Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more"

Poem by Edgar Allan Poe called The Raven

The rest of it ....

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Thorough analysis of the raven by wiki
..

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Raven

Children of the Sun, by Fenton Johnson

We are children of the sun,

Rising sun!
Weaving Southern destiny,

Waiting for the mighty hour

When our Shiloh shall appear
With the flaming sword of right,
With the steel of brotherhood,
And emboss in crimson die

Liberty! Fraternity!
We are the star-dust folk,
Striving folk!
Sorrow songs have lulled to rest;
Seething passions wrought through wrongs,
Led us where the moon rays dip
In the night of dull despair,

Showed us where the star gleams shine,
And the mystic symbols glow—
Liberty! Fraternity!
We have come through cloud and mist,
Mighty men!
Dusk has kissed our sleep-born eyes,
Reared for us a mystic throne
In the splendor of the skies,

That shall always be for us,

Children of the Nazarene,
Children who shall ever sing
Liberty! Fraternity!

The poetry of Fenton Johnson has often been by critics to be characterized by great irony and a kind of hopelessness resulting from an embattled African American experience. In his introduction to Fenton Johnson in The Book of American Negro Poetry, James Weldon Johnson writes that in many of Johnson’s poems, “there is nothing left to fight or even hope for.” Yet, James Weldon Johnson continues, “these poems of despair possess tremendous power and constitute Fenton Johnson’s best work.” Fenton Johnson is often seen as a poet who possesses a particularly fatalistic perspective branching from his experience as an African American, and this type of embittered poetry is what he is most known for. Wiki

Ships that Pass in the Night

By Paul Laurence Dunbar (Born on June 27, 1872)

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;
I look far out into the pregnant night,
Where I can hear a solemn booming gun
And catch the gleaming of a random light,
That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.

My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing;
For I would hail and check that ship of ships.
I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,
My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,
And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,
O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!
Is there no hope for me? Is there no way
That I may sight and check that speeding bark
Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

Meaning:

Laurence Dunbar expresses his wish of everybody having opportunities in life, regardless of their race. Although the African Americans were free, they were still discriminated against and had less chances to do things than the white people did. "Pregnant night" to me means that they have hope and expectation that the opportunities will come to them (Line 2). And anyways, we also say a woman is expecting when she is pregnant. Thus, it makes sense here. Dunbar catches "the gleaming of a random light" (Line 4). This means that he is sensing the opportunity is nearby but not in his grasp as "the ship I [Dunbar] seek[s] is passing, passing," and the opportunity passes him by (Line 5). The concept of opportunity is represented by the ship.

The second stanza summarises how Dunbar tries to reach the opportunities but his voice is not strong enough and only the "its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing" (Line 5). Finally Dunbar questions if there is any "way that I [Dunbar] may sight and check that speeding bark which out of of sight and sound is passing, passing," or in other words, will he ever be able to try out anything that he is deprived of solely due to his colour? He simply wants to do what the others, the white people, can; and this is the wish of every black person during that time.

http://rjkliterature2014-2015.weebly.com/analysis-of-ships-that-pass-in-the-night.html

Robert Frost's A Dream Pang

I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway;
And to the forest edge you came one day
(This was my dream) and looked and pondered long,
But did not enter, though the wish was strong:
You shook your pensive head as who should say,
I dare not—too far in his footsteps stray—
He must seek me would he undo the wrong
Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all
Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;
And the sweet pang it cost me not to call
And tell you that I saw does still abide
But ’tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,
For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof

Robert Frost's a dream pang

https://www.kibin.com/essay-examples/emotional-distance-in-a-dream-pang-by-robert-frost-ahuN8lWh

The Dawn’s Awake! A poem by Otto Leland Bohanan

The dawn's awake!
A flash of smoldering flame and fire
Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher,
O’er all the sky so gray, forlorn,
The torch of gold is borne
The Dawn’s awake!
The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills.
And music singing in the hills
A pæan of eternal spring
Voices the new awakening
The Dawn’s awake!
Whispers of pent-up harmonies,
With the mingled fragrance of the trees;
Faint snatches of half-forgotten song—
Fathers! torn and numb,—
The boon of light we craved, awaited long,
Has come, has come!"

Review Questions

Directions: Respond to these questions to the best of your ability. Answer the questions completely. If you need more space, use the back or a separate sheet.

1. Identify two examples of personification: explain what is being personified & how in each example.
The Dawn is awake: dawn is given the human trait of waking.
Music singing in the hills: music is given the ability of singing.
Voices the new awakening: the Paean is given a voice.
The torch of gold is borne: a torches (or suns) are not really born persay.

2. Identify an example of hyperbole: explain how it is exaggerated.
The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills: it could be interpreted that this is an exaggeration.
A paeanof eternal spring: Spring is not eternal. Even the sun will extinguish at some time. This line is an exaggeration.

3. Identify an example of metaphor: explain which two things are being compared.
The torch of gold is borne: this compares the sun to a torch of gold without using the word "like" or "as."
The Dawn may have a greater value. See the answer to question 6.

4. Find three examples of imagery in the poem that access three different senses. Explain which senses are called on by the speaker for each example.
There are many examples of visual and audio imagery throughout the poem.
With the mingled fragrance of the trees: this uses olfactory imagery or imagery of the nose.
Fathers! torn and numb: this line accesses the sense of touch.

5. Contrast the tone of this line "Fathers! torn and numb,--" with the tone of the rest of the poem. How is this line different and why do you think that it is?
With the exception of this line and the one about the grey skies, the tone in most of the poem is overwhelmingly bright and positive. The reason that this line is there might be to remind readers of the hardships that African Americans had experienced in the past. Or to remind us that not everyone will be able to fully enjoy the nice day, as many will be tearing their bodies in labor and such.

6. This poem was written by an African American poet during the Harlem Renaissance. Knowing this, how might one interpret the "Dawn" beyond its literal meaning? What might the "Dawn" represent?
The Dawn may represent the bright awakening of African American culture in America after much cultural repression. Some students may interpret it as representing the freedom of the African Americans after hundreds of years of slavery, and I would accept such an interpretation.

http://www.ereadingworksheets.com/figurative-language-worksheets/figurative-language-poem-4-the-dawns-awake-by-otto-leland-bohanan-answers.html

The Brook and the Wave, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The brooklet came from the mountain,
As sang the bard of old,
Running with feet of silver
Over the sands of gold!
Far away in the briny ocean there rolled a turbulent wave,
Now singing along the sea-beach,
Now howling along the cave
And the brooklet has found the billow,
Though they flowed so far apart,
And has filled with its freshness and sweetness
That turbulent bitter heart!

Though much of his work is categorized as lyric poetry, Longfellow experimented with many forms, including hexameter and free verse.[91] His published poetry shows great versatility, using anapestic and trochaic forms, blank verse, heroic couplets, ballads and sonnets.[92] Typically, Longfellow would carefully consider the subject of his poetic ideas for a long time before deciding on the right metrical form for it.[93] Much of his work is recognized for its melody-like musicality.[94] As he says, "what a writer asks of his reader is not so much to like as to listen".[95]
Wiki.

A haiku written by Kobayash Issa:


Everything I touch
with tenderness, alas,
pricks like a bramble

Haiku (俳句?) (plural haiku) is a very short form of Japanese poetry. It is typically characterised by three qualities:

The essence of haiku is "cutting" (kiru).[1] This is often represented by the juxtaposition of two images or ideas and a kireji ("cutting word" between them,[2] a kind of verbal punctuation mark which signals the moment of separation and colours the manner in which the juxtaposed elements are related.

Wiki.

Here's a poem by John Keats entitled To My Brothers

Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o’er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o’er fraternal souls
And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix’d, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly
Many such eves of gently whisp’ring noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world’s true joys,—ere the great voice,
From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly

The poetry of Keats is characterised by sensual imagery, most notably in the series of odes. This is typical of romantic poets, as they aimed to accentuate extreme emotion through the emphasis of natural imagery. Today his poems and letters are some of the most popular and most analysed in English literature.

Source

Here's Summer Magic, by Leslie Pinckney Hill


So many cares to vex the day,
So many fears to haunt the night,
My heart was all but weaned away
From every lure of old delight
Then summer came, announced by June,
With beauty, miracle and mirth.
She hung aloft the rounding moon,
She poured her sunshine on the earth,
She drove the sap and broke the bud,
She set the crimson rose afire
She stirred again my sullen blood,
And waked in me a new desire
Before my cottage door she spread
The softest carpet nature weaves,
And deftly arched above my head
A canopy of shady leaves
Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies,
Her days were bowers rife with song,
And many a scheme did she devise
To heal the hurt and soothe the wrong
For on the hill or in the dell,
Or where the brook went leaping by
Or where the fields would surge and swell
With golden wheat or bearded rye,
I felt her heart against my own,
I breathed the sweetness of her breath,
Till all the cark of time had flown,
And I was lord of life and death

Here's Christina Rossetti's poem: A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me
Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me

While nearly all of Christina Rossetti’s other love poems focus on themes of loss and isolation, “A Birthday,” which was first collected in Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), articulates the ecstasy of found love. In it, the speaker grasps joyously to identify those images and comparisons which might accurately express her exhilaration. She searches first in the realm of the natural, attempting to equate her emotions with a “singing bird,” “an apple tree” heavy with fruit, and “a rainbow shell” in the sea. But none of these natural wonders can compare: in love, her heart “is gladder than all these.” In the second stanza, the speaker abandons the search for the perfect simile, or comparison, and instead demands action. In honor of her figurative “birthday,” she demands the construction of a lush dais replete with “silk and down,” “doves” and “peacocks with a hundred eyes,” gold and silver. Such a construction, ornamented with images from nature, can better represent her love because it is a lasting artifact, like poet John Keats’ Grecian urn in his “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Unlike nature, which perishes, the dais will always mark the day in which “love has come” to the speaker.

http://www.encyclopedia.com/arts/educational-magazines/birthday

Dead Fires, by Jessie Fauset

If this is peace, this dead and leaden thing,
Then better far the hateful fret, the sting
Better the wound forever seeking balm
Than this gray calm!
Is this pain’s surcease? Better far the ache,
The long-drawn dreary day, the night’s white wake,
Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath
Than passion’s death!

The Burden of Unfulfilled Peace
In the first stanza of the poem, the speaker portrays a situation that has reached “peace” or resolution on the surface, but in reality, the situation is far from solved. In the context of Harlem Renaissance, blacks have been released from the bonds of slavery yet are still heavily oppressed and disenfranchised by whites. The speaker is suggesting that the “peace” blacks have supposedly achieved is meaningless because they are still considered inferior to whites. The speaker even further trivializes the new found alleged rights by objectifying it as “dead” and “leaden” like literal weight and burdens that blacks still have to carry.
Genius.com

In 1912, Fauset began to write for the NAACP’s official magazine, The Crisis, which was cofounded and edited by W. E. B. Du Bois. After several years contributing poems, essays, and reviews to The Crisis, Fauset became the journal’s literary editor in 1919, moving to New York City for the position.

Here's a poem by Claude McKay: On Broadway

About me young careless feet
Linger along the garish street;
Above, a hundred shouting signs
Shed down their bright fantastic glow
Upon the merry crowd and lines
Of moving carriages below
Oh wonderful is Broadway -- only
My heart, my heart is lonely
Desire naked, linked with Passion,
Goes trutting by in brazen fashion;
From playhouse, cabaret and inn
The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze
All gay without, all glad within;
As in a dream I stand and gaze
At Broadway, shining Broadway -- only
My heart, my heart is lonely.

Festus Claudius "Claude" McKay (September 15, 1889[1] – May 22, 1948) was a Jamaican-American writer and poet, who was a seminal figure in the Harlem Renaissance. He wrote four novels: Home to Harlem (1928), a best-seller that won the Harmon Gold Award for Literature, Banjo (1929), Banana Bottom (1933), and in 1941 a manuscript called Amiable With Big Teeth: A Novel of the Love Affair Between the Communists and the Poor Black Sheep of Harlem that has not yet been published.[2] McKay also authored collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, Gingertown (1932), two autobiographical books, A Long Way from Home (1937) and My Green Hills of Jamaica (published posthumously), and a non-fiction, socio-historical treatise entitled Harlem: Negro Metropolis (1940). His 1922 poetry collection, Harlem Shadows, was among the first books published during the Harlem Renaissance. His Selected Poems was published posthumously, in 1953.

Wiki

Claude McKay's Spring in New Hampshire

Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,

While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping

I thought this one could have a deeper meaning, something in the line of the struggle to be free and the temptation to settle for temporal comfort - considering that claude McKay's is also another Harlem Renaissance black poets.

Hard Work on a Spring Day
The poem's speaker feels only distress at the gorgeous spring weather outdoors and would prefer not to be tempted by its sweetness because the narrator is not free to enjoy it. In the first stanza, the speaker laments, "Wasting the golden hours indoors, Washing windows and scrubbing floors." This is contrasted with "Too wonderful the April night, Too faintly sweet the first May flowers" in the second stanza. The narrator doesn't refer to the grass and sky as merely green and blue but implies that nature's excesses make one wistful. It's likely McKay wrote the poem from the perspective of his fellow West Indian immigrants, who often were poor laborers and discriminated against upon arriving in the United States.
http://education.seattlepi.com/meaning-poem-spring-new-hampshire-claude-mckay-6119.html

Sympathy, by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!

Sad poem

The poet uses the caged bird to express his feelings about his life being equally caged, fighting the bars that hold him a prisoner and in the end being more hurt than free.

Then he hays that the struggle, his struggle is a form of prayer. It may not be heard to men but it definitely counts before God.

Georgia Douglas Johnson called Black Woman


Don’t knock at the door, little child,
I cannot let you in,
You know not what a world this is
Of cruelty and sin
Wait in the still eternity
Until I come to you,
The world is cruel, cruel, child,
I cannot let you in!
Don’t knock at my heart, little one,
I cannot bear the pain
Of turning deaf-ear to your call
Time and time again!
You do not know the monster men
Inhabiting the earth,
Be still, be still, my precious child,
I must not give you birth!

I find it interesting that the poem is named Black Woman. The only reference to black woman in the poem.

It is a dialogue between a mother and her unborn child. The mother Hates the fact that she is about to bring a child into a world of cruelty and sin. She seems to consider radical options that would deny her child entry into the cruel world and explains that she has to turn a deaf ear to her conscience, the pleas of her unborn, for its own benefit, she pleads and keeps reminding herself of her resolve.

It must have been a real struggle for pregnant black women who brought children fourth into a world that was designed to prey on them.

Georgia Douglas Johnson was another poet who fit right into the Harlem Renaissance. A major part of the Harlem Renaissance was persistence.

By Christina Rossetti entitled Monna Innominata

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom for many a May
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!

THE SONNET IN FULL:

Monna Innominata: A Sonnet of Sonnets
Rossetti, Christina (1830 - 1894)


##
Lo dì che han detto a' dolci amici addio. (Dante)
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci! (Petrarca)

1.1Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
1.2 Or come not yet, for it is over then,
1.3 And long it is before you come again,
1.4So far between my pleasures are and few.
1.5While, when you come not, what I do I do
1.6 Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
1.7 For one man is my world of all the men
1.8This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
1.9Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
1.10 Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
1.11 My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
1.12 Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
1.13Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
1.14 When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?


##
Era già 1'ora che volge il desio. (Dante)
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima. (Petrarca)

2.1I wish I could remember that first day,
2.2 First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
2.3 If bright or dim the season, it might be
2.4Summer or winter for aught I can say;
2.5So unrecorded did it slip away,
2.6 So blind was I to see and to foresee,
2.7 So dull to mark the budding of my tree
2.8That would not blossom yet for many a May.
2.9If only I could recollect it, such
2.10 A day of days! I let it come and go
2.11 As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
2.12It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
2.13If only now I could recall that touch,
2.14 First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!


##
O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto! (Dante)
Immaginata guida la conduce. (Petrarca)

3.1I dream of you to wake: would that I might
3.2 Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
3.3 Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
3.4As summer ended summer birds take flight.
3.5In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
3.6 I blush again who waking look so wan;
3.7 Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
3.8In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
3.9Thus only in a dream we are at one,
3.10 Thus only in a dream we give and take
3.11 The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
3.12 If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
3.13 To die were surely sweeter than to live,
3.14Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.


##
Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda. (Dante)
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore. (Petrarca)

4.1I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
4.2 Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
4.3As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
4.4 Which owes the other most? my love was long,
4.5 And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
4.6I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
4.7And lov'd me for what might or might not be
4.8 Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
4.9For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
4.10 With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
4.11 For one is both and both are one in love:
4.12Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
4.13 Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
4.14Both of us, of the love which makes us one.


##
Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona. (Dante)
Amor m'addusse in sì gioiosa spene. (Petrarca)

5.1O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
5.2 More than myself myself, God be with you,
5.3 Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
5.4To Him whose noble service setteth free,
5.5Give you all good we see or can foresee,
5.6 Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
5.7 Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
5.8Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
5.9So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
5.10 To love you without stint and all I can
5.11Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
5.12 To love you much and yet to love you more,
5.13 As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
5.14 Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.


##
Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda. (Dante)
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia. (Petrarca)

6.1Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
6.2 I love, as you would have me, God the most;
6.3 Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
6.4Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
6.5Unready to forego what I forsook;
6.6 This say I, having counted up the cost,
6.7 This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
6.8The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
6.9Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
6.10 That I can never love you overmuch;
6.11 I love Him more, so let me love you too;
6.12 Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
6.13I cannot love you if I love not Him,
6.14 I cannot love Him if I love not you.


##
Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto. (Dante)
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui. (Petrarca)

7.1"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
7.2 "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
7.3 As happy equals in the flowering land
7.4Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
7.5Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
7.6 Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
7.7And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
7.8 And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
7.9My heart's a coward though my words are brave
7.10 We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
7.11 So often; there's a problem for your art!
7.12 Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
7.13Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
7.14 And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.


##
Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme. (Dante)
Spero trovar pietà non che perdono. (Petrarca)

8.1"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
8.2 And bride of life or death she made her fair
8.3 In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair
8.4And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
8.5She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
8.6 Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
8.7 She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
8.8Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
8.9She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
8.10 She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
8.11 And built her people's house that it should stand:--
8.12 If I might take my life so in my hand,
8.13And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
8.14 And for love's sake by Love be granted it!


##
O dignitosa coscienza e netta! (Dante)
Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti. (Petrarca)

9.1Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
9.2 That might have been and now can never be,
9.3 I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
9.4Myself unworthy of the happier call:
9.5For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
9.6 So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
9.7 Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
9.8Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
9.9And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
9.10Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
9.11 But take at morning; wrestle till the break
9.12 Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
9.13 So take I heart of grace as best I can,
9.14 Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.


##
Con miglior corso e con migliore stella. (Dante)
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora. (Petrarca)

10.1Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
10.2 Death following hard on life gains ground apace;
10.3 Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
10.4Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
10.5Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
10.6 While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
10.7 Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
10.8Content with all day brings and night will bring.
10.9Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
10.10 Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
10.11 Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
10.12 A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
10.13 A little while, and life reborn annuls
10.14Loss and decay and death, and all is love.


##
Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti. (Dante)
Contando i casi della vita nostra. (Petrarca)

11.1Many in aftertimes will say of you
11.2 "He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
11.3 Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
11.4For fashion's sake as idle women do.
11.5Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
11.6 Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
11.7 Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
11.8Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
11.9But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
11.10 My love that you can make not void nor vain,
11.11Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
11.12 Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
11.13 I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
11.14 My love of you was life and not a breath.


##
Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona. (Dante)
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei. (Petrarca)

12.1If there be any one can take my place
12.2 And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
12.3 Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
12.4I do commend you to that nobler grace,
12.5That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
12.6 Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
12.7 I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
12.8And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
12.9For if I did not love you, it might be
12.10 That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
12.11 But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
12.12 Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
12.13Your honourable freedom makes me free,
12.14 And you companion'd I am not alone.


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E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore. (Dante)
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia. (Petrarca)

13.1If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
13.2 Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?
13.3 Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
13.4Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
13.5 Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
13.6Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
13.7To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
13.8 Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
13.9Searching my heart for all that touches you,
13.10 I find there only love and love's goodwill
13.11Helpless to help and impotent to do,
13.12 Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
13.13 And therefore I commend you back to Him
13.14Whose love your love's capacity can fill.


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E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace. (Dante)
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome. (Petrarca)

14.1Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
14.2 Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
14.3 Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
14.4I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
14.5To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
14.6 Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
14.7I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
14.8 Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
14.9Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
14.10 The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
14.11 A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
14.12 The silence of a heart which sang its songs
14.13 While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
14.14Silence of love that cannot sing again.