Episodes

See, yonder, the belfry towerThat gleams in the moon’s pale light;Or is it a ghostly flowerThat dreams in the silent night?I listen and hear the chimeGo quavering o’er the town,And out of this flower of TimeTwelve petals are wafted down.

Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow.I love creation better as it stoodThat day You finished it so long agoAnd looked upon Your work and called it good.I know that others find You in the lightThat's sifted down through tinted window panes,And yet I seem to feel You near tonightIn this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

How strange that grass should sing—Grass is so still a thing . . .And strange the swift surprise of snowSo soft it falls and slow.

All the world’s a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances;And one man in his time plays many parts...

When I am dead, my dearest,Sing no sad songs for me;Plant thou no roses at my head,Nor shady cypress tree:Be the green grass above meWith showers and dewdrops wet;And if thou wilt, remember,And if thou wilt, forget.

Lo, the unbounded sea,On its breast a ship starting,spreading all sails, carrying even her moonsails.The pennant is flying aloft as she speedsshe speeds so stately-below emulous waves press forward,They surround the ship with shining curving motionsand foam.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;Close to the sun in lonely lands,Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;He watches from his mountain walls,And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Stars over snow,And in the west a planetSwinging below a star—Look for a lovely thing and you will find it,It is not far—It will never be far.

Some things that fly there be, —Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:Of these no elegy.Some things that stay there be, —Grief, hills, eternity:Nor this behooveth me.There are, that resting, rise.Can I expound the skies?How still the riddle lies!

I’ve known rivers:I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow ofhuman blood in human veins.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln wentdown to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn allgolden in the sunset.I’ve known rivers:Ancient, dusky riv...

The ghost of a wind came over the hill,While day for a moment forgot to die,And stirred the sheavesOf the millet leaves,As Nancibel went by.Out of the lands of Long Ago,Into the land of By and By,Faded the gleamOf a journeying dream,As Nancibel went by.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;Petals on a wet, black bough.

By the time you swear you’re his,Shivering and sighing,And he vows his passion isInfinite, undying—Lady, make a note of this:One of you is lying.

My candle burns at both ends;It will not last the night;But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!

Some say the world will end in fire,Some say in ice.From what I’ve tasted of desireI hold with those who favor fire.But if it had to perish twice,I think I know enough of hateTo say that for destruction iceIs also greatAnd would suffice.

I saw you toss the kites on highAnd blow the birds about the sky;And all around I heard you pass,Like ladies' skirts across the grass—O wind, a-blowing all day long,O wind, that sings so loud a song!I saw the different things you did,But always you yourself you hid.

The fog comeson little cat feet.It sits lookingover harbor and cityon silent haunchesand then moves on.

Slowly, silently, now the moonWalks the night in her silver shoon;This way, and that, she peers, and seesSilver fruit upon silver trees;One by one the casements catchHer beams beneath the silvery thatch;Couched in his kennel, like a log,With paws of silver sleeps the dog;From their shadowy cote the white breasts peepOf doves in a silver-feathered sleep;A harvest mouse goes scampering by,With silver claws, and silver eye;And moveless fish in the water gleam,By silver reeds in a silve...

Hello and Welcome! My name is John, and this is The Concise Verse, a podcast for people who love poetry but don't always have time for it. In each episode we'll bring you a single, beautiful poem. No commentary, no analysis, just the verse itself, read with care and respect.Each poem will be around a minute or less. A perfect dose of art for your commute, your coffee break, or whenever you need a moment of peace.New poems arrive every week. You can find them by searching for The Concise Vers...