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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>Sir Galahad.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">Sir Galahad is the most moral and upright of all the Knights of the Round Table. The strong lines of the poem (Tennyson, 1809-92) are the strong lines of human destiny— <blockquote> "My strength is as the strength of ten Because my heart is pure." </blockquote></div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel: They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. </div> <div class="stanza"> How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favours fall! For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. </div> <div class="stanza"> When down the stormy crescent goes, A light before me swims, Between dark stems the forest glows, I hear a noise of hymns: Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; The stalls are void, the doors are wide, The tapers burning fair. Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chaunts resound between. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers, I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessèd vision! blood of God! My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars. </div> <div class="stanza"> When on my goodly charger borne Thro' dreaming towns I go, The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields; But blessèd forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. </div> <div class="stanza"> A maiden knight—to me is given Such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven That often meet me here. I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces cloth'd in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odours haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armour that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. </div> <div class="stanza"> The clouds are broken in the sky, And thro' the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: "O just and faithful knight of God! Ride on! the prize is near." So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. </div> </td></tr></table> Alfred Tennyson. <h3>A Name in the Sand.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"A Name in the Sand," by Hannah Flagg Gould (1789-1865), is a poem to correct our ready overestimate of our own importance. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Alone I walked the ocean strand; A pearly shell was in my hand: I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name—the year—the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast; A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away. </div> <div class="stanza"> And so, methought, 'twill shortly be With every mark on earth from me: A wave of dark oblivion's sea Will sweep across the place Where I have trod the sandy shore Of time, and been, to be no more, Of me—my day—the name I bore, To leave nor track nor trace. </div> <div class="stanza"> And yet, with Him who counts the sands And holds the waters in His hands, I know a lasting record stands Inscribed against my name, Of all this mortal part has wrought, Of all this thinking soul has thought, And from these fleeting moments caught For glory or for shame. </div> </td></tr></table> Hannah Flagg Gould. <div class="chapter"> <h2>PART VI.</h2> <div style="text-align:left;"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/part6.png" alt="A tall stalk of gladioli" title="A tall stalk of gladioli" height-obs="450" width-obs="170" /> "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be,— The last of life, for which the first was made." </div> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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