Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems
|401.||St. Valentine's Day||1/4/2003|
|402.||The Wanderer’s Return||4/13/2010|
|403.||A Dream Of Good||4/13/2010|
|404.||A Lesson In Humility||4/13/2010|
|405.||The Old Squire||1/1/2004|
|406.||Quatrains Of Life||4/13/2010|
|407.||A Digit Of The Moon||4/13/2010|
|409.||A Love Secret||4/13/2010|
|410.||Laughter And Death||1/1/2004|
Comments about 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 ...
Written At Florence
O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young;
When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age?
World, with thy covering of yellow flowers,
Hast thou forgot what generations sprung
Out of thy loins and loved thee and are gone?
Hast thou no place in all their heritage
Where thou dost only weep, that I may come
Nor fear the mockery of thy yellow flowers?
O world, in very truth thou art too young.