Sydney Smith Poems

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Sydney Smith
Sydney Smith (June 3, 1771, Woodford, Essex, Englandľ February 22, 1845 London), was an English writer and clergyman. Sydney was the son of merchant Robert Smith (1739-1827) and Maria Olier (1750-1801), who suffered from epilepsy. Robert, described as "a man of restless ingenuity and activity", "very clever, odd by nature, but still more odd by design", owned at various times nineteen different estates in England. Sydney himself attributed much of his own lively personality to his French blood, his maternal grandfather having been a French Protestant refugee named Olier. Sydney was the second of four brothers and one sister, all remarkable for their talents. Two of the brothers, Robert Percy, known as "Bobus", and Cecil, were sent to Eton, but Sydney was sent with the youngest to Winchester, where he rose to be captain of the school. He and his brother so distinguished himself that their school-fellows signed a round-robin "refusing to try for the college prizes if the Smiths were allowed to contend for them any more".

a scrap of paper
Just a little scrap of paper
In a yellow envelope,
And the whole world is a ruin,
Even Hope.
When Jesus came to Golgotha they hanged Him on a tree,
They drave great nails through hands and... [read poem]
the secret
You were askin' 'ow we sticks it,
Sticks this blarsted rain and mud,
'Ow it is we kee... [read poem]
the book of pilgrimage, ii, 22
You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.

You are... [read poem]
woodbine willie
They gave me this name like their nature,
Compacted of laughter and tears,
A sweet tha... [read poem]
spanish dancer
As on all its sides a kitchen-match darts white
flickering tongues before it bursts into flame:... [read poem]
missing -- believed killed: on reading a mother's letter
'Twere heaven enough to fill my heart
If only one would stay,
Just one of all the mill... [read poem]
the spirit
When there ain't no gal to kiss you,
And the postman seems to miss you,
And the fags have ... [read poem]
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,... [read poem]
rose, oh pure contradiction, joy
Rose, oh pure contradiction, joy
of being No-one's sleep, under so
many lids.

what's the good?
Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin',
And I've done in quite a lot;
Nicked 'em neatly w... [read poem]
to stretcher bearers
Easy does it -- bit o' trench 'ere,
Mind that blinkin' bit o' wire,
There's a shell 'ole o... [read poem]
answer to an invitation to dine at fishmongers hall
Much do I love, at civic treat,
The monsters of the deep to eat;
To see the rosy salmon ly... [read poem]

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