English triolets
1.
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farwell!
Farewell all earthly joys and cares!
On nobler thoughts my soul shall dwell,
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farwell!
At quiet, in my peacefull cell,
I'll think on God, free from your snares;
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farwell!
Farwell all earthly joys and cares.
4 May 2017, spelling modernized by Hikaru Kitabayashi
WORLDLY designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Farewell all earthly joyes and cares!
On nobler thoughts my soule shall dwell,
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Att quiett, in my peacefull cell,
I'le thincke on God, free from your snares;
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Farwell all earthly joys and cares.
20 August 1651, by Patrick Cary
2.
I'll seek my God's law to fullfill,
Riches and power I'll set at nought;
Let others strive for them that will,
I'll seek my God's law to fullfill:
Lest sinfull pleasures my soul kill,
(By folly's vayne delights first caught,)
I'll seek my God's law to fullfill,
Riches and power I'll set at nought.
4 May 2017, spelling modernized by Hikaru Kitabayashi
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill,
Riches and power I'le sett att nought;
Lett others striue for them that will,
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill:
Least sinfull pleasures my soule kill,
(By folleye's uayne delights first caught,)
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill,
Riches and power I'le sett att nought.
20 August 1651, by Patrick Cary
3.
Yes (my dear Lord!) I've found it so;
No joys but thine are purely sweet;
Other delights come mixed with woe,
Yes (my dear Lord!) I've found it so.
Pleasure at courts is but in show,
With true content in cells we meet;
Yes (my dear Lord!) I've found it so,
No joys but thine are purely sweet.
4 May 2017, spelling modernized by Hikaru Kitabayashi
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe;
Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet;
Other delights come mixt with woe,
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe.
Pleasure att courts is but in show,
With true content in cells wee meete;
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe,
Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet.
20 August 1651, by Patrick Cary
4.
The first Day of the Month of May
Was the Happiest of my Life,
Ah the fair Design I form'd
The first Day of the Month of May.
Then I saw you, then I lov'd,
If you like this fair Design,
The first Day of the Month of May
Was the Happiest of my Life.
1728, a translation of Ranchin by John Oldmixon
5.
THE first morn in the month of May
I prize far more than all the rest;
For thee I saw and told that day,
The first morn in the month of May,
That thou my heart had'st stolen away.
If thee please what I then confest, -
The first morn in the month of May
I prize far more than all the rest.
1806, a translation of Ranchin by Robert Fellowes
6.
Take time while yet it is in view,
For fortune is a fickle fair:
Days fade, and others spring anew,
Then take the moment still in view.
What boots to toil and cares pursue!
Each month a new moon hangs in air :
Take then the moment still in view,
For fortune is a fickle fair.
1835, a translation of Froissart by Louisa Stuart Costello
7.
When first we met we did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master;
Of more than common friendliness
When first we met we did not guess.
Who could foretell this sore distress,
This irretrievable disaster
When first we met? We did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master.
1870, by Robert Bridges
8.
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
If nought seem better, nothing's worse:
All women born are so perverse.
From Adam's wife, that proved a curse
Though God had made her for a blessing,
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
1870, by Robert Bridges
9.
I intended an Ode,
And it turned into Triolets.
It began à la mode:
I intended an Ode,
But Rose crossed the road
With a bunch of fresh violets;
I intended an Ode,
And it turned into Triolets.
1877, by Austin Dobson
10.
Circe
In the School of Coquettes
Madam Rose is a scholar
O they fish with all nets
In the School of Coquettes
I When her brooch she forgets
'Tis to show her new collar
In the School of Coquettes
Madam Rose is a scholar
1877, by Austin Dobson
11.
A Tear
There's a tear in her eye
Such a clear little jewel
What can make her cry
There's a tear in her eye
Puck has killed a big fly
And it's horribly cruel
There's a tear in her eye
Such a clear little jewel
1877, by Austin Dobson
12.
A Greek Gift
Here's a present for Rose,
How pleased she is looking!
Is it verse? Is it prose?
Here's a present for Rose
"Plats," "Entrees" and "Rots,"--
Why its Gouffe on Cooking!"
Here's a present for Rose,
How pleased she is looking!
1877, by Austin Dobson
13.
Urceus Exit
I intended an Ode,
And it turned to a Sonnet,
It began a la mode, I intended an Ode;
But Rose crossed the road
In her latest new bonnet.
I intended an Ode,
And it turned to a Sonnet.
Between 1877 and 1880, by Austin Dobson
14.
A Kiss
Rose kissed me to-day.
Will she kiss me to-morrow?
Let it be as it may,
Rose kissed me to-day.
But the pleasure gives way
To a savour of sorrow;
Rose kissed me to-day,—
Will she kiss me to-morrow?
1877, by Austin Dobson
15.
"Oh, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle !
See the couples advance, —
Oh, Love's but a dance !
A whisper, a glance, —
'Shall we twirl down the middle?'
Oh, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!"
1877, by Austin Dobson
16.
ΛÎγεταί τι χαινόν
"No news in the Times to-day,"
Each man tells his next-door neighbour.
He, to see if what they say,
"No news in the Times to-day,"
Is correct, must plough his way
Through that; after three hours' labour,
"No news in the Times to-day,"
Each man tells his next-door neighbour.
1883, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
17.
Cockle's Antibilious Pills
"When you ask for Cockle's Pills,
Beware of spurious imitations."
Yes, when you ask for every ill's
Cure, when you ask for Cockle's Pills,
Some hollow counterfeit that kills
Would fain mock that which heals the nations.
Oh, when you ask for Cockle's Pills
Beware of heartless imitations.
1883, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
18.
The Child is Father to the Man
(Wordsworth)
"The child is father to the man."
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
"The child is father to the man."
No; what the poet did write ran,
"The man is father to the child."
"The child is father to the man."
How can he be? The words are wild.
1883, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
19.
Overwork – A Triolet
When lucubrations late
The student's eyes are spoiling,
It is a mournful fate,
At lucubrations late,
To sit up with one's mate
At dice or poker toiling --
When lucubrations late
The student's eyes are spoiling.
1883, by Anonymous (in The Argonaut)
20.
A Waverer
She has a primrose at her breast:
I almost wÃsh I were a Tory.
I like the Radicals the best,
She has a primrose at her breast,
Now is it chance she so is drest?
Or must I tell a story?
She has a primrose at her breast:
I almost wish I were a Tory.
1880s, by Anonymous
21.
What He Said.
This kiss upon your fan I press—
Ah! Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it.
And may it from its soft recess —
This kiss upon your fan I press—
Be blown to you a shy caress,
By this white down, whene'er you use it,
This kiss upon your fan I press—
Ah! Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it.
What She Thought.
To kiss a fan!
What a poky poet!
The stupid man,
To kÃss a fan,
When he knows that—he—can,
Or ought to know it—
To kiss a fan!
What a poky poet!
1883, by Harrison Robertson
22.
Sign for The Argonaut.
You'll never be happ; without it.
There isn't a student but ought
To sign for The Argonaut,
If you give the matter a thought
You'll find no occasion to doubt it.
So sign for The Argonaut
You'll never be happy without it.
1885, by Anonymous (in The Argonaut)
23.
A pitcher of mÃgnonette,
In a tenement's hÃghest casement:
Queer sort of flowerpot, yet
That pitcher of mÃgnonette
Is a garden in heaven set,
To the little sick child in the basement,
A pitcher of mignonette,
In the tenement's highest casement.
Before 1888, by H. C. Bunner
24.
He.
Eyes that are watching the fire
Over the Japanese fan,
What do you see in the pyre?
Eyes that are watching the fire,
Say, do the embers inspire
Fancies too dainty for man,
Eyes that are watching the fire
Over the Japanese fan!
She.
Sir Poet, if you needs must know
My firelight dream, I thus record it:
I thought while gazing at the glow,
Sir Poet, if you needs must know,
"That bonnet that becomes me so,
I wonder if I can afford it."
Sir Poet, if you needs must know
My firelight dream, I thus record it.
1888, by Edythe H. Cross
25.
I want a subject for my verse,
Ah! this it is to be a poet.
My Pegasus I can't coerce,
I want a subject for my verse.
Bright fancies through my brain disperse,
But what's the use unless I show it?
I want a subject for my verse,
Ah! this it is to be a poet.
1888, by Edythe H. Cross
26.
Sweet May's the shyest little saint
(I fancy though she's growing bolder)
In Quaker garb demure and quaint,
Sweet May's the shyest little saint,
And whispers: "What an idle plaint
When I am standing at your shoulder [sic!]
Sweet May's the shyest little saint
(I fancy though she's growing bolder).
1888, by Edythe H. Cross
27.
My Sweetheart
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender,
And love lies laughing in her eyes.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
And yet above all else I prize
The right from evil to defend her.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender.
By 1888, by Griffith Alexander
28.
A Rose
'Twas a Jacqueminot rose
That she gave me at parting;
Sweetest flower that blows,
'Twas a Jacqueminot rose.
In the love garden close,
With the swift blushes starting,
'Twas a Jacqueminot rose
That she gave me at parting.
If she kissed it, who knows --
Since I will not discover,
And love is that close,
If she kissed it, who knows?
Or if not the red rose
Perhaps then the lover!
If she kissed it, who knows,
Since I will not discover.
Yet at least with the rose
Went a kiss that I'm wearing!
More I will not disclose,
Yet at least with the rose
Went whose kiss no one knows, --
Since I’ m only declaring,
"Yet at least with the rose
Went a kiss that I'm wearing."
Wee Rose is but three,
Yet coquettes she already.
I can scarcely agree
Wee Rose is but three,
When her archness I see!
Are the sex born unsteady? --
Wee Rose is but three,
Yet coquettes she already.
By 1888, by Arlo Bates
29.
In the light, in the shade,
This is time and life's measure:
With a heart unafraid,
In the light, in the shade,
Hope is born and not made,
And the heart finds its treasure
In the light, in the shade;
This is time and life's measure.
By 1888, by Walter Crane
30.
Triolets for "The Twelfth"
Away from city chafe and care,
At forty miles an hour flying.
Nor let the train me, blase, bear
Away from city chafe and care.
To breezy braes, from street and square,
Who would not, an he could, be hieing;
Away from city chafe and care,
At forty miles an hour flying?
How nice a month on moors to pass
Mid purling becks and purpling heather,
To give the grouse their coup de grace,
How nice a month on moors to pass!
If Fortune prove a liberal lass,
If but auspicious be the weather,
How nice a month on moors to pass,
Mid purling brooks and purpling heather.
Plague take the rain! upon my word,
These mountain mists, how they do hover!
I wish from town I d never stirred.
Plague take the rain! upon my word,
'Tis just my luck, and not a bird
My guileless gun contrives to cover.
Plague take the rain upon my word,
These mountain mists how they do hover.
By 1888, by Cotsford Dick
31.
Triolet after Catullus
"Jucundum mea vita."
Happy, my Life, the love you proffer,
Eternal as the gods above;
With such a wealth within my coffer,
Happy my life. The love you proffer, --
If your true heart sustains the offer, --
Will prove the Koh-i-noor of love;
Happy my life! The love you proffer,
Eternal as the gods above!
By 1888, by Edmund Gosse
32.
Easy is the Triolet,
If you really learn to make it!
Once a neat refrain you get,
Easy is the Triolet.
As you see! -- I pay my debt
With another rhyme. Deuce take it,
Easy is the Triolet,
If you really learn to make it!
By 1888, by W. E. Henley
33.
Out from the leaves of my "Lucille"
Falls a faded violet.
Sweet and faint as its fragrance, steal
Out from the leaves of my "Lucille"
Tender memories and I feel
A sense of longing and legret.
Out from the leaves of my "Lucille"
Falls a faded violet.
By 1888, Walter Learned
34.
In the days of my youth,
I wooed woman with sonnets.
My ideas were uncouth
In the days of my youth.
Now I know that her ruth
Is best reached by new bonnets.
In the days of my youth,
I wooed woman with sonnets.
By 1888, by Justin Huntly McCarthy
35.
Here's a flower for your grave,
Little love of last year.
Since I once was your slave,
Here's a flower for your grave.
Since I once used to rave
In the praise of my dear,
Here's a flower for your grave,
Little love of last year.
By 1888, by Justin Huntly McCarthy
36.
Lo, my heart so sound asleep,
Lady, will you wake it?
For lost love I used to weep.
Now my heart is sound asleep.
If it once were yours to keep,
I fear you d break it.
Lo, my heart so sound asleep,
Lady will you wake it.
By 1888, by Justin Huntly McCarthy
37.
A Corsage Bouquet
Myrtilla to night
Wears Jacqueminot roses.
She's the loveliest sight,
Myrtilla to night.
Correspondingly light,
My pocket book closes.
Myrtilla to night
Wears Jacqueminot roses.
By 1888, by Charles Luders
38.
To an Autumn Leaf
Wee shallop of shimmering gold,
Slip down from your ways in the branches.
Some fairy will loosen your hold.
Wee shallop of shimmering gold,
Spill dew on your bows and unfold
Silk sails for the fairest of launches.
Wee shallop of shimmering gold,
Slip down from your ways in the branches.
By 1888, by Charles Luders
39.
A Kiss
You ask me what's a kiss.
'T is Cupid's keenest arrow,
A thing to take a miss.
You ask me what's a kiss –
The brink of an abyss,
A lover's pathway narrow.
You ask me what's a kiss,
'T is Cupid's keenest arrow
By 1888, by Charles Luders
40.
You know it is late
And the night's growing colder.
Still, you lean o'er the gate.
You know it is late.
There's a fire in the grate;
Ah, sweetheart be bolder.
You know it is late
And the night's growing colder.
By 1888, by Anonymous (in The Century)
41.
“Under the sun,
There's nothing new,
Poem or pun,
Under the sun,”
Said Solomon.
And he said true.
Under the sun,
There's nothing new.
By 1888, by George MacDonald
42.
Serenade Triolet
Why is the moon
Awake when thou sleepest
To the nightingale's tune?
Why is the moon,
Making a noon,
When night is the deepest.
Why is the moon
Awake when thou sleepest?
By 1888, by George MacDonald
43.
Few in joy's sweet riot
Able are to listen.
Thou, to make me quiet,
Quenchest the sweet riot,
Tak'st away my diet,
Puttest me in prison,
Quenchest joy's sweet riot,
That the heart may listen.
By 1888, by George MacDonald
44.
Spring sits on her nest.
Daisies and white clover,
And young love lies at rest
In the Spring's white nest.
For she loves me best,
And the cold is over.
Spring sits on her nest,
Daisies and white clover.
By 1888, by George MacDonald
45.
In his arms, thy silly lamb,
Lo, he gathers to his breast.
See thou sadly bleating dam,
See him lift thy silly lamb.
Hear it cry, “How blest I am!
Here is love and love is rest.”
In his arms, thy silly lamb,
See him gather to his breast.
By 1888, by George MacDonald
46.
Song
I was very cold
In the summer weather.
The sun shone all his gold,
But I was very cold.
Alone, we were grown old,
Love and I together!
Oh but I was cold
In the summer weather.
Sudden, I grew warmer
When the brooks were frozen
To be angry is to harm her
I said and straight grew warmer
Better men the charmer
Knows at least a dozen
I said and straight grew warmer
Though the brooks were frozen
Spring sits on her nest
Daisies and white clover
And my heart at rest
Lies in the spring's young nest
My love she loves me best
And the frost is over I
Spring sits on her nest
Daisies and white clover
By 1888, by Geoge MacDonald
47.
Under the Rose
He aside.
If I should steal a little kiss
Oh would she weep I wonder
I tremble at the thought of bliss
If I should steal a little kiss
Such pouting lips would never miss
The dainty bit of plunder
If I should steal a little kiss
Oh would she weep I wonder
She aside.
He longs to steal a kiss of mine
He may if he'll return it
If I can read the tender sign
He longs to steal a kiss of mine
In love and war you know the line
Why cannot he discern it
He longs to steal a kiss of mine
He may if he'll return it
Both five minutes later.
A little kiss when no one sees
Where is the impropriety
How sweet amid the birds and bees
A little kiss when no one sees
Nor is it wrong the world agrees
If taken with sobriety
A little kiss when no one sees
Where is the impropriety
By 1888, by Samuel Minturn Peck
48.
Warm from the wall she chose a peach;
She took the wasps for councillors
She said “Such little things can teach.”
Warm from the wall she chose a peach.
She waved the fruit within my reach,
Then passed it to a friend of hers.
Warm from the wall she chose a peach;
She took the wasps for councillors
By 1888, by Emily Pfeiffer
49.
Dear Reader
If you never write verses yourself
Dear reader I leave it with you
You will grant a half inch of your shelf
If you never write verses yourself
It was praised by some lenient elf
It was damned by a heavy review
If you never write verses yourself
Dear reader I leave it with you
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
50.
Transpontine
Ices. Programmes. Lemonade.
E thinks e's a Hirving my eye.
Why Pussy you're crying afraid!
Ices. Programmes. Lemonade.
It's the first time you've seen a piece played.
Its pretty but Pussy don't cry.
Ices. Programmes. Lemonade.
E thinks e's a Hirving my eye
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
51.
The following is based on a police report of the release of George Hall from Birmingham prison.
Out
I killed her. Ah, why do they cheer?
Are those twenty years gone to day?
Why she was my wife, sir, dear, so dear.
I killed her. Ah, why do they cheer?
Ah, hound? He was shaking with fear;
And I rushed with a knife they say.
I killed her. Ah, why do they cheer?
Are those twenty years gone to day?
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
52.
A Huproar
Down. Ob'n, sir. Circus Bank. Bank.
Ere's a huproar, my bloomin hoffside.
A flower, miss. Ah, thankee, miss, thank.
Down. Ob'n, sir. Circus Bank. Bank
Igher up. Ullo, Bill, wot a prank.
If that ere old carcase aint shied.
Down. Ob'n, sir. Circus Bank. Bank.
Ere's a huproar, my bloomin hoff side.
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
53.
Spring Voices
“Fine Violets, fresh Violets come buy.
Ah, rich man, I would not be you.”
All spring time it haunts me that cry,
“Fine Violets, fresh Violets, come buy”
Whose loss, if she tell me a lie.
“They re starving, my God, sir, its true.
Fine Violets, fresh Violets come buy.
Ah, rich man, I would not be you.”
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
54.
Between the Lines
“Cigar lights, yer honour. Cigar lights.”
May God forget you in your need.
Ay, damn you, if folks get their rights.
“Cigar lights, yer honour. Cigar lights.”
Their babies shan't starve in the nights
For wanting the price of your weed.
“Cigar lights, yer honour. Cigar lights”
May God forget you in your need.
By 1888, by Ernest Radford
55.
From Fiametta
Since I am her's and she is mine,
We live in Love and fear no change.
For Love is God, so we divine,
Since I am her's and she is mine.
In some fair love land far and fine,
Through golden years our feet shall range,
Since I am her's and she is mine.
We live in Love and fear no change.
Why dost thou look so pale, my Love?
Why dost thou sigh and say, “Farewell”?
These myrtles seem a cypress grove;
Why dost thou look so pale, my Love?
I hear the raven, not the dove;
And, for the marriage peal, a knell.
Why dost thou look so pale, my Love?
Why dost thou sigh and say, “Farewell”?
Since I can never come again
When I am dead and gone from here,
Grieve not for me; all griefs in vain,
Since I can never come again.
But let no thought of me remain;
With my last kiss give thy last tear,
Since I can never come again,
When I am dead and gone from here.
All the night and all the day,
I think upon her lying dead,
With lips that neither kiss nor pray
All the night nor all the day
In that dark grave whose only ray
Of sun or moon's her golden head.
All the night and all the day,
I think upon her lying dead.
Why should I live alone?
Since Love was all in vain,
My heart to thine is flown.
Why should I live alone?
Dost thou, too, make thy moan,
In Paradise complain,
“Why should I live alone,
Since Love was all in vain.”
What can heal a broken heart?
Death, alone, I fear me,
Thou that dost true lovers part.
What can heal a broken heart?
Death, alone, that made the smart,
Death that will not hear me?
What can heal a broken heart?
Death, alone, I fear me.
By 1888, by A. Mary F. Robinson
56.
A Snowflake in May
I saw a snowflake in the air,
When smiling May had decked the year;
And, then, 't was gone, I knew not where.
I saw a snowflake in the air
And thought, perchance, an angel's prayer
Had fallen from some starry sphere.
I saw a snowflake in the air,
When smiling May had decked the year
By 1888, by Clinton Scollard
57.
Apology for Gazing at a Young Lady in Church
The sermon was long
And the preacher was prosy.
Don't you think it was wrong?
The sermon was long.
The temptation was strong;
Her cheeks were so rosy.
The sermon was long
And the preacher was prosy.
By 1888, by Anonymous (in The Century Magazine)
58.
A Tiny Trip: The Bill of Lading
She was cargo and crew.
She was boatswain and skipper.
She was passenger, too,
Of the Nutshell canoe;
And the eyes were so blue
Of this sweet tiny tripper.
She was cargo and crew.
She was boatswain and skipper.
By 1888, by Joseph Ashby Sterry
59.
The Pilot
How I bawled “Ship ahoy!”
Hard by Medmenham Ferry;
And she answered with joy.
She moved like a convoy,
And would love to employ
A bold pilot so merry.
How I bawled “Ship ahoy”
Hard by Medmenham Ferry.
By 1888, by Joseph Ashby Sterry
60.
The Voyage
Neath the trees, gold and red,
In that bright autumn weather,
When our white sails were spread,
O'er the waters we sped.
What was it she said,
When we drifted together,
Neath the trees, gold and red,
In that bright autumn weather.
By 1888, by Joseph Ashby Sterry
61.
The Haven
Ah, the moments flew fast,
But our trip too soon ended.
When we reached land at last
And our craft was made fast,
It was six or half past
And Mama looked offended.
Ah, the moments flew fast,
But our trip too soon ended.
By 1888, by Joseph Ashby Sterry
62.
I saw her shadow on the grass.
That day we walked together,
Across the field where the pond was,
I saw her shadow on the grass;
And now I sigh and say,
“Alas! That e'er in summer weather,
I saw her shadow on the grass,
That day we walked together.”
By 1888, by Arthur Symons
63.
Hope bowed his head in sleep.
Ah, me, and wellaway!
Although I cannot weep,
Hope bowed his head in sleep.
The heavy hours creep.
When is the break of day?
Hope bowed his head in sleep.
Ah, me, and wellaway!
By 1888, by Arthur Symons
64.
The sea on the beach
Flung the foam of its ire.
We watched without speech
The sea on the beach;
And we clung, each to each,
As the tempest shrilled higher
And the sea on the beach
Flung the foam of its ire.
By 1888, by Arthur Symons
65.
When Love is once dead,
Who shall awake him?
Bitter our bread,
When Love is once dead,
His comforts are fled,
His favours forsake him.
When Love is once dead,
Who shall awake him.
By 1888, by Arthur Symons
66.
Love is a swallow,
Flitting with spring.
Though we would follow,
Love is a swallow,
All his vows hollow.
Then, let us sing,
“Love is a swallow,
Flitting with spring.”
By 1888, by Arthur Symons
67.
A poor cicada, piping shrill,
I may not ape the Nightingale.
I sit upon the sun browned hill,
A poor cicala piping shrill,
When summer noon is warm and still.
Content to chirp my homely tale,
A poor cicala piping shrill,
I may not ape the Nightingale.
By 1888, by Graham R. Tomson
68.
Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint.
He will not leave our hearth again.
So, safely lulled, his murmuring plaint,
Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint.
All clasped and bound in fond constraint
And circled with a shining chain,
Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint.
He will not leave our hearth again.
By 1888, by Graham R. Tomson
69.
Your rose red bonds are all in vain,
If bound Love weep for weariness.
His faded eyes are drowned in rain.
“Your rose red bonds are all in vain,”
He murmurs low a dull refrain
And turns his lips from our caress.
Your rose red bonds are all in vain,
If bound Love weep for weariness.
By 1888, by Graham R. Tomson
70.
That grey last day we said goodbye
Makes winter weather in my heart.
Dull cloud wreaths veiled our summer sky
That grey last day we said goodbye;
And loosed faint love. I wonder why?
For then, in truth, 'twas well to part.
That grey last day we said goodbye
Makes wintry weather in my heart.
By 1888, by Graham R. Tomson
71.
The roses are dead
And swallows are flying.
White, golden, and red,
The roses are dead.
Yet tenderly tread,
Where their petals are lying.
The roses are dead
And swallows are flying.
By 1888, by Graham R. Tomson
72.
Rejected
You've spoken of love,
And I've answered with laughter.
You've kissed my kid glove;
You've spoken of love.
Why, powers above,
Is there more to come after?
You've spoken of love,
And I've answered with laughter.
Her lips were so near,
That what else could I do?
You'll be angry I fear,
Her lips were so near.
Well, I can't make it clear
Or explain it to you.
Her lips were so near,
That what else could I do.
By 1888, by Anonymous (in The Century)
73.
A Pair of Gloves
My love of loves, my May,
In rippling shadows lying,
Was sleeping mid the hay.
My love of loves, my May,
The ardent sun was trying
To kiss her dreams away,
My love of loves, my May,
In rippling shadows lying.
I knelt and kissed her lips,
Sweeter than any flower
The bee for honey sips.
I knelt and kissed her lips;
And, as her dark eyes power,
Awoke from sleep's eclipse.
I knelt and kissed her lips.
Sweeter than any flower.
The pair of gloves I won,
My darling pays in kisses.
Long may the sweet debt run,
The pair of gloves I won.
Till death our loves dismisses,
This feud will ne'er be done.
The pair of gloves I won,
My darling pays in kisses
By 1888, by Charles Waring
74.
In the Orchard
A Trio of Triolets
O the apples rosy red!
O the gnarled trunks, grey and brown,
Heavy branched overhead.
O the apples rosy red.
O the merry laughter sped,
As the fruit is showered down.
O the apples rosy red;
O the gnarled trunks grey and brown.
O the blushes rosy red!
O the loving autumn breeze,
O the words so softly said.
O the blushes rosy red,
While old doubts and fears lie dead,
Buried neath the apple trees.
O the blushes rosy red;
O the loving autumn breeze.
O the years so swiftly fled!
O twin hearts that beat as one,
With a love time strengthened.
O the years so swiftly fled!
O the apples rosy red,
That still ripen in the sun.
O the years so swiftly fled;
O twin hearts that beat as one.
By 1888, by George Weatherly
75.
The Triolet.
(In a Temper)
A Triolet's scarcely the thing —
Unless you would carol in fetters!
If lark-like you freely would sing,
A Triolet's scarcely the thing:
I miss the poetical ring,
I'm told that it has, by my betters!
A Triolet's scarcely the thing —
Unless you would carol in fetters!
1889, by Anonymous (in Punch)
76.
A Triolet,
(After Mr. Dobson's I intended an Ode)
I wished to sing my love;
I cannot do so now.
(As I remarked above)
I wished to sing my love,
But Kate crossed with her cow
And gave my love a shove.
I wished to sing my love ;
I cannot do so now.
1889, by John Twig
77.
A little lamb had Mary, sweet,
With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.
Not alone Mary went when she moved her feet
(For a little lamb had Mary, sweet)
And it tagged her 'round with a pensive bleat,
And wherever she went it wanted to go —
A little lamb had Mary, sweet,
With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.
1889, by Anonymous
78.
How to Fashion a Triolet
As triolets are now the "go,"
A charming one I'll write,
Their little niceties to show,—
As triolets are now the "go,"—
I'm writing one (and apropos.
By Webster, I am right);
As triolets are now the " go,"
A charming one I'll write.
The dictionary teaches me
The triolet receipt: —
The verses of eight lines must be ;
The dictionary teaches me
The first line, by the recipe,
Three times I must repeat.
The dictionary teaches me
The triolet receipt.
The second line must reappear
To form the final line;
No matter if it soundeth queer.
The second line must reappear;
When poetry is far from clear
It is considered fine!
The second line must reappear
To form the final line.
Now, do you like the triolet?
Your true opinion say.
It puts me in a horrid pet;
Now, do you like the triolet?
I wish your real thought to get,
So do be candid, pray.
Now do you like the triolet?
Your true opinion say.
1888, by W. Best
79.
My photograph I gave to Ben.
I loved him, though I did not show it;
But still I was quite happy then.
My photograph I gave to Ben,
He kissed it, foolish fellow, when
He might have kissed — he ought to know it.
My photograph I gave to Ben.
I loved him, though I did not show it!
1888, by Nathan M. Zezy
80.
LET no bell toll
When the long day dieth,
Making dole,
Let no bell toll.
The gray night-soul
For its freedom sigheth—
Let no bell toll
When the long day dieth.
1892, by Neith Boyce
81.
Skip, little Triolet,
Back to your Race!
You are no violets —
Skip, little Triolet;
Vainly you say,' Oh let
Me have a place !'
Skip, little Triolet,
Back to your Race!
1893, by J. C. Grant
82..
The day is dark, at sun I stare.
My country's on its way to failing.
The land is empty, fields are bare.
The day is dark, at sun I stare;
And nature's calling us to care
For youth that is in far lands wailing.
The day is dark, at sun I stare.
My country's on its way to failing.
2 May 2017, by Nayan Jyoti Subedi