Biography of Richard Hovey
Richard Hovey Poems
The Sea Gypsy
I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay.
At The Crossroads
You to the left and I to the right, For the ways of men must sever— And it well may be for a day and a night, And it well may be forever.
We came to birth in battle; when we pass, It shall be to the thunder of the drums. We are not one that weeps and saith Alas,
As one of those huge monsters of the sky, Fierce with the flame of fiery floating hair, Falls from the zenith through the upper air,
At The End Of The Day
There is no escape by the river, There is no flight left by the fen; We are compassed about by the shiver Of the night of their marching men.
IF thou canst not from some superior sphere Look down upon this world that gave thee birth Or from some glad abode of stingless mirth
HO, a song by the fire! (Pass the pipes, fill the bowl!) Ho, a song by the fire!
Comrades, pour the wine to-night For the parting is with dawn! Oh, the clink of cups together, With the daylight coming on!
The Thought Of Her
My love for thee doth take me unaware, When most with lesser things my brain is wrought, As in some nimble interchange of thought The silence enters, and the talkers stare.
I SOMETIMES long to throw my books away And to forget the thoughts that make me sad- The mighty musings that have ever clad
When We Are Dead
WHEN we are dead I firmly do believe We shall slip back into the primal sea Of the universal life, that there shall be
Accident In Art
What painter has not with a careless smutch Accomplished his despair?-one touch revealing All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling,
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
GONE art thou, then, O mystical musician! Pure-thoughted singer of these sinful years! No more shall dreams and doubts and hopes and fears
Hanover Winter Song
Ho, a song by the fire; Pass the pipes, pass the bowl. Ho, a song by the fire With a skoal, with a skoal.
At The End Of The Day
There is no escape by the river,
There is no flight left by the fen;
We are compassed about by the shiver
Of the night of their marching men.
Give a cheer!
For our hearts shall not give way.
Here's to a dark to-morrow,
And here's to a brave to-day!