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Thomas Gent | Written On The Death Of General Sir Ralph Abercrombie. | Mute Memory stands at Valour's awful shrine,
In tears Britannia mourns her hero dead;
A world's regret, brave ABERCROMBIE's thine,
For nature sorrow'd as thy spirit fled!
For, not the tear that matchless courage claims,
To honest zeal, and soft compassion due,
Alone is thine--o'er thy adored remains
Each virtue weeps, ... | Mute Memory stands at Valour's awful shrine,
In tears Britannia mourns her hero dead;
A world's regret, brave ABERCROMBIE's thine,
For nature sorrow'd as thy spirit fled!
For, not the tear that matchless courage claims, | To honest zeal, and soft compassion due,
Alone is thine--o'er thy adored remains
Each virtue weeps, for all once lived in you.
Yes, on thy deeds exulting I could dwell,
To speak the merits of thy honour'd name;
But, ah! what need my humble muse to tell,
When Rapture's self has echoed forth thy fame?
Yet, still thy name... | free_verse |
William Cullen Bryant | Midsummer. - A Sonnet. | A power is on the earth and in the air,
From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid,
And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade,
From the hot steam and from the fiery glare.
Look forth upon the earth, her thousand plants
Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize
Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze;
The herd ... | A power is on the earth and in the air,
From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid,
And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade,
From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. | Look forth upon the earth, her thousand plants
Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize
Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze;
The herd beside the shaded fountain pants;
For life is driven from all the landscape brown;
The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den,
The trout floats dead in the hot stream, a... | sonnet |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Verses | You are my God, and I would fain adore You
With sweet and secret rites of other days.
Burn scented oil in silver lamps before You,
Pour perfume on Your feet with prayer and praise.
Yet are we one; Your gracious condescension
Granted, and grants, the loveliness I crave.
One, in the perfect sense of Eastern mention,
"Gol... | You are my God, and I would fain adore You
With sweet and secret rites of other days. | Burn scented oil in silver lamps before You,
Pour perfume on Your feet with prayer and praise.
Yet are we one; Your gracious condescension
Granted, and grants, the loveliness I crave.
One, in the perfect sense of Eastern mention,
"Gold and the Bracelet, Water and the Wave." | octave |
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop | The Clock-Tower Bell. | Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come,
Bare for the record of a world of crime;
Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time,
Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home!
Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine,
And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears,
If to the warring of our haggard years
Thy clan... | Say not, sad bell, another hour hath come,
Bare for the record of a world of crime; | Toll, rather, friend, the end of hideous Time,
Wherein we bloom, live, die, yet have no home!
Bell, laurels would we o'er thy pulsing twine,
And sing thee songs of triumph with glad tears,
If to the warring of our haggard years
Thy clang should herald peace along the line! | octave |
Alan Seeger | Sonnet VIII | Oft as by chance, a little while apart
The pall of empty, loveless hours withdrawn,
Sweet Beauty, opening on the impoverished heart,
Beams like the jewel on the breast of dawn:
Not though high heaven should rend would deeper awe
Fill me than penetrates my spirit thus,
Nor all those signs the Patmian prophet saw
Seem a ... | Oft as by chance, a little while apart
The pall of empty, loveless hours withdrawn,
Sweet Beauty, opening on the impoverished heart,
Beams like the jewel on the breast of dawn: | Not though high heaven should rend would deeper awe
Fill me than penetrates my spirit thus,
Nor all those signs the Patmian prophet saw
Seem a new heaven and earth so marvelous;
But, clad thenceforth in iridescent dyes,
The fair world glistens, and in after days
The memory of kind lips and laughing eyes
Lives in my ste... | sonnet |
Friedrich Schiller | The Fight With The Dragon. | Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
And, on his steed, a noble knight
Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
Behind him prodigy unknown!
A monster fierce they're drawing on;
A dragon stems it by its shape,
With wid... | Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
And, on his steed, a noble knight
Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
Behind him prodigy unknown!
A monster fierce they're drawing on;
A dragon stems it by its shape,
With wid... | And, when I reached my native strand,
I caused a skilful artist's hand
To make a dragon's image, true
To his that now so well I knew.
On feet of measure short was placed
Its lengthy body's heavy load;
A scaly coat of mail embraced
The back, on which it fiercely showed."
"Its stretching neck appeared to swell,
And, ghas... | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | To The Rev. Christopher Wordsworth, D.D., Master Of Harrow School | Enlightened Teacher, gladly from thy hand
Have I received this proof of pains bestowed
By Thee to guide thy Pupils on the road
That, in our native isle, and every land,
The Church, when trusting in divine command
And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod:
O may these lessons be with profit scanned
To thy heart's wish, ... | Enlightened Teacher, gladly from thy hand
Have I received this proof of pains bestowed
By Thee to guide thy Pupils on the road
That, in our native isle, and every land, | The Church, when trusting in divine command
And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod:
O may these lessons be with profit scanned
To thy heart's wish, thy labour blest by God!
So the bright faces of the young and gay
Shall look more bright, the happy, happier still;
Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play,
Motions o... | sonnet |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | Vanity Of Vanities - Sonnet | Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain,
Ah, woe is me for glory that is past:
Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last,
Glory that at the last bringeth no gain!
So saith the sinking heart; and so again
It shall say till the mighty angel-blast
Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast
And showering down the stars like ... | Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain,
Ah, woe is me for glory that is past:
Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last,
Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! | So saith the sinking heart; and so again
It shall say till the mighty angel-blast
Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast
And showering down the stars like sudden rain.
And evermore men shall go fearfully
Bending beneath their weight of heaviness;
And ancient men shall lie down wearily,
And strong men shall rise up in... | sonnet |
Jonathan Swift | Horace, Book IV, Ode IX, Addressed To Archbishop King,[1] 1718 | Virtue conceal'd within our breast
Is inactivity at best:
But never shall the Muse endure
To let your virtues lie obscure;
Or suffer Envy to conceal
Your labours for the public weal.
Within your breast all wisdom lies,
Either to govern or advise;
Your steady soul preserves her frame,
In good and evil times, the same.
P... | Virtue conceal'd within our breast
Is inactivity at best:
But never shall the Muse endure
To let your virtues lie obscure;
Or suffer Envy to conceal
Your labours for the public weal.
Within your breast all wisdom lies,
Either to govern or advise; | Your steady soul preserves her frame,
In good and evil times, the same.
Pale Avarice and lurking Fraud,
Stand in your sacred presence awed;
Your hand alone from gold abstains,
Which drags the slavish world in chains.
Him for a happy man I own,
Whose fortune is not overgrown;[2]
And happy he who wisely knows
To use the ... | free_verse |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Botanist | Go thou to thy learned task,
I stay with the flowers of Spring:
Do thou of the Ages ask
What me the Hours will bring. | Go thou to thy learned task, | I stay with the flowers of Spring:
Do thou of the Ages ask
What me the Hours will bring. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Opportunity | Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss
As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise;
Only when he hath passed her is it his
To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise. | Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss | As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise;
Only when he hath passed her is it his
To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise. | quatrain |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Admonition. | Wherefore ever ramble on?
For the Good is lying near,
Fortune learn to seize alone,
For that Fortune's ever here. | Wherefore ever ramble on? | For the Good is lying near,
Fortune learn to seize alone,
For that Fortune's ever here. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Physician. | Thou cam'st to cure me, doctor, of my cold,
And caught'st thyself the more by twenty fold:
Prithee go home; and for thy credit be
First cured thyself, then come and cure me. | Thou cam'st to cure me, doctor, of my cold, | And caught'st thyself the more by twenty fold:
Prithee go home; and for thy credit be
First cured thyself, then come and cure me. | quatrain |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | For A Trafalgar Cenotaph | Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze
With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;
They rest beyond the speech of human pride
Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died. | Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze | With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;
They rest beyond the speech of human pride
Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Death | Through some strange sense of sight or touch
I find what all have found before,
The presence I have feared so much,
The unknown's immaterial door.
I seek not and it comes to me:
I do not know the thing I find:
The fillet of fatality
Drops from my brows that made me blind.
Point forward now or backward, light!
The way I... | Through some strange sense of sight or touch
I find what all have found before,
The presence I have feared so much,
The unknown's immaterial door.
I seek not and it comes to me: | I do not know the thing I find:
The fillet of fatality
Drops from my brows that made me blind.
Point forward now or backward, light!
The way I take I may not choose:
Out of the night into the night,
And in the night no certain clews.
But on the future, dim and vast,
And dark with dust and sacrifice,
Death's towering ru... | free_verse |
Alexander Pope | Lines Written In Windsor Forest. | All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade,
Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours!
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said, 'Be ours!--
Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At Court thou mayst be liked, but nothing gain;
Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but al... | All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade,
Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! | Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said, 'Be ours!--
Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At Court thou mayst be liked, but nothing gain;
Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose;
And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.' | octave |
Vachel Lindsay | A Prayer to All the Dead Among Mine Own People | Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven?
Are these your hands upon my wounded soul?
Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me,
Fly by my path till you have made me whole! | Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven? | Are these your hands upon my wounded soul?
Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me,
Fly by my path till you have made me whole! | quatrain |
Thomas Gent | Sonnet. Night. | Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,
See want and infamy, as forth they come,
Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,
To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread.
Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek
And half-clad form, what havoc want hath made;
And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all... | Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,
See want and infamy, as forth they come,
Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,
To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread. | Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek
And half-clad form, what havoc want hath made;
And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak.
O! miserable state! compell'd to wear
The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast
Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd;
Thy poor... | sonnet |
John Milton | Sonnets. IX | Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth,
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,
No anger find in th... | Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth, | The better part with Mary and with Ruth,
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixt and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,
And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
Thou, when the ... | sonnet |
William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham) | Profit And Loss | Profit?--Loss?
Who shall declare this good--that ill?--
When good and ill so intertwine
But to fulfil the vast design
Of an Omniscient Will?--
When seeming gain but turns to loss,--
When earthly treasure proves but dross,--
And what seemed loss but turns again
To high, eternal gain?
Wisest the man who does his best,
An... | Profit?--Loss?
Who shall declare this good--that ill?--
When good and ill so intertwine
But to fulfil the vast design | Of an Omniscient Will?--
When seeming gain but turns to loss,--
When earthly treasure proves but dross,--
And what seemed loss but turns again
To high, eternal gain?
Wisest the man who does his best,
And leaves the rest
To Him who counts not deeds alone,
But sees the root, the flower, the fruit,
And calls them one. | sonnet |
Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Phantom | All look and likeness caught from earth
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone
But of one spirit all her own;
She, she herself, and only she,
Shone through her body visibly. | All look and likeness caught from earth
All accident of kin and birth, | Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone
But of one spirit all her own;
She, she herself, and only she,
Shone through her body visibly. | octave |
Robert Herrick | How Marigolds Came Yellow. | Jealous girls these sometimes were,
While they liv'd or lasted here:
Turn'd to flowers, still they be
Yellow, mark'd for jealousy. | Jealous girls these sometimes were, | While they liv'd or lasted here:
Turn'd to flowers, still they be
Yellow, mark'd for jealousy. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Mystery Of Pain. | Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain. | Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect | When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Upon Woman And Mary. | So long, it seem'd, as Mary's faith was small,
Christ did her woman, not her Mary call;
But no more woman, being strong in faith,
But Mary call'd then, as St. Ambrose saith. | So long, it seem'd, as Mary's faith was small, | Christ did her woman, not her Mary call;
But no more woman, being strong in faith,
But Mary call'd then, as St. Ambrose saith. | quatrain |
John Hartley | Once Agean Welcome. | Once agean welcome! oh, what is ther grander,
When years have rolled by sin' yo left an old friend?
An what cheers yor heart, when yo far away wander,
As mich as the thowts ov a welcome at th' end?
Yo may goa an be lucky, an win lots o' riches;
Yo may gain fresh acquaintance as onward yo rooam;
But tho' wealth may be t... | Once agean welcome! oh, what is ther grander,
When years have rolled by sin' yo left an old friend?
An what cheers yor heart, when yo far away wander,
As mich as the thowts ov a welcome at th' end?
Yo may goa an be lucky, an win lots o' riches;
Yo may gain fresh acquaintance as onward yo rooam;
But tho' wealth may be t... | To fly far away, just to catch a seet only
Ov th' friends o' ther childhood, the friends 'at they love.
Hope may fill the breast when some old spot we're leavin,
Bright prospects may lure us throo th' dear land away,
But it's joy o' returnin at sets one's breast heavin,
It's th' hopes ov a welcome back maks us feel gay... | free_verse |
Frederick Locker-Lampson | Susan, A Kind Providence | He dropt a tear on Susan's bier,
He seem'd a most despairing swain;
But bluer sky brought newer tie,
And, would he wish her back again?
The moments fly, and when we die,
Will Philly Thistletop complain?
She'll cry and sigh, and, dry her eye,
And let herself be woo'd again. | He dropt a tear on Susan's bier,
He seem'd a most despairing swain; | But bluer sky brought newer tie,
And, would he wish her back again?
The moments fly, and when we die,
Will Philly Thistletop complain?
She'll cry and sigh, and, dry her eye,
And let herself be woo'd again. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Springs And Fountains. | I heard ye could cool heat, and came
With hope you would allay the same;
Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold,
Nor find that true which was foretold.
Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat
And labour with unequal heat;
Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry
Ye boil with love as well as I. | I heard ye could cool heat, and came
With hope you would allay the same; | Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold,
Nor find that true which was foretold.
Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat
And labour with unequal heat;
Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry
Ye boil with love as well as I. | octave |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 - XVI. - Continued | The world forsaken, all its busy cares
And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,
All trust abandoned in the healing might
Of virtuous action; all that courage dares,
Labour accomplishes, or patience bears
Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive
How subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heave
For s... | The world forsaken, all its busy cares
And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,
All trust abandoned in the healing might
Of virtuous action; all that courage dares, | Labour accomplishes, or patience bears
Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive
How subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heave
For such a One beset with cloistral snares.
Father of Mercy! rectify his view,
If with his vows this object ill agree;
Shed over it thy grace, and thus subdue
Imperious passion in a h... | sonnet |
Hilaire Belloc | A Trinity | Of three in One and One in three
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet. | Of three in One and One in three | My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To His Book. | While thou didst keep thy candour undefil'd,
Dearly I lov'd thee as my first-born child,
But when I saw thee wantonly to roam
From house to house, and never stay at home,
I brake my bonds of love, and bade thee go,
Regardless whether well thou sped'st or no.
On with thy fortunes then, whate'er they be:
If good, I'll sm... | While thou didst keep thy candour undefil'd,
Dearly I lov'd thee as my first-born child, | But when I saw thee wantonly to roam
From house to house, and never stay at home,
I brake my bonds of love, and bade thee go,
Regardless whether well thou sped'st or no.
On with thy fortunes then, whate'er they be:
If good, I'll smile; if bad, I'll sigh for thee. | octave |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | A Year After | If blood throbs yet in this that was thy face,
O thou whose soul was full of devil's faith,
If in thy flesh the worm's bite slackeneth
In some acute red pause of iron days,
Arise now, gird thee, get thee on thy ways,
Breathe off the worm that crawls and fears not breath;
King, it may be thou shalt prevail on death;
Kin... | If blood throbs yet in this that was thy face,
O thou whose soul was full of devil's faith,
If in thy flesh the worm's bite slackeneth
In some acute red pause of iron days, | Arise now, gird thee, get thee on thy ways,
Breathe off the worm that crawls and fears not breath;
King, it may be thou shalt prevail on death;
King, it may be thy soul shall find out grace.
O spirit that hast eased the place of Cain,
Weep now and howl, yea weep now sore; for this
That was thy kingdom hath spat out its... | sonnet |
Thomas Gent | The Steam-Boat. | Say, dark prow'd visitant! that o'er the brine
Stalk'st proudly--heeding not what wind may blow,
What chart, what compass, shapes that course of thine,
Whence didst thou come, and whither dost thou go?
Art thou a Monster born of sky and sea?
Art thou a Pagod moving in thine ire?
Were I a Savage I must bend to thee,
A G... | Say, dark prow'd visitant! that o'er the brine
Stalk'st proudly--heeding not what wind may blow,
What chart, what compass, shapes that course of thine,
Whence didst thou come, and whither dost thou go?
Art thou a Monster born of sky and sea?
Art thou a Pagod moving in thine ire?
Were I a Savage I must bend to thee,
A G... | The affrighted billows fly thy hissing rout,
Thy wake is followed by turmoil and din,
Blackness and darkness track thy course without,
And fire and groans and vapours strive within.
And they who cling about thee--who are they?
And canst thou be that fabled boat, that waits
On the dark banks of Styx for souls? Oh, say!
... | free_verse |
Eugene Field | The Preference Declared | Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;
I hate those linden-bark devices;
And as for roses, holy Moses!
They can't be got at living prices!
Myrtle is good enough for us,--
For you, as bearer of my flagon;
For me, supine beneath this vine,
Doing my best to get a jag on! | Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;
I hate those linden-bark devices; | And as for roses, holy Moses!
They can't be got at living prices!
Myrtle is good enough for us,--
For you, as bearer of my flagon;
For me, supine beneath this vine,
Doing my best to get a jag on! | octave |
John Dryden | The Cock And The Fox: Or, The Tale Of The Nun's Priest. | There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow somewhat old, and very poor:
Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A simple sober life, in patience, led,
And had but just enough to ... | There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow somewhat old, and very poor:
Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A simple sober life, in patience, led,
And had but just enough to ... | On you I call to punish this offence.
The word thus given, within a little space
The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place.
All in a trice they cast the cart to ground,
And in the dung the murder'd body found;
Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the wound.
Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find
Is bo... | free_verse |
William Ernest Henley | In Hospital - XXII - Pastoral | It's the Spring.
Earth has conceived, and her bosom,
Teeming with summer, is glad.
Vistas of change and adventure,
Thro' the green land
The grey roads go beckoning and winding,
Peopled with wains, and melodious
With harness-bells jangling:
Jangling and twangling rough rhythms
To the slow march of the stately, great hor... | It's the Spring.
Earth has conceived, and her bosom,
Teeming with summer, is glad.
Vistas of change and adventure,
Thro' the green land
The grey roads go beckoning and winding,
Peopled with wains, and melodious
With harness-bells jangling:
Jangling and twangling rough rhythms
To the slow march of the stately, great hor... | White fleets of cloud,
Argosies heavy with fruitfulness,
Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows.
Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds
Sway the tall poplars.
Pageants of colour and fragrance,
Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless
Walks the mild spirit of May,
Visibly blessing the world.
O, the b... | free_verse |
Thomas Runciman | Whistler versus Ruskin Trial. | Critic John cam here to view
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Lindsay's picture shop bran new,
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
John, he cast his head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco' skeigh,
Vowed he'd gar James stand abeigh:
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
John he nayther ramps nor roars,
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Soft gans hame and write... | Critic John cam here to view
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Lindsay's picture shop bran new,
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
John, he cast his head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco' skeigh,
Vowed he'd gar James stand abeigh:
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
John he nayther ramps nor roars,
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Soft gans hame and write... | "Just as I had guessed," quo' she:
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
No so James. He to the Judge
Cries, "John he ca's my noketurns 'fudge':
That's a lee - spoke in a grudge."
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Ca' up Michael! Ca' up Moore!
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Bring up Wills - he's kenned before!
Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
Midmay Mich... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCVI. Local. | Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born?
In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
A shoulder of mutton, and that love I. | Little boy, pretty boy, where was you born? | In Lincolnshire, master: come blow the cow's horn.
A half-penny pudding, a penny pie,
A shoulder of mutton, and that love I. | quatrain |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LXVI | And do I see some cause a hope to feede,
Or doth the tedious burden of long wo
In weaken'd minds quick apprehending breed
Of euerie image which may comfort shew?
I cannot brag of word, much lesse of deed,
Fortune wheeles still with me in one sort slow;
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my need;
Desier still on stilt... | And do I see some cause a hope to feede,
Or doth the tedious burden of long wo
In weaken'd minds quick apprehending breed
Of euerie image which may comfort shew? | I cannot brag of word, much lesse of deed,
Fortune wheeles still with me in one sort slow;
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my need;
Desier still on stilts of Feare doth go.
And yet amid all feares a hope there is,
Stolne to my hart since last faire night, nay day,
Stellas eyes sent to me the beames of blisse,
Look... | sonnet |
George Gordon Byron | Lines Written In "Letters Of An Italian Nun And An English Gentleman, By J. J. Rousseau; [1] Founded On Facts." | "Away, away, - your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving." | "Away, away, - your flattering arts | May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving." | quatrain |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Reward | Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed,
That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.
Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,
Saying, 'I came to see what you were laughing at.'
| Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed, | That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.
Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,
Saying, 'I came to see what you were laughing at.' | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | A Legend Of The Lily. | Pale as a star that shines through rain
Her face was seen at the window-pane,
Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.
The face of a girl whose brow was wan,
To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,
And a star and the moon when the day was gone.
And oft and often the sun had said
"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,
Co... | Pale as a star that shines through rain
Her face was seen at the window-pane,
Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.
The face of a girl whose brow was wan,
To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,
And a star and the moon when the day was gone.
And oft and often the sun had said
"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,
Co... | And she would stand in the moon, the dim,
Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb,
Where never again would she dream with him.
So summer passed and the autumn came;
And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame;
But her life and her sorrow remained the same.
Or, if she changed, as it comes about
A life may change ... | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Thirst. | We thirst at first, -- 't is Nature's act;
And later, when we die,
A little water supplicate
Of fingers going by.
It intimates the finer want,
Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
Termed immortality. | We thirst at first, -- 't is Nature's act;
And later, when we die, | A little water supplicate
Of fingers going by.
It intimates the finer want,
Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
Termed immortality. | free_verse |
Clark Ashton Smith | The Price | Behind each thing a shadow lies;
Beauty hath e'er its cost:
Within the moonlight-flooded skies
How many stars are lost! | Behind each thing a shadow lies; | Beauty hath e'er its cost:
Within the moonlight-flooded skies
How many stars are lost! | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Distance That The Dead Have Gone | The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear;
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
With their dear retrospect. | The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear; | Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
With their dear retrospect. | octave |
Edwin C. Ranck | To Poe. | You lived in a land horror-haunted,
And wrote with a pen half-divine;
You drank bitter sorrow, undaunted
And cast precious pearls before swine. | You lived in a land horror-haunted, | And wrote with a pen half-divine;
You drank bitter sorrow, undaunted
And cast precious pearls before swine. | quatrain |
Thomas Moore | Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXX. | A broken cake, with honey sweet,
Is all my spare and simple treat:
And while a generous bowl I crown
To float my little banquet down,
I take the soft, the amorous lyre,
And sing of love's delicious fire:
In mirthful measures warm and free,
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee! | A broken cake, with honey sweet,
Is all my spare and simple treat: | And while a generous bowl I crown
To float my little banquet down,
I take the soft, the amorous lyre,
And sing of love's delicious fire:
In mirthful measures warm and free,
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee! | octave |
William Butler Yeats | The Everlasting Voices | O sweet everlasting Voices be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold
And bid them wander obeying your will
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices be still. | O sweet everlasting Voices be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold | And bid them wander obeying your will
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices be still. | octave |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LII | A strife is growne between Vertue and Loue,
While each pretends that Stella must be his:
Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Loue, do this,
Since they do weare his badge, most firmly proue.
But Virtue thus that title doth disproue,
That Stella (O dear name!) that Stella is
That vertuous soule, sure heire of heau'nly bli... | A strife is growne between Vertue and Loue,
While each pretends that Stella must be his:
Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Loue, do this,
Since they do weare his badge, most firmly proue. | But Virtue thus that title doth disproue,
That Stella (O dear name!) that Stella is
That vertuous soule, sure heire of heau'nly blisse.
Not this faire outside, which our heart doth moue.
And therefore, though her beautie and her grace
Be Loues indeed, in Stellas selfe he may
By no pretence claime any manner place.
Well... | sonnet |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | Joseph Warren, M. D. | Trained in the holy art whose lifted shield
Wards off the darts a never-slumbering foe,
By hearth and wayside lurking, waits to throw,
Oppression taught his helpful arm to wield
The slayer's weapon: on the murderous field
The fiery bolt he challenged laid him low,
Seeking its noblest victim. Even so
The charter of a na... | Trained in the holy art whose lifted shield
Wards off the darts a never-slumbering foe,
By hearth and wayside lurking, waits to throw,
Oppression taught his helpful arm to wield | The slayer's weapon: on the murderous field
The fiery bolt he challenged laid him low,
Seeking its noblest victim. Even so
The charter of a nation must be sealed!
The healer's brow the hero's honors crowned,
From lowliest duty called to loftiest deed.
Living, the oak-leaf wreath his temples bound;
Dying, the conqueror'... | sonnet |
Archibald Lampman | Forest Moods | There is singing of birds in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows, not few,
And all the notes of their throats are true.
The thrush from the innermost ash takes on
A tender dream of the treasured and gone;
But the sparrow singeth with pride and cheer
Of the mig... | There is singing of birds in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows, not few,
And all the notes of their throats are true.
The thrush from the innermost ash takes on | A tender dream of the treasured and gone;
But the sparrow singeth with pride and cheer
Of the might and light of the present and here.
There is shining of flowers in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the sensitive solitudes,
The roseate bell and the lily are there,
And every leaf of their sheaf is fair.
Careless and ... | free_verse |
Thomas Gent | Lines Written In A Copy Of The Poem On Princess Charlotte. | Madam! when sorrowing o'er the virtuous dead,
The gentlest solace of the tears we shed,
Is, to surviving excellence to turn,
And honour there those merits that we mourn.
The Muse, whose hand fair Brunswick's ashes strew
With votive flowers, would weave a wreath for You;
But living worth forbids th' applausive lay.
Ther... | Madam! when sorrowing o'er the virtuous dead,
The gentlest solace of the tears we shed,
Is, to surviving excellence to turn, | And honour there those merits that we mourn.
The Muse, whose hand fair Brunswick's ashes strew
With votive flowers, would weave a wreath for You;
But living worth forbids th' applausive lay.
Therefore, repressing all respect, would say,
She proffers silently her simple strain;
If you approve--she has not toil'd in vain... | free_verse |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | The School At War | All night before the brink of death
In fitful sleep the army lay,
For through the dream that stilled their breath
Too gauntly glared the coming day.
But we, within whose blood there leaps
The fulness of a life as wide
As Avon's water where he sweeps
Seaward at last with Severn's tide,
We heard beyond the desert night
T... | All night before the brink of death
In fitful sleep the army lay,
For through the dream that stilled their breath
Too gauntly glared the coming day.
But we, within whose blood there leaps
The fulness of a life as wide
As Avon's water where he sweeps
Seaward at last with Severn's tide, | We heard beyond the desert night
The murmur of the fields we knew,
And our swift souls with one delight
Like homing swallows Northward flew.
We played again the immortal games,
And grappled with the fierce old friends,
And cheered the dead undying names,
And sang the song that never ends;
Till, when the hard, familiar ... | free_verse |
William Hayley | Hymn to the Saviour. | Lord, who in mercy's tender tone
Invitest every child of dust,
To seek protection from thy throne,
And in thy guardian grace to trust.
To thy true votary impart
Hope, from all doubt, all terror free,
Make every movement of my heart
A glow of gratitude to Thee! | Lord, who in mercy's tender tone
Invitest every child of dust, | To seek protection from thy throne,
And in thy guardian grace to trust.
To thy true votary impart
Hope, from all doubt, all terror free,
Make every movement of my heart
A glow of gratitude to Thee! | octave |
Vachel Lindsay | The Dangerous Little Boy Fairies | In fairyland the little boys
Would rather fight than eat their meals.
They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
And catch and beat him till he squeals.
Sometimes they come to sleeping men
Armed with the deadly red-rose thorn,
And those that feel its fearful wound
Repent the day that they were born. | In fairyland the little boys
Would rather fight than eat their meals. | They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
And catch and beat him till he squeals.
Sometimes they come to sleeping men
Armed with the deadly red-rose thorn,
And those that feel its fearful wound
Repent the day that they were born. | octave |
William Butler Yeats | Father And Child | She hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names;
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful,
Cold as the March wind his eyes. | She hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban | Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names;
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful,
Cold as the March wind his eyes. | octave |
Elizabeth Jennings | Delay | The radiance of the star that leans on me
Was shining years ago. The light that now
Glitters up there my eyes may never see,
And so the time lag teases me with how
Love that loves now may not reach me until
Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse
Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful
And love arrived may find ... | The radiance of the star that leans on me
Was shining years ago. The light that now | Glitters up there my eyes may never see,
And so the time lag teases me with how
Love that loves now may not reach me until
Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse
Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful
And love arrived may find us somewhere else. | octave |
Jean de La Fontaine | The Sun And The Frogs. | [1]
Long from the monarch of the stars
The daughters of the mud received
Support and aid; nor dearth nor wars,
Meanwhile, their teeming nation grieved.
They spread their empire far and wide
Through every marsh, by every tide.
The queens of swamps - I mean no more
Than simply frogs (great names are cheap) -
Caball'd to... | [1]
Long from the monarch of the stars
The daughters of the mud received
Support and aid; nor dearth nor wars,
Meanwhile, their teeming nation grieved.
They spread their empire far and wide
Through every marsh, by every tide.
The queens of swamps - I mean no more
Than simply frogs (great names are cheap) -
Caball'd to... | The progeny of fortune good,
Soon brought them to a bitter cry, -
The end of sleep for earth and sky.
Their clamours, if they did not craze,
Would truly seem enough to raise
All living things to mutiny
Against the power of Nature's eye.
The sun,[2] according to their croak,
Was turning all the world to smoke.
It now b... | free_verse |
Samuel Rogers | To The Youngest Daughter Of Lady **. | Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal [1]
What most her blushes would conceal?
Why lift that modest veil to trace
The seraph-sweetness of her face?
Some fairer, better sport prefer;
And feel for us, if not for her.
For this presumption, soon or late,
Know thine shall be a kindred fate.
Another shall in vengeance rise--
... | Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal [1]
What most her blushes would conceal?
Why lift that modest veil to trace
The seraph-sweetness of her face? | Some fairer, better sport prefer;
And feel for us, if not for her.
For this presumption, soon or late,
Know thine shall be a kindred fate.
Another shall in vengeance rise--
Sing Harriet's cheeks, and Harriet's eyes;
And, echoing back her wood-notes wild,
--Trace all the mother in the child! | free_verse |
Maurice Henry Hewlett | Blue Iris | Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue
The 'gean; and the shafted sun thro' them,
That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue
Rayed from her iris's deep diadem. | Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue | The 'gean; and the shafted sun thro' them,
That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue
Rayed from her iris's deep diadem. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | Lost But Safe | Lost the little one roams about,
Pathway or shelter none can find;
Blinking stars are coming out;
No one is moving but the wind;
It is no use to cry or shout,
All the world is still as a mouse;
One thing only eases her mind:
"Father knows I'm not in the house!" | Lost the little one roams about,
Pathway or shelter none can find; | Blinking stars are coming out;
No one is moving but the wind;
It is no use to cry or shout,
All the world is still as a mouse;
One thing only eases her mind:
"Father knows I'm not in the house!" | octave |
Rupert Brooke | Victory | All night the ways of Heaven were desolate,
Long roads across a gleaming empty sky.
Outcast and doomed and driven, you and I,
Alone, serene beyond all love or hate,
Terror or triumph, were content to wait,
We, silent and all-knowing. Suddenly
Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high,
One horseman, downward t... | All night the ways of Heaven were desolate,
Long roads across a gleaming empty sky.
Outcast and doomed and driven, you and I,
Alone, serene beyond all love or hate, | Terror or triumph, were content to wait,
We, silent and all-knowing. Suddenly
Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high,
One horseman, downward to the earth's low gate.
Oh, perfect from the ultimate height of living,
Lightly we turned, through wet woods blossom-hung,
Into the open. Down the supernal roads,
Wi... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | A Charm Invests A Face | A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld, --
The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.
But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies, --
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies. | A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld, -- | The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.
But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies, --
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies. | octave |
John Clare | Fragment | The cataract, whirling down the precipice,
Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through.
Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease;
Hell and its agonies seem hid below.
Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew;
The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green.
Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare t... | The cataract, whirling down the precipice,
Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through. | Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease;
Hell and its agonies seem hid below.
Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew;
The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green.
Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through,
Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Fortune. | Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision. | Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet; | Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision. | octave |
Patrick Bronte | The Happy Cottagers. | One sunny morn of May,
When dressed in flowery green
The dewy landscape, charmed
With Nature's fairest scene,
In thoughtful mood
I slowly strayed
O'er hill and dale,
Through bush and glade.
Throughout the cloudless sky
Of light unsullied blue,
The larks their matins raised,
Whilst on my dizzy view,
Like dusky motes,
Th... | One sunny morn of May,
When dressed in flowery green
The dewy landscape, charmed
With Nature's fairest scene,
In thoughtful mood
I slowly strayed
O'er hill and dale,
Through bush and glade.
Throughout the cloudless sky
Of light unsullied blue,
The larks their matins raised,
Whilst on my dizzy view,
Like dusky motes,
Th... | To those who read a source
Of much unreal woe:
Pollution, too,
Through novel-veins,
Oft fills the mind
With guilty stains.
Our peasant long was bred
Affliction's meagre child,
Yet gratefully resigned,
Loud hymning praises, smiled,
And like a tower
He stood unmoved,
Supported by
The God he loved.
His loving wife long si... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | She I love (alas in vain!) | She I love (alas in vain!)
Floats before my slumbering eyes:
When she comes she lulls my pain,
When she goes what pangs arise!
Thou whom love, whom memory flies,
Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!
If even thus she soothe my sighs,
Never let me wake again! | She I love (alas in vain!)
Floats before my slumbering eyes: | When she comes she lulls my pain,
When she goes what pangs arise!
Thou whom love, whom memory flies,
Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!
If even thus she soothe my sighs,
Never let me wake again! | octave |
Robert Fuller Murray | The Voice That Sings | The voice that sings across the night
Of long forgotten days and things,
Is there an ear to hear aright
The voice that sings?
It is as when a curfew rings
Melodious in the dying light,
A sound that flies on pulsing wings.
And faded eyes that once were bright
Brim over, as to life it brings
The echo of a dead delight,
T... | The voice that sings across the night
Of long forgotten days and things,
Is there an ear to hear aright | The voice that sings?
It is as when a curfew rings
Melodious in the dying light,
A sound that flies on pulsing wings.
And faded eyes that once were bright
Brim over, as to life it brings
The echo of a dead delight,
The voice that sings. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | His Wish. | Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife;
Peaceful my night; my day devoid of strife:
To these a comely offspring I desire,
Singing about my everlasting fire.
| Fat be my hind; unlearned be my wife; | Peaceful my night; my day devoid of strife:
To these a comely offspring I desire,
Singing about my everlasting fire. | quatrain |
William Blake | Infant Sorrow | My mother groaned, my father wept:
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling-bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast. | My mother groaned, my father wept:
Into the dangerous world I leapt, | Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling-bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast. | octave |
William Schwenck Gilbert | The Martinet. | Some time ago, in simple verse
I sang the story true
Of Captain Reece, the Mantelpiece,
And all her happy crew.
I showed how any captain may
Attach his men to him,
If he but heeds their smallest needs,
And studies every whim.
Now mark how, by Draconic rule
And hauteur ill-advised,
The noblest crew upon the Blue
May be ... | Some time ago, in simple verse
I sang the story true
Of Captain Reece, the Mantelpiece,
And all her happy crew.
I showed how any captain may
Attach his men to him,
If he but heeds their smallest needs,
And studies every whim.
Now mark how, by Draconic rule
And hauteur ill-advised,
The noblest crew upon the Blue
May be ... | Where all had gone so well,
Beneath that fool Sir Berkely's rule
Became a floating hell.
When first Sir Berkely came aboard
He read a speech to all,
And told them how he'd made a vow
To act on duty's call.
Then William Lee, he up and said
(The Captain's coxswain he),
"We've heard the speech your honour's made,
And werr... | free_verse |
Charles Stuart Calverley | To Ibycus's Wife. - Translations From Horace. | OD. ii. 15.
Spouse of penniless Ibycus,
Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies,
All thy studious infamy:-
Nearing swiftly the grave - (that not an early one) -
Cease girls' sport to participate,
Blurring stars which were else cloudlessly brilliant.
What suits her who is beautiful
Suits not equally thee: righ... | OD. ii. 15.
Spouse of penniless Ibycus,
Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies,
All thy studious infamy:-
Nearing swiftly the grave - (that not an early one) - | Cease girls' sport to participate,
Blurring stars which were else cloudlessly brilliant.
What suits her who is beautiful
Suits not equally thee: rightly devastates
Thy fair daughter the homes of men,
Wild as Thyad, who wakes stirred by the kettle-drums.
Nothus' beauty constraining her,
Like some kid at his play, holds ... | free_verse |
Henry Lawson | William Street | 'Tis William Street, the link street,
That seems to stand alone;
'Tis William Street, the vague street,
With terraces of stone:
That starts with clean, cool pockets,
And ancient stable ways,
And built by solid landlords
And in more solid days.
Beginning where the shadow streets
Of vacant wealth begin,
Street William ru... | 'Tis William Street, the link street,
That seems to stand alone;
'Tis William Street, the vague street,
With terraces of stone:
That starts with clean, cool pockets,
And ancient stable ways,
And built by solid landlords
And in more solid days.
Beginning where the shadow streets
Of vacant wealth begin,
Street William ru... | That tries to keep its business
Upon the right-hand side.
No pavement exhibition
Of carcases and slops;
But old-established principles
In old-established shops.
'Tis William Street the highway,
Whichever way it be,
To business and the theatres,
Or empty luxury.
'Tis William Street (the East-end),
The world-wise and exe... | free_verse |
Ellis Parker Butler | Speaking Of Operations | I know something wonderful, wonderful;
So strange it will quite startle you;
So strange and absurd and unusual
It seems it can hardly be true!
I know something wonderful, wonderful;
You'll hardly believe it can be
You know my appendix? Well, honest,
I've still got it inside of me! | I know something wonderful, wonderful;
So strange it will quite startle you; | So strange and absurd and unusual
It seems it can hardly be true!
I know something wonderful, wonderful;
You'll hardly believe it can be
You know my appendix? Well, honest,
I've still got it inside of me! | octave |
Henry Kendall | Billy Vickers | No song is this of leaf and bird,
And gracious waters flowing;
I'm sick at heart, for I have heard
Big Billy Vickers 'blowing'.
He'd never take a leading place
In chambers legislative:
This booby with the vacant face
This hoddy-doddy native!
Indeed, I'm forced to say aside,
To you, O reader, solely,
He only wants the h... | No song is this of leaf and bird,
And gracious waters flowing;
I'm sick at heart, for I have heard
Big Billy Vickers 'blowing'.
He'd never take a leading place
In chambers legislative:
This booby with the vacant face
This hoddy-doddy native!
Indeed, I'm forced to say aside,
To you, O reader, solely,
He only wants the h... | And never horse has had the luck
To pitch him from the leather.
If ever he should have a 'spill'
Upon the grass or gravel,
Be sure of this, the saddle will
With Billy Vickers travel.
At punching oxen you may guess
There's nothing out can 'camp' him:
He has, in fact, the slouch and dress
Which bullock-driver stamp him.
... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Rook. Epig. | Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry
Fie on this pride, this female vanity.
Thus, though the Rook does rail against the sin,
He loves the gain that vanity brings in. | Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry | Fie on this pride, this female vanity.
Thus, though the Rook does rail against the sin,
He loves the gain that vanity brings in. | quatrain |
James Stephens | Merrion Square (The Rocky Road To Dublin) | Grey clouds on the tinted sky,
A drifting moon, a quiet breeze
Drooping mournfully to cry
In the branches of the trees.
The crying wind, the sighing trees,
The ruffled stars, the darkness falling
Down the sky, and on the breeze
A belated linnet calling. | Grey clouds on the tinted sky,
A drifting moon, a quiet breeze | Drooping mournfully to cry
In the branches of the trees.
The crying wind, the sighing trees,
The ruffled stars, the darkness falling
Down the sky, and on the breeze
A belated linnet calling. | octave |
Thomas Moore | Tho' Humble The Banquet. | Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command:
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
And tho' Fortune may seem to have turned from the dwelling
Of him thou regardest her favoring ray,
Thou ... | Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command:
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
And tho' Fortune may seem to have turned from the dwelling
Of him thou regardest her favoring ray, | Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling,
Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way.
'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion
Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves;
Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion,
Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves... | free_verse |
Archibald Lampman | An Impression. | I heard the city time-bells call
Far off in hollow towers,
And one by one with measured fall
Count out the old dead hours;
I felt the march, the silent press
Of time, and held my breath;
I saw the haggard dreadfulness
Of dim old age and death. | I heard the city time-bells call
Far off in hollow towers, | And one by one with measured fall
Count out the old dead hours;
I felt the march, the silent press
Of time, and held my breath;
I saw the haggard dreadfulness
Of dim old age and death. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. LXXXVII. Proverbs. | When the wind is in the east,
'Tis neither good for man nor beast;
When the wind is in the north,
The skilful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind is in the south,
It blows the bait in the fishes' mouth;
When the wind is in the west,
Then 'tis at the very best. | When the wind is in the east,
'Tis neither good for man nor beast; | When the wind is in the north,
The skilful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind is in the south,
It blows the bait in the fishes' mouth;
When the wind is in the west,
Then 'tis at the very best. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To M. Laurence Swetnaham. | Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be
A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee.
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please:
How will it drop pure honey speaking these! | Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be | A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee.
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please:
How will it drop pure honey speaking these! | quatrain |
John Le Gay Brereton | Yorick | A golden largesse from a store untold
Announced the ruddy day's imperial birth,
And woke a loyal world to jubilant mirth
And hopes that boasted, madly over-bold.
Shadow and thunder from a dull cloud rolled,
A shiver chilled the lately glittering firth,
As gloom set heavy hand upon the earth;
Yet look, on westward hills... | A golden largesse from a store untold
Announced the ruddy day's imperial birth,
And woke a loyal world to jubilant mirth
And hopes that boasted, madly over-bold. | Shadow and thunder from a dull cloud rolled,
A shiver chilled the lately glittering firth,
As gloom set heavy hand upon the earth;
Yet look, on westward hills a gleam of gold.
You have laughed and bidden us laugh, O lord of jest;
You have wept and given us grief, O lonely friend;
And now we sit with silent lips and whi... | sonnet |
James Barron Hope | Arms And The Man. - Storming The Redoubts. | On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep,
A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep.
"Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim,
Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn. -
"Charge! en Avant!" - The word goes forth and forth ... | On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep,
A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep.
"Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim,
Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn. -
"Charge! en Avant!" - The word goes forth and forth ... | And Olney - brave Rhode Islander! - was there, alas! laid low.
Viominil, and Noallies, and Damas, stout and brave,
Broke o'er the English right redoubt a steel-encrested wave.
St. Simon from his sick couch rose, wooed by the battle's charms,
And like a knight of old romance went to the shock of arms.
[But they who bore... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Anacreontic | Born I was to be old,
And for to die here;
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes,
Still I be bousing;
For I know, in the tombs
There's no carousing. | Born I was to be old,
And for to die here; | After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes,
Still I be bousing;
For I know, in the tombs
There's no carousing. | octave |
Rudyard Kipling | The Sergeant's Weddin' | 'E was warned agin' 'er,
That's what made 'im look;
She was warned agin' 'im,
That is why she took.
'Wouldn't 'ear no reason,
'Went an' done it blind;
We know all about 'em,
They've got all to find!
Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin',
Give 'em one cheer more!
Grey gun-'orses in the lando,
An' a rogue is married to, etc.
... | 'E was warned agin' 'er,
That's what made 'im look;
She was warned agin' 'im,
That is why she took.
'Wouldn't 'ear no reason,
'Went an' done it blind;
We know all about 'em,
They've got all to find!
Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin',
Give 'em one cheer more!
Grey gun-'orses in the lando,
An' a rogue is married to, etc.
... | 'Made 'is forty gallon
Out of every cask!
Watch 'im, with 'is 'air cut,
Count us filin' by,
Won't the Colonel praise 'is
Pop, u, lar, i, ty!
We 'ave scores to settle,
Scores for more than beer;
She's the girl to pay 'em,
That is why we're 'ere!
See the chaplain thinkin'?
See the women smile?
Twig the married winkin'
As... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Tap. | Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear,
Sold his old mother's spectacles for beer:
And not unlikely; rather too than fail,
He'll sell her eyes, and nose, for beer and ale. | Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear, | Sold his old mother's spectacles for beer:
And not unlikely; rather too than fail,
He'll sell her eyes, and nose, for beer and ale. | quatrain |
Victor James Daley | Lachesis | Over a slow-dying fire,
Dreaming old dreams, I am sitting;
The flames leap up and expire;
A woman sits opposite knitting.
I've taken a Fate to wife;
She knits with a half-smile mocking
Me, and my dreams, and my life,
All into a worsted stocking. | Over a slow-dying fire,
Dreaming old dreams, I am sitting; | The flames leap up and expire;
A woman sits opposite knitting.
I've taken a Fate to wife;
She knits with a half-smile mocking
Me, and my dreams, and my life,
All into a worsted stocking. | octave |
Charles Hamilton Musgrove | Death. | I am the outer gate of life where sit
Faith and Unfaith, those two interpreters
That spell in diverse ways what God has writ
In symbols on the archway of the years.
Backward I swing for many feet to pass;
Some come in stormy haste, some grave and slow,
And all like windy shadows on the grass:
Beyond my pale I know not ... | I am the outer gate of life where sit
Faith and Unfaith, those two interpreters | That spell in diverse ways what God has writ
In symbols on the archway of the years.
Backward I swing for many feet to pass;
Some come in stormy haste, some grave and slow,
And all like windy shadows on the grass:
Beyond my pale I know not where they go. | octave |
Robert Herrick | God's Providence. | If all transgressions here should have their pay,
What need there then be of a reckoning day?
If God should punish no sin here of men,
His providence who would not question then? | If all transgressions here should have their pay, | What need there then be of a reckoning day?
If God should punish no sin here of men,
His providence who would not question then? | quatrain |
Oliver Herford | The Shadow Kitten | There's a funny little kitten that tries to look like me,
But though I'm round and fluffy, he's as flat as flat can be;
And when I try to mew to him he never makes a sound,
And when I jump into the air he never leaves the ground.
He has a way of growing, I don't understand at all.
Sometimes he's very little and sometim... | There's a funny little kitten that tries to look like me,
But though I'm round and fluffy, he's as flat as flat can be; | And when I try to mew to him he never makes a sound,
And when I jump into the air he never leaves the ground.
He has a way of growing, I don't understand at all.
Sometimes he's very little and sometimes he's very tall.
And once when in the garden when the sun came up at dawn
He grew so big I think he stretched half-way... | octave |
Sara Teasdale | The Wine | I cannot die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon,
And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die, but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality? | I cannot die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon, | And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die, but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality? | octave |
James McIntyre | Saxe. | The mind that's sad it doth relax
The humor of the witty Saxe,
He puts us in a cheerful mood,
Mirthful as our own Tom Hood. | The mind that's sad it doth relax | The humor of the witty Saxe,
He puts us in a cheerful mood,
Mirthful as our own Tom Hood. | quatrain |
Matthew Arnold | Destiny | Why each is striving, from of old,
To love more deeply than he can?
Still would be true, yet still grows cold?
Ask of the Powers that sport with man!
They yok'd in him, for endless strife,
A heart of ice, a soul of fire;
And hurl'd him on the Field of Life,
An aimless unallay'd Desire. | Why each is striving, from of old,
To love more deeply than he can? | Still would be true, yet still grows cold?
Ask of the Powers that sport with man!
They yok'd in him, for endless strife,
A heart of ice, a soul of fire;
And hurl'd him on the Field of Life,
An aimless unallay'd Desire. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To My Ill Reader. | Thou say'st my lines are hard,
And I the truth will tell -
They are both hard and marr'd
If thou not read'st them well. | Thou say'st my lines are hard, | And I the truth will tell -
They are both hard and marr'd
If thou not read'st them well. | quatrain |
Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch | De Tea Fabula. | Plain Language from truthful James[1].
Do I sleep? Do I dream?
Am I hoaxed by a scout?
Are things what they seem,
Or is Sophists about?
Is our "to ti en einai" a failure, or is Robert Browning played out?
Which expressions like these
May be fairly applied
By a party who sees
A Society skied
Upon tea that the Warden ... | Plain Language from truthful James[1].
Do I sleep? Do I dream?
Am I hoaxed by a scout?
Are things what they seem,
Or is Sophists about?
Is our "to ti en einai" a failure, or is Robert Browning played out?
Which expressions like these
May be fairly applied
By a party who sees
A Society skied
Upon tea that the Warden ... | 'If dress-coats is the game
And pow-wow in the Parks,
Then I 'm nuts on Sordello and Hohenstiel-Schwangau and similar Snarks.'
Now the pride of Bill Nye
Cannot well be express'd;
For he wore a white tie
And a cut-away vest:
Says I, 'Solomon's lilies ain't in it, and they was reputed well dress'd.'
But not far did we we... | free_verse |
John Clare | The Thrush's Nest | Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush,
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
With joy; and, often an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toils from day to day--
How true she warped the moss, to form a nest,
And modelled it ... | Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush,
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound | With joy; and, often an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toils from day to day--
How true she warped the moss, to form a nest,
And modelled it within with wood and clay;
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,
There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,
Ink-spotted-over shells of greeny blue;
And ther... | sonnet |
Paul Cameron Brown | Sleigh Bells | In fury, come the Heavens,
the days, our horsebells
upon a crystal sleigh.
Up slowly until,
the horse carriage wet
and coming up the evening
walk pauses; then snow
before a vanished world. | In fury, come the Heavens,
the days, our horsebells | upon a crystal sleigh.
Up slowly until,
the horse carriage wet
and coming up the evening
walk pauses; then snow
before a vanished world. | octave |
Lennox Amott | Midsummer Idylls. Canto I. | I.
It was the time of year when cockneys fly
From town to country, and from there to town.
I am not sure, but think it was July;
I would not swear it was, nor bet a crown,
When, as I told you, cockneys hurry down
In two hours' railway journey far away,
And rush to places of immense renown,
Bright with the thoughts of c... | I.
It was the time of year when cockneys fly
From town to country, and from there to town.
I am not sure, but think it was July;
I would not swear it was, nor bet a crown,
When, as I told you, cockneys hurry down
In two hours' railway journey far away,
And rush to places of immense renown,
Bright with the thoughts of c... | Where a solitary sunbeam might have strayed,
And all the gloomy atmosphere is fraught
With all that's dank and filthy of the human sort.
XXXVII.
In towns of more than ordinary size
Retreats suburban please the public eye;
But occupants their villa homes disguise
And strive to imitate the great and high
By striking name... | free_verse |
Robert Burns | The Sons Of Old Killie. | Tune - "Shawnboy."
I.
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station.
I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying's the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse,
'Tis seldom her favouri... | Tune - "Shawnboy."
I.
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station. | I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying's the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse,
'Tis seldom her favourite passion.
II.
Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide,
Who marked each element's border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order;
... | free_verse |
Thomas Hardy | The End Of The Episode | Indulge no more may we
In this sweet-bitter pastime:
The love-light shines the last time
Between you, Dear, and me.
There shall remain no trace
Of what so closely tied us,
And blank as ere love eyed us
Will be our meeting-place.
The flowers and thymy air,
Will they now miss our coming?
The dumbles thin their humming
To... | Indulge no more may we
In this sweet-bitter pastime:
The love-light shines the last time
Between you, Dear, and me.
There shall remain no trace
Of what so closely tied us, | And blank as ere love eyed us
Will be our meeting-place.
The flowers and thymy air,
Will they now miss our coming?
The dumbles thin their humming
To find we haunt not there?
Though fervent was our vow,
Though ruddily ran our pleasure,
Bliss has fulfilled its measure,
And sees its sentence now.
Ache deep; but make no mo... | free_verse |
Frank Sidgwick | Clyde's Water | The Text is from the Skene MS., but I have omitted the three final lines, which do not make a complete stanza, and, when compared with Scott's 'Old Lady's' version, are obviously corrupt. The last verse should signify that the mothers of Willie and Meggie went up and down the bank saying, 'Clyde's water has done us wro... | The Text is from the Skene MS., but I have omitted the three final lines, which do not make a complete stanza, and, when compared with Scott's 'Old Lady's' version, are obviously corrupt. The last verse should signify that the mothers of Willie and Meggie went up and down the bank saying, 'Clyde's water has done us wro... | Gin Clyde's water be deep and fu' o' flood,
My malisen drown ye!'
7.
He rode up yon high hill,
An' down yon dowie glen;
The roaring o' Clyde's water
Wad hae fleyt ten thousand men.
8.
'O spare me, Clyde's water,
O spare me as I gae!
Mak me your wrack as I come back,
But spare me as I gae!'
9.
He rade in, and farther in... | free_verse |
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