Quartering this ripe pear
- a knife-and-fork job; it gave little away
except a slight softness around the stalk,
yet seems to contain more juice than
O come sweet sleep, and close my eyes with verse!
with drowsy metre, meet a deeper sleep;
to sleep, to dream, I never am averse -
to slumber numbed by poet's numbers deep;
How many noble schemes from goodwill's heart,
how many splendid plans and fine ideas
have foundered, lost their glorious craft and art
through hesitancy born of baseless fears?
There's nothing so becomes a man
as a local hardware shop - it expands
the horizons of his home improvement, and
brings harmony to his home life as
The poet's world and the philosopher's
may seem to be in aim, and truth of act,
so different; the poet offers us
fine dreams of heart; philosophy, fine fact;
What are the inward signs of truest love,
beyond the smile, the kiss, the touch of hand,
that joins our actions to the heaven above;
that constant love which shall for ever stand?
I was just staggering in the gate
with two heavy bags
from an exhausting week’s conference
when the conman and his accomplice
once might live in fear:
demon lovers, married,
or didn't live near...