https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Tue, 30 Jun 2026 10:36:22 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20260 Mon, 30 Apr 2012 10:38:00 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20260 1862 - 1893 Australien


To the Emperor William II

Son of a Man and grandson of a Man,
Mannikin most miserable in thy shrunken shape
And peevish, shrivelled soul, is't thou wouldst, ape
The thunder-bearer of Fate's blustering clan?

Know, then, that never, since the years began,
The terrible truth was surer of this word:
"Who takes the sword, shall perish by the sword!"
For mankind's nod makes mannikin and man.

Surely it was not shed too long ago,
That Emperor's blood that stained the northern snow,
O thou King Stork aspiring that art King Log,
Wild-boar that wouldst be, reeking there all hog,
To teach thy brutish brainlessness to know
Those who pulled down a Lion can shoot a Dog.]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To the Emperor William II

Son of a Man and grandson of a Man,
Mannikin most miserable in thy shrunken shape
And peevish, shrivelled soul, is't thou wouldst, ape
The thunder-bearer of Fate's blustering clan?

Know, then, that never, since the years began,
The terrible truth was surer of this word:
"Who takes the sword, shall perish by the sword!"
For mankind's nod makes mannikin and man.

Surely it was not shed too long ago,
That Emperor's blood that stained the northern snow,
O thou King Stork aspiring that art King Log,
Wild-boar that wouldst be, reeking there all hog,
To teach thy brutish brainlessness to know
Those who pulled down a Lion can shoot a Dog.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20259 Mon, 30 Apr 2012 10:24:32 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20259 1862 - 1893 Australien


Algernon Charles Swinburne


Shrieks out of smoke, a flame of dung-straw fire
That is not quenched but hath for only fruit
What writhes and dies not in its rotten root:
Two things made flesh, the visible desire

To match in filth the skunk, the ape in ire,
Mouthing before the mirrors with wild food
Beyond all feebler footprint of pursuit,
The perfect twanger of the Chinese lyre!
A heart with generous virtues run to seed
In vices making all a jumbled creed:
A soul that knows not love nor trust nor shame,
But cuts itself with knives to bawl and bleed -
If thou we've known of late, art still the same,
What need, O soul, to sign thee with thy name?



Once on thy lips the golden-honeyed bees
Settling made sweet the heart that was not strong,
And sky and earth and sea swooned into song:
Once on thine eyes the light of agonies

Flashed through the soul and robbed the days of ease.
But tunes turn stale when love turns babe, and long
The exiled gentlemen grow fat with wrong,

And peasants, workmen, beggars, what are these?
O you who sang the Italian smoke above -
Mud-lark of Freedom, pipe of that vile band
Whose envy slays the tyrant, not the love
Of these poor souls none have the keeping of -
It is your hand - it is your pander hand
Smites the bruised mouth of pilloried Ireland!]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


Algernon Charles Swinburne


Shrieks out of smoke, a flame of dung-straw fire
That is not quenched but hath for only fruit
What writhes and dies not in its rotten root:
Two things made flesh, the visible desire

To match in filth the skunk, the ape in ire,
Mouthing before the mirrors with wild food
Beyond all feebler footprint of pursuit,
The perfect twanger of the Chinese lyre!
A heart with generous virtues run to seed
In vices making all a jumbled creed:
A soul that knows not love nor trust nor shame,
But cuts itself with knives to bawl and bleed -
If thou we've known of late, art still the same,
What need, O soul, to sign thee with thy name?



Once on thy lips the golden-honeyed bees
Settling made sweet the heart that was not strong,
And sky and earth and sea swooned into song:
Once on thine eyes the light of agonies

Flashed through the soul and robbed the days of ease.
But tunes turn stale when love turns babe, and long
The exiled gentlemen grow fat with wrong,

And peasants, workmen, beggars, what are these?
O you who sang the Italian smoke above -
Mud-lark of Freedom, pipe of that vile band
Whose envy slays the tyrant, not the love
Of these poor souls none have the keeping of -
It is your hand - it is your pander hand
Smites the bruised mouth of pilloried Ireland!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20258 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 23:35:41 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20258 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Karl Marx

Not for the though that burns on keen and clear,
Heat that the heat has turned from red to white,
The passion of the lone remembering night
One with the patience day must see and hear -

Not for the shafts the lying foemen fear
Shot from the soul's intense self-centring light -
But for the heart of love divine and bright,
We praise you, worker, thinker, poet, seer!

Man of the People - faithful in all parts,
The veins' last drop, the brain's last flickering dole,
You on whose forehead beams the aureole

That hope and "certain hope" alone imparts -
Us have you given your perfect heart and soul;
Wherefore receive as yours our souls and hearts.]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Karl Marx

Not for the though that burns on keen and clear,
Heat that the heat has turned from red to white,
The passion of the lone remembering night
One with the patience day must see and hear -

Not for the shafts the lying foemen fear
Shot from the soul's intense self-centring light -
But for the heart of love divine and bright,
We praise you, worker, thinker, poet, seer!

Man of the People - faithful in all parts,
The veins' last drop, the brain's last flickering dole,
You on whose forehead beams the aureole

That hope and "certain hope" alone imparts -
Us have you given your perfect heart and soul;
Wherefore receive as yours our souls and hearts.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20257 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 23:00:43 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20257 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Japan

Simple You were, and good. No kindlier heart
Beat than the heart within your gentle breast.
Labour You had, and happiness, and rest,
And were the maid of nations. Now You start

To feverish life, feeling the poisonous smart
Upon your lips of harlot lips close-pressed,
The lips of Her who stands among the rest
With greasy righteous soul and rotten heart.

O sunrise land, O land of gentleness,
What madness drives you tu lust's hateful bed?
O thrice-accursed England, wretchedness
For ever be on you, of whom 'tis said,
Prostitute plague-struck, that you catch and kiss
Innocent lives to make them foully dead!]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Japan

Simple You were, and good. No kindlier heart
Beat than the heart within your gentle breast.
Labour You had, and happiness, and rest,
And were the maid of nations. Now You start

To feverish life, feeling the poisonous smart
Upon your lips of harlot lips close-pressed,
The lips of Her who stands among the rest
With greasy righteous soul and rotten heart.

O sunrise land, O land of gentleness,
What madness drives you tu lust's hateful bed?
O thrice-accursed England, wretchedness
For ever be on you, of whom 'tis said,
Prostitute plague-struck, that you catch and kiss
Innocent lives to make them foully dead!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20256 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 22:49:33 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20256 1862 - 1893 Australien


To India

O India, India, O my lovely land -
At whose sweet throat the greedy English Snake,
With fangs and lips that suck and never slake,
Clings, while around thee, band by stifling band,

The loathsome Shape twists, chaining foot and hand -
O from this death-swoon must thou never wake,
From limbs enfranchised these foul fetters to shake,
And, proud among the nations, to rise and stand?

Nay, but thine eyes, wherein there stays
The patience of that august Faith that scorns
The tinsel creed of Christ, dream still and gaze,
Where, not within the timeless east and haze,
The haunt of that wan moon with fading horns,
There breaks the first of Himalayan morns!]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To India

O India, India, O my lovely land -
At whose sweet throat the greedy English Snake,
With fangs and lips that suck and never slake,
Clings, while around thee, band by stifling band,

The loathsome Shape twists, chaining foot and hand -
O from this death-swoon must thou never wake,
From limbs enfranchised these foul fetters to shake,
And, proud among the nations, to rise and stand?

Nay, but thine eyes, wherein there stays
The patience of that august Faith that scorns
The tinsel creed of Christ, dream still and gaze,
Where, not within the timeless east and haze,
The haunt of that wan moon with fading horns,
There breaks the first of Himalayan morns!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20255 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 22:38:24 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20255 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Charles Parnell

One thing we praise you for that is past praise -
The dauntless eyes that faced the rain and night,
The hand that never wearied in the fight,
Till, through the dark's despair, the dawn's delays,
It rose, that vision of forgotten days,
Ireland, a Nation in her right and might,
As fearless of the lightning as the Light, -
Freedom, the noon-tide sun that shines and stays!
O brave, O pure, O hater of the wrong,
(The wrong that is as one with England's name,
Tyranny with cant of liberty, and shame
With boast of righteousness), to you belong
Trust for the hate that blinds our foes like flame,
Love for the hope that makes our hearts so strong!]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To Charles Parnell

One thing we praise you for that is past praise -
The dauntless eyes that faced the rain and night,
The hand that never wearied in the fight,
Till, through the dark's despair, the dawn's delays,
It rose, that vision of forgotten days,
Ireland, a Nation in her right and might,
As fearless of the lightning as the Light, -
Freedom, the noon-tide sun that shines and stays!
O brave, O pure, O hater of the wrong,
(The wrong that is as one with England's name,
Tyranny with cant of liberty, and shame
With boast of righteousness), to you belong
Trust for the hate that blinds our foes like flame,
Love for the hope that makes our hearts so strong!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20254 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 22:09:51 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20254 1862 - 1893 Australien


To the Emperor William I

You are at least a Man, of men a King.
You have a heart, and with that heart you love.
The race you come from is not gendered of
The filthy sty whose latest litter cling

Round England's flesh-pots, gorged hogs gluttoning.
No, but on flaming battlefields, in courts
Of honour and of danger old resorts,
The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring.

O Father William, you, not falsely weak,
Who never spared the rod to spoil the child,
Our mighty Germany, we only speak,
To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild,
Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek
Where love with liberty is reconciled.]]> 1862 - 1893 Australien


To the Emperor William I

You are at least a Man, of men a King.
You have a heart, and with that heart you love.
The race you come from is not gendered of
The filthy sty whose latest litter cling

Round England's flesh-pots, gorged hogs gluttoning.
No, but on flaming battlefields, in courts
Of honour and of danger old resorts,
The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring.

O Father William, you, not falsely weak,
Who never spared the rod to spoil the child,
Our mighty Germany, we only speak,
To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild,
Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek
Where love with liberty is reconciled.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20253 Sun, 29 Apr 2012 11:29:51 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=20253 1862 - 1893


In The Street
Lord Shaftesbury

You have done well, we say it. You are dead,
And, of the man that with the right hands takes
Less than the left hands gives, let it be said
He has done something for our wretched sakes.
For those to whom you gave their daily bread
Rancid with God-loathed "sin," we bow our head
Grateful, as the great hearse goes by, and think.
Yes, you have fed the flesh and starved the soul
Of thousands of us; you have taught too well
The Rich are little gods beyond control,
Save of your big God of the heaven and hell.
We thank you. This was pretty once, and right.
Now it wears rather thin. My lord, good night!]]> 1862 - 1893


In The Street
Lord Shaftesbury

You have done well, we say it. You are dead,
And, of the man that with the right hands takes
Less than the left hands gives, let it be said
He has done something for our wretched sakes.
For those to whom you gave their daily bread
Rancid with God-loathed "sin," we bow our head
Grateful, as the great hearse goes by, and think.
Yes, you have fed the flesh and starved the soul
Of thousands of us; you have taught too well
The Rich are little gods beyond control,
Save of your big God of the heaven and hell.
We thank you. This was pretty once, and right.
Now it wears rather thin. My lord, good night!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14099 Mon, 30 Apr 2007 10:57:17 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14099 1862 - 1893


Dai Butsu

He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest
The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings
Touch on the shoulders where the swallow clings;
The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast;
The Face--that Face one scarce can look on, lest
One learn the secret of unspeakable things;
But the dread gaze descends with shudderings
To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed.
O lidded downcast eyes that bear the weight
Of all our woes and terrible wrong's increase,
Proud nostrils, lips proud-perfecter than these,
With what a soul within you do you wait--
Disdain and pity, love late-born of hate,
Passion eternal, patience, pride and peace!]]> 1862 - 1893


Dai Butsu

He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest
The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings
Touch on the shoulders where the swallow clings;
The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast;
The Face--that Face one scarce can look on, lest
One learn the secret of unspeakable things;
But the dread gaze descends with shudderings
To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed.
O lidded downcast eyes that bear the weight
Of all our woes and terrible wrong's increase,
Proud nostrils, lips proud-perfecter than these,
With what a soul within you do you wait--
Disdain and pity, love late-born of hate,
Passion eternal, patience, pride and peace!]]>