The Poems of Catholic Poets

Index by First Line

Across what calm of tropic seas
A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand
A flock of winds came winging from the North
Ah, Manon, say, why is it we
Ah! no, not these!
A gift of Silence, sweet!
A gleam of light across the night
A little while to walk with thee, dear child
All day I serve among the volumes telling
All my stars forsake me
All our best ye have branded
All that a man may pray
All that I had I brought
All the moon-shed nights are over
Along the graceless grass of town
All night had shout of men and cry
A mirror faced a mirror: ire and hate
And will they cast the altars down
An iron hand has stilled the throats
Another day awakes. And who
A poet of one mood in all my lays
April with her violets
“A riddling world!” one cried
Around were all the roses red
As blazes forth through clouds the morning sun
A song of the setting sun!
As the full moon shining there
As the inhastening tide doth roll
As, when the seaward ebbing tide doth pour
At the foot of the Cross on Calvary
Autumn is weary, halt, and old
A voice peals in this end of night
A while we wandered (thus it is I dream!)
Because I am idolatrous and have besought
Because I used to shun
Because the road was steep and long
Because we share our sorrows and our joys
Before my light goes out for ever if God...
Before the glory of your love
Behold! a white Hawk tangled in a twisted net of dreams
Beside the golden gate there grows a tree
Beyond the need of weeping
Beyond the pale of memory
Black mountains pricked with pointed pine
Brief, on a flying night
Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air
By the pale marge of Acheron
By the sad waters of separation
Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls
Cease smiling, Dear! a little while be sad
The cherry-coloured velvet of your cloak
Come hither, Child! and rest
Come not before me now, 0 visionary face!
Crowns and imperial purple, thrones of gold
Dear are some hidden things
Dear fool, be true to me!
Dear laws, come to my breast!
Dew on her robe and on her tangled hair
Dreams fade with morning light
Erewhile, before the world was old
Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair
Exceeding sorrow
Fair Death, kind Death, it was a gracious deed
Farewell has long been said; I have foregone thee
“Farewells!” O what a word!
Farewell to one now silenced quite
The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof
For blows on the fort of evil
Forth, to the alien gravity
From dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn
From what old ballad, or from what rich frame
Gaunt windy moons bedraggled in the dusk
Given, not lent
Goddess the laughter-loving, Aphrodite, befriend!
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” the Angel saith
Here are my thoughts, alive within this fold
Here, where the breath of the scented-gorse floats...
Her hair’s the canopy of heaven
Her lips’ remark was: “Oh, you kid!”
He was an evil thing to see
He who walks through the meadows of Champagne
His mind has neither need nor power to know
Home, home from the horizon far and clear
Homer, they tell us, was blind and could not see the beautifulfaces
I am a wave of the sea
I am the Seer: for in you I see
I come from nothing; but from where
I do not know how you can shun
I dreamt (no “dream” awake—a dream indeed)
I felt within my heart awake and glow
If I have you then I have everything
If I should live in a forest
If I should need to tear aside
If I should quit thee, sacrifice, forswear
If it should be my task, I being God
If the dread all-seeing stars
If we must part
I go by road, I go by street
I had not seen my son’s dear face
I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea
I loose the secrets of my soul
I love you with my every breath
I’m home from off the stormy sea
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong
In alien earth, across a troubled sea
In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet
In the deep violet air
Into the rescued world newcomer
In your mother’s apple-orchard
I said: “There is an end of my desire
I saw a tract of ocean locked inland
I saw the Sun at midnight, rising red
I saw the throng, so deeply separate
I see his blood upon the rose
I sit and beg beside the gate
I sleep beneath a bracken sheet
I take my leave, with sorrow, of Him I love so well
I think that I shall never see
It knows but will not tell
It is not good for poets to grow old
I thought I’d never hear your tongue
I took her dainty eyes, as well
I touched the heart that loved me as a player
I try to blame
It was the south: mid-everything
I’ve watched with Death a dreadful year
I was always a lover of ladies’ hands!
I was not sorrowful, I could not weep
I went to gather roses and twine them in a ring
I watched the glory of her childhood change
I would not alter thy cold eyes
Into the lonely park all frozen fast
I seek no more to bridge the gulf that lies
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
Led by a star, a golden star
Let be at last; give over words and sighing
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand
Like him who met his own eyes in the river
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses
Little lady of my heart!
“A little, passionately, not at all?”
Little white bird of the summer sky
Longer than thine, than thine
Long life to thee, long virtue, long delight
Lord, Thou hast crushed Thy tender ones, o’er-thrown
Lord, where are Thy prerogatives?
Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Love’s aftermath! I think the time is now
Love wine and beauty and the spring
Luminous passions reign
Man pays that debt with new munificence
Many laughing ladies, leisurely and wise
Mark the day white, on which the Fates have smiled
Master, thy enterprise
My Fair, no beauty of thine will last
My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own
My lady has the grace of Death
My soul is sick with longing, shaken with loss
Neobule, being tired
Never a horn sounds in Sherwood to-night
No “fan is in his hand” for these
No flower hath so fair a face as this pale love of mine
No hungry star ascendant at my birth
No longer of Him be it said
No new delights to our desire
No sudden thing of glory and fear
Not on the lute, or harp of many strings
Not, Silence, for thine idleness I raise
Not that the earth is changing, O my God!
Not wish, nor fear, nor quite expectancy
Not yet was winter come to earth’s soft floor
Now a gentle dusk shall fall
Now by what whim of wanton chance
Now is the rhymer’s honest trade
My hands were stained with blood, my heart was proud and cold
My shoulders ache beneath my pack
Night is over; through the clover globes of crystal shine
O Bright! thy stateliness and grace
O Covenant! O Temple! O frail pride
O delicate! Even in wooded lands
O’er the Campagna it is dim warm weather
O heavenly colour, London town
Oh, I would live in a dairy
Oh, man’s capacity
Oh, not more subtly silence strays
Oh, what a kiss
O lovely heart! O Love
One of the crowd went up
One wept whose only child was dead
One winter night a Devil came and sat upon my bed
On London fell a clearer light
On nights like this the huddled sheep
O our young ancestor
O poet of the time to be
O spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise
Our father works in us
Our lips can only stammer, yet we chant
O what a miracle wind is this
Pale amber sunlight falls across
Quiet form of silent nun
Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone
Rougher than Death the road I choose
See how the trees and the osiers lithe
See the crocus’ golden cup
Serene and beautiful and very wise
Serene he stands, with mist serenely crowned
Severe against the pleasant arc of sky
Shall one be sorrowful because of love
She sings, but we are silent: when shall Spring
She walks the azure meadows where the stars
She walks—the lady of my delight
Sing all ye mouths of music, sing her praise
Sleep on, dear, now
Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide
Slender your hands and soft and white
So humble things Thou hast borne for us, O God
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say
Squire Adam had two wives, they say
Strange grows the river on the sunless evenings!
Tears fall within mine heart
That seeking Prelude found its unforetold
The air is like a butterfly
The boom and blare of the big brass band is cheering to my heart
The bread is mine
The bugle echoes shrill and sweet
The child not yet is lulled to rest
The claim that has the canker on the rose
The day I knew you loved me we had lain
The drunken stars stagger across the sky
Thee, Christ, I sought to sell all day
The fragile splendour of the level sea
The garden of God is a radiant place
The glories of the world sink down in gloom
The halls that were loud with the merry tread of young and careless feet
The Judge’s house has a splendid porch, with pillars and steps of stone
The Kings of the earth are men of might
The Lady Poverty was fair
The Lady World
The leaves are many under my feet
The light young man who was to die
The lonely farm, the crowded street
The paralytic man has dropped in death
The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared
The poet’s imageries are noble ways
The powerful words that from my heart
There is a bolder way
There is a wall of flesh before the eyes
There is no deed I would not dare
There is no length of days
There’s a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout
There’s a feast, undated, yet
There’s much afoot in heaven and earth this year
There was a gentle hostler
There was a little maiden
There was a murkier tinge in London’s air
The road is wide and the stars are out and the breath of the night is sweet
The roar of the world is in my ears
The rooted liberty of flowers in breeze
These words that may not reach your heart
The sky is up above the roof
The Sixty-ninth is on its way—France heard it long ago
The stars sang in God’s garden
The Way of Love
The wind is blind
The wisdom of the world said unto me
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter
They say I sing in secrets—they have ears
They sleep well here
There comes an end to summer
The wind rose, the sea rose
The worm is clad in plated mail
This heritage to the race of kings
Thou art the Way
Thou inmost, ultimate
Thou man, first-comer, whose wide arms entreat
Thou who singest through the earth
Thou wouldst not part thy spoil
Three times have I beheld
Through the green boughs I hardly saw thy face
Through what long heaviness, assayed in what strange fire
’Tis royal and authentic June
To-day when I beheld you all alone
To her accustomed eyes
To his devoted heart
Two men went up to pray; and one gave thanks
Underneath the orchard trees lies a gypsy sleeping
Unlike the youth that all men say
Upon his will he binds a radiant chain
Upon the eyes, the lips, the feet
Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells
Violets and leaves of vine
Virgil stayed Dante with a wayside word
We have walked in Love’s land a little way
We who beg for bread as we daily tread
What distant mountains thrill and glow
What have I dared to claim
What land of Silence
When all the stars become a memory
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
When I am dead let not your murderous tears
When I am old
When I am tired of earnest men
When on a novel’s newly printed page
When this, our rose, is faded
When you had played with life a space
When you shall die and to the sky
Where river and ocean meet in a great tempestuous frown
Where two roads cross by Chevely town
With delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars
With drooping sail and pennant
Within the broken Vatican
Within the Jersey City shed
Without, the sullen noises of the street!
With this ambiguous earth
We build with strength the deep tower wall
We do not find Him on the difficult earth
We never meet; yet we meet day by day
We too (one cried), we too
White Dove of the wild dark eyes
White waves on the water
Who knows what days I answer for to-day?
Who looked for thee, thou little song of mine?
Whose is the speech
Who then is “he”?
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far
Why didst thou carve thy speech laboriously
Why is that wanton gossip Fame
Why is there in the least touch of her hands
Why wilt thou chide
Wide waters in the waste; or, out of reach
Wine and woman and song
Yes, from the ingrate heart, the street
You bid me hold my peace
You “made a virtue of necessity”
“You never attained to Him?”
Your fault, Lady, is to be
Your own fair youth, you care so little for it
You would have understood me, had you waited

Index by Title

Webpage © 2001 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created April 6, 2001; revised December 22, 2002.