O SOLEMN portal, veiled in mist and cloud,
Where all who have lived throng in, an endless line,
Forbid to tell by backward look or sign
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UNBIDDEN to the feast where friends have brought,
To greet thy seventy years, their wreaths of rhyme, —
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SING, poets, as ye list, of fields, of flowers,
Of changing seasons with their brilliant round
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I.
Before PROSPERO'S cell. Moonlight.
ARIEL.
So — Prospero is gone — and I am free —
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AH, who can tell which guide were best
To truth long sought, but unattained —
The early faith, or late unrest?
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HAD I, instead of unsonorous words,
The skill that moves in rapturous melodies,
And modulations of entrancing chords
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FAR in the shuddering spaces of the North
We live. We saw a Shape
Of terror rise and spread and issue for ...
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A Moorish Ballad
IN Grenada reigned Mohammed,
Sixth who bore the name was he;
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Many a year has fled away
Since this old palette was new,
As may be seen by the spots of green
And yellow and red and blue.
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I LOVE it, yet I hardly can tell why —
My studio with its window to the sky,
Far up above the noises of the street,
...