Classic Poetry Aloud

Dryden read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Can Life be a Blessing by John Henry Dryden (1631 – 1700) Can life be a blessing, Or worth the possessing, Can life be a blessing if love were away? Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking, And though he torment us with cares all the day, Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking, There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay. In ev'ry possessing, The ravishing blessing, In ev'ry possessing the fruit of our pain, Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish, Whate'er they have suffer'd and done to obtain; 'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish, When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.

Dryden read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Can Life be a Blessing by John Henry Dryden (1631 – 1700) Can life be a blessing, Or worth the possessing, Can life be a blessing if love were away? Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking, And though he torment us with cares all the day, Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking, There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay. In ev'ry possessing, The ravishing blessing, In ev'ry possessing the fruit of our pain, Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish, Whate'er they have suffer'd and done to obtain; 'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish, When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.

Shelley read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Summer And Winter by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822) It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds From the horizon--and the stainless sky Opens beyond them like eternity. All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds, The river, and the cornfields, and the reeds; The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze, And the firm foliage of the larger trees. It was a winter such as when birds die In the deep forests; and the fishes lie Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes A wrinkled clod as hard as brick; and when, Among their children, comfortable men Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold: Alas, then, for the homeless beggar old!

Shelley read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Summer And Winter by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822) It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds From the horizon--and the stainless sky Opens beyond them like eternity. All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds, The river, and the cornfields, and the reeds; The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze, And the firm foliage of the larger trees. It was a winter such as when birds die In the deep forests; and the fishes lie Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes A wrinkled clod as hard as brick; and when, Among their children, comfortable men Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold: Alas, then, for the homeless beggar old!

Wilcox read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- I Told You by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850 – 1919) I told you the winter would go, love, I told you the winter would go, That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came, And you smiled when I told you so. You said the blustering fellow Would never yield to a breeze, That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death The flowers, the birds, and trees. And I told you the snow would melt, love, In the passionate glance o' the sun; And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees, Would come back again, one by one. That the great, gray clouds would vanish, And the sky turn tender and blue; And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring And, love, it has all come true. I told you that sorrow would fade, love, And you would forget half your pain; That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long, And sing in your bosom again; That hope would creep out of the shadows, And back to its nest in your heart, And gladness would come, and find its old home, And that sorrow at length would depart. I told you that grief seldom killed, love, Though the heart might seem dead for awhile. But the world is so bright, and full of warm light That 'twould waken at length, in its smile. Ah, love! was I not a true prophet? There's a sweet happy smile on your face; Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone, And the buttercups bloom in its place.

Wilcox read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- I Told You by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850 – 1919) I told you the winter would go, love, I told you the winter would go, That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came, And you smiled when I told you so. You said the blustering fellow Would never yield to a breeze, That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death The flowers, the birds, and trees. And I told you the snow would melt, love, In the passionate glance o' the sun; And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees, Would come back again, one by one. That the great, gray clouds would vanish, And the sky turn tender and blue; And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring And, love, it has all come true. I told you that sorrow would fade, love, And you would forget half your pain; That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long, And sing in your bosom again; That hope would creep out of the shadows, And back to its nest in your heart, And gladness would come, and find its old home, And that sorrow at length would depart. I told you that grief seldom killed, love, Though the heart might seem dead for awhile. But the world is so bright, and full of warm light That 'twould waken at length, in its smile. Ah, love! was I not a true prophet? There's a sweet happy smile on your face; Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone, And the buttercups bloom in its place.

 Coleridge read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- from Frost at Midnight by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834) The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud, -and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.

 Coleridge read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- from Frost at Midnight by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834) The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud, -and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.

Bridges read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Spirits by Robert Bridges (1844 – 1930) Angel spirits of sleep, White-robed, with silver hair, In your meadows fair, Where the willows weep, And the sad moonbeam On the gliding stream Writes her scatter'd dream: Angel spirits of sleep, Dancing to the weir In the hollow roar Of its waters deep; Know ye how men say That ye haunt no more Isle and grassy shore With your moonlit play; That ye dance not here, White-robed spirits of sleep, All the summer night Threading dances light?

Bridges read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Spirits by Robert Bridges (1844 – 1930) Angel spirits of sleep, White-robed, with silver hair, In your meadows fair, Where the willows weep, And the sad moonbeam On the gliding stream Writes her scatter'd dream: Angel spirits of sleep, Dancing to the weir In the hollow roar Of its waters deep; Know ye how men say That ye haunt no more Isle and grassy shore With your moonlit play; That ye dance not here, White-robed spirits of sleep, All the summer night Threading dances light?

Longfellow read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Till, ringing, singing on its way The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The Carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said; ‘For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!’ Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!’

Longfellow read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Till, ringing, singing on its way The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The Carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said; ‘For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!’ Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!’

Rossetti read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- A Birthday by Christina Rossetti by Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) 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.

Rossetti read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. --------------------------------------------------- A Birthday by Christina Rossetti by Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) 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.

This episode marks the 100th reading on Classic Poetry Aloud. We look at Wendy Cope and copyright, and dedicate the episode to librarians and those that use libraries. We feature (with the poet's permission) a reading of '30th December'. For Wendy Cope's comments on copyright, see: http://books.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,2223830,00.html For her own readings of her verse: http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoet.do?poetId=5677 Wendy Cope’s books include: If I Don't Know, Faber & Faber, 2001 Serious Concerns, Faber & Faber, 1992 Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis, Faber & Faber, 1986 Thanks for listening. Comments and requests to: classicpoetryaloud [at] yahoo.co.uk