William Gay Life Poems

  • 1.
    Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
    Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
    Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
    That haunt me by day and by night.
    ...
  • 2.
    Nay! sing no more thy wild delusive strain
    (I heard them say, while I my song pursued),
    'Tis but the rage of thy delirious brain
    (I heard them say, yet still my song renewed):
    ...
  • 3.
    I am not daunted by the show of things,
    Nor do I pass them with averted eyes,
    Feigning I do not see, nor on the wings
    Of fair deluding fancy lightly rise
    ...
  • 4.
    As dropping moisture on December flowers,
    As sunlight breaking o'er the August plain,
    As shines the Virgin on the midnight hours,
    So is thy presence at the bed of pain;
    ...
  • 5.
    And, now, a vacancy occurs,
    For very nearly sixteen years,
    In which I'd not the least desire,
    To strike the harp or tune the lyre.
    ...
  • 6.
    O steep and rugged Life, whose harsh ascent
    Slopes blindly upward through the bitter night!
    They say that on thy summit, high in light,
    Sweet rest awaits the climber, travel-spent;
    ...
  • 7.
    IF in the summer of thy bright regard
    For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live
    I ask no more, nor think my fate too hard
    If other eyes but wintry looks should give;
    ...
  • 8.
    Hail foes to oppression, and lovers of freedom!
    Your day has arrived, and your power you know:-
    This host of timeservers, I'm sure we don't need them,
    And we'll never support them! O! no, my friends, no!
    ...
Total 8 Life Poems by William Gay

Top 10 most used topics by William Gay

Death 8 Life 8 Long 8 Soul 7 Sea 7 Heart 6 Light 6 Rise 6 Fate 5 Good 5

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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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