Explore Poems: Ottava Rima

I

I walk through the long schoolroom questioning;
A kind old nun in a white hood replies;
The children learn to cipher and to sing,
To study reading-books and history,
To cut and sew, be neat in everything
In the best modern way—the children's eyes
In momentary...

I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music...

I
When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter,"
       And proved it—'twas no matter what he said:
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter,
       Too subtle for the airiest human head;
And yet who can believe...

I
Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-laureate,
       And representative of all the race;
Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at
       Last—yours has lately been a common case;
And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at?...

The air is drenched with day, but one by one
           The flowers close on cue,
Obedient to the declining sun.
Forest and grasses, bush and leaf and stem,
They cannot move (and nor, you dream, can you);
           It is the wind that plays...

My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
...