
The Beginnings
It was not part of their blood,It came to them very lateWith long arrears to make good,When the English began to hate. They were not easily moved, They were icy-willing to wait Till every count should be proved, Ere the

Hosted by Dominic Frisby · 🇺🇸 US · EN · 69 episodes
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For lovers of language. Every week a new poem read aloud. www.thepoemreader.com
Dominic Frisby hosts The Poem Reader, a arts show with 69 episodes published.

It was not part of their blood,It came to them very lateWith long arrears to make good,When the English began to hate. They were not easily moved, They were icy-willing to wait Till every count should be proved, Ere the

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,I all alone beweep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,And look upon myself, and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featur’d l

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damask’d, red and white

When my love swears that she is made of truthI do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutor’d youth,Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,A

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrushThrough the echoing timber does so rinse and wringThe ear, it strikes like lightni

If in that Syrian garden, ages slain,You sleep, and know not you are dead in vain,Nor even in dreams behold how dark and brightAscends in smoke and fire by day and nightThe hate you died to quench and could but fan,Sleep

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,I all alone beweep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,And look upon myself and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featured li

I went into a public 'ouse to get a pint o' beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here." The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbli

When you get what you want in your struggle for selfAnd the world makes you king for a dayJust go to the mirror and look at yourselfAnd see what that man has to say. For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wifeWhose judg

Oh, to be in EnglandNow that April's there,And whoever wakes in EnglandSees, some morning, unaware,That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheafRound the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,While the chaffinch sings on the o

The tree that never had to fightFor sun and sky and air and light,But stood out in the open plainAnd always got its share of rain,Never became a forest kingBut lived and died a scrubby thing. The man who never had to toi

Gaily bedight, A gallant knight,In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song,In search of Eldorado. But he grew old, This knight so bold,And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of groundThat

Subtitled"Hal o' the Draft" -- Puck of Pook's Hill. If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street;Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.Watch the wall, m

No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, With avarice painful vigils keep: Still unenjoy'd the present store, Still endless sighs are breathed for more. O! quit the shadow, catch the prize, Which not all India's treasure buy

‘Tis not that I am weary grownOf being yours, and yours alone,But with what face can I inclineTo damn you to be only mine?You, whom some kinder power did fashionBy merit and by inclinationThe joy at least of a whole nati

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,And after him the parson ran, the sexton and th

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat:They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note.The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar,"O lovely Pus

From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were—I have not seenAs others saw—I could not bringMy passions from a common spring—From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow—I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the s

To Beatriz Bibiloni Webster de Bullrich I. The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived the night. Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all hues of deep spoil, laden with th
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The Poem Reader is hosted by Dominic Frisby. The show is categorised under arts (performing) and has published 69 episodes.
The Poem Reader has published 69 episodes.
The Poem Reader regularly covers arts, performing. It sits in the arts category, with a performing focus.
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