Classic Poetry Aloud

A Pope read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- The Dying Christian to his Soul by Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away! What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes; it disappears! Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting? First aired: 19 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

J McCrae read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Mine Host by John McCrae (1872 – 1918) There stands a hostel by a travelled way; Life is the road and Death the worthy host; Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say, "How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most, "This lodging place is other than we sought; We had intended farther, but the gloom Came on apace, and found us ere we thought: Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room." Within sit haggard men that speak no word, No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed; No voice of fellowship or strife is heard But silence of a multitude of dead. "Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!" And to his chamber leads each tired guest. First aired: 18 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

J McCrae read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Mine Host by John McCrae (1872 – 1918) There stands a hostel by a travelled way; Life is the road and Death the worthy host; Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say, "How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most, "This lodging place is other than we sought; We had intended farther, but the gloom Came on apace, and found us ere we thought: Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room." Within sit haggard men that speak no word, No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed; No voice of fellowship or strife is heard But silence of a multitude of dead. "Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!" And to his chamber leads each tired guest. First aired: 18 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

W Browne read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Memory by William Browne (1588 – 1643) So shuts the marigold her leaves At the departure of the sun; So from the honeysuckle sheaves The bee goes when the day is done; So sits the turtle when she is but one, And so all woe, as I since she is gone. To some few birds kind Nature hath Made all the summer as one day: Which once enjoy'd, cold winter's wrath As night they sleeping pass away. Those happy creatures are, that know not yet The pain to be deprived or to forget. I oft have heard men say there be Some that with confidence profess The helpful Art of Memory: But could they teach Forgetfulness, I'd learn; and try what further art could do To make me love her and forget her too. First aired: 16 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

W Browne read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Memory by William Browne (1588 – 1643) So shuts the marigold her leaves At the departure of the sun; So from the honeysuckle sheaves The bee goes when the day is done; So sits the turtle when she is but one, And so all woe, as I since she is gone. To some few birds kind Nature hath Made all the summer as one day: Which once enjoy'd, cold winter's wrath As night they sleeping pass away. Those happy creatures are, that know not yet The pain to be deprived or to forget. I oft have heard men say there be Some that with confidence profess The helpful Art of Memory: But could they teach Forgetfulness, I'd learn; and try what further art could do To make me love her and forget her too. First aired: 16 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

O Wilde read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Quantum Mutata by Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) There was a time in Europe long ago When no man died for freedom anywhere, But England's lion leaping from its lair Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so While England could a great Republic show. Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair The Pontiff in his painted portico Trembled before our stern ambassadors. How comes it then that from such high estate We have thus fallen, save that Luxury With barren merchandise piles up the gate Where noble thoughts and deeds should enter by: Else might we still be Milton's heritors. First aired: 15 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

O Wilde read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Quantum Mutata by Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) There was a time in Europe long ago When no man died for freedom anywhere, But England's lion leaping from its lair Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so While England could a great Republic show. Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair The Pontiff in his painted portico Trembled before our stern ambassadors. How comes it then that from such high estate We have thus fallen, save that Luxury With barren merchandise piles up the gate Where noble thoughts and deeds should enter by: Else might we still be Milton's heritors. First aired: 15 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

E Dickinson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then ’t is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity.   First aired: 23 September 2007 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

E Dickinson read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then ’t is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity.   First aired: 23 September 2007 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

W Wordsworth read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Desideria by William Wordsworth (1780 – 1850) Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport—O! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind— But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss?—That thought’s return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. First aired: 13 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

W Wordsworth read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Desideria by William Wordsworth (1780 – 1850) Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport—O! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind— But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss?—That thought’s return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. First aired: 13 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

G Herbert read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Discipline by George Herbert (1593 – 1632) Throw away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath; O my God, Take the gentle path! For my heart's desire Unto Thine is bent: I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And Thy Book alone. Though I fail, I weep; Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace. Then let wrath remove; Love will do the deed; For with love Stony hearts will bleed. Love is swift of foot; Love 's a man of war, And can shoot, And can hit from far. Who can 'scape his bow? That which wrought on Thee, Brought Thee low, Needs must work on me. Throw away Thy rod; Though man frailties hath, Thou art God: Throw away Thy wrath! First aired: 12 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

G Herbert read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Discipline by George Herbert (1593 – 1632) Throw away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath; O my God, Take the gentle path! For my heart's desire Unto Thine is bent: I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And Thy Book alone. Though I fail, I weep; Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace. Then let wrath remove; Love will do the deed; For with love Stony hearts will bleed. Love is swift of foot; Love 's a man of war, And can shoot, And can hit from far. Who can 'scape his bow? That which wrought on Thee, Brought Thee low, Needs must work on me. Throw away Thy rod; Though man frailties hath, Thou art God: Throw away Thy wrath! First aired: 12 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

CG Rossetti read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Aloof by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me:— Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof, bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? What heart shall touch thy heart? What hand thy hand? And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seem'd not so far to seek, And all the world and I seem'd much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong, and life itself not weak. First aired: 11 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008

CG Rossetti read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------- Aloof by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me:— Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof, bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? What heart shall touch thy heart? What hand thy hand? And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seem'd not so far to seek, And all the world and I seem'd much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong, and life itself not weak. First aired: 11 August 2008 For hundreds more poetry readings, visit the Classic Poetry Aloud index. Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2008