Robert Bridges Poems

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Robert Bridges
Robert Seymour Bridges, OM, (October 23, 1844 – April 21, 1930) was an English poet, holder of the honour of poet laureate from 1913. Bridges was born in Walmer, Kent, and educated at Eton College and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He went on to study medicine in London at St Bartholomew's Hospital, and intended to practice until the age of forty and then retire to write poetry. He was afterwards assistant physician at the Children's hospital, Great Ormond Street, and physician at the Great Northern hospital, lung disease forcing him to retiring in 1882; and from that point he devoted himself to writing and literary research. Bridges' literary work started long before his retirement, with his first collection of poems being published in 1873. In 1884 he married Monica Waterhouse, daughter of Alfred Waterhouse R.A., and spent the rest of his life in rural seclusion, first at Yattendon, Berkshire, then at Boar's Hill, Oxford, where he died. The poet Elizabeth Daryush was his daughter.

a ballad of baseball burdens
 
 
The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fando... [read poem]
lines from a plutocratic poetaster to a ditch-digger
 
 
Sullen, grimy, labouring person,
As I passed you in my car,
I could sense your muffled... [read poem]
a new york child's garden of verses
 
 
(With the usual.)

I

In winter I get up at night,
And dress by an electr... [read poem]
baseball's sad lexicon
 
 
These are the saddest of possible words:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
Trio of bear cub... [read poem]
the flat-hunter's way
 
 
We don't get any too much light;
It's pretty noisy, too, at that;
The folks next door ... [read poem]
i love all beauteous things
 
 
I love all beauteous things,
I seek and adore them;
God hath no better praise,
An... [read poem]
to the returned girls
 
 
Will you read my little pome,
O you girls returnéd home
From a summertime of sport... [read poem]
bricks and straw
 
 
My desk is cleared of the litter of ages;
Before me glitter the fair white pages;
My fount... [read poem]
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