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Poetry Magnum Opus

England's Poetic Verse Forms and Genre Index


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Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry

English Verse
The English speaker is blessed with a rich and varied history of English poetic writing that dates back to the Anglo Saxons who produced the legendary Beowulf. Moving forward to Middle English, Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, the anonymous, morality play Everyman set high standards. The Renaissance produced poetry by Wyatt, Johnson, Spenser, Donne, Shakespeare, and so many more, poetry that is still quoted, recited and revered. And the list goes on, Tennyson, Browning, Kipling, Hardy, Larkin, Hughes..... If I left off your favorite, forgive me, these were names that just came off the top of my head in a few seconds of typing.

In My Craft Or Sullen Art by Dylan Thomas                                                
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.






I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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