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Susanna Moodie | Winter. Calling Up His Legions. | WINTER.
Awake--arise! all my stormy powers,
The earth, the fair earth, again is ours!
At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings down
In the dust her broken and faded crown;
At my glance the terrified mourner flies,
And the earth is filled with her doleful cries.
Awake!--for the season of flowers is o'er,--
My white bann... | WINTER.
Awake--arise! all my stormy powers,
The earth, the fair earth, again is ours!
At my stern approach, pale Autumn flings down
In the dust her broken and faded crown;
At my glance the terrified mourner flies,
And the earth is filled with her doleful cries.
Awake!--for the season of flowers is o'er,--
My white bann... | The sallow leaves from the groaning bough;
And he shouts aloud in his wild disdain,
As he whirls them down to the frozen plain:
Those beautiful leaves to which Spring gave birth
Are scattered abroad on the face of the earth.
I have visited many a creek and bay,
And curdled the streams in my stormy way;
I have chilled i... | free_verse |
Gilbert Keith Chesterton | The Skeleton | Chattering finch and water-fly
Are not merrier than I;
Here among the flowers I lie
Laughing everlastingly.
No: I may not tell the best;
Surely, friends, I might have guessed
Death was but the good King's jest,
It was hid so carefully. | Chattering finch and water-fly
Are not merrier than I; | Here among the flowers I lie
Laughing everlastingly.
No: I may not tell the best;
Surely, friends, I might have guessed
Death was but the good King's jest,
It was hid so carefully. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCLVII. Relics. | To market, to market, to buy a plum-cake,
Back again, back again, baby is late;
To market, to market, to buy a plum-bun,
Back again, back again, market is done. | To market, to market, to buy a plum-cake, | Back again, back again, baby is late;
To market, to market, to buy a plum-bun,
Back again, back again, market is done. | quatrain |
Edna St. Vincent Millay | Midnight Oil | Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,--
The years that Time takes off my life,
He'll take from off the other end! | Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife, | Each day to half its length, my friend,--
The years that Time takes off my life,
He'll take from off the other end! | quatrain |
George MacDonald | Sonnet. About Jesus. IX. | So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes,
Too bright and near to be a glory then;
If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men
A setter forth of strange divinities;
To after times, Thou, born in midday skies,
A sun, high up, out-blazing sudden, when
Its light had had its centuries eight and ten
To travel through the... | So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes,
Too bright and near to be a glory then;
If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men
A setter forth of strange divinities; | To after times, Thou, born in midday skies,
A sun, high up, out-blazing sudden, when
Its light had had its centuries eight and ten
To travel through the wretched void that lies
'Twixt souls and truth, hadst been a Love and Fear,
Worshipped on high from Magian's mountain-crest,
And all night long symbol'd by lamp-flames... | sonnet |
Eric Mackay | Love's Defeat. | Do what I will, I cannot chant so well
As other men; and yet my soul is true.
My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,
But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too,
Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.
I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;
And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,
An... | Do what I will, I cannot chant so well
As other men; and yet my soul is true.
My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,
But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too, | Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.
I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;
And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,
And when I count the woes that must ensue.
But for this reason, and no other one,
I dare to look thy way, and bow my head
To thy sweet name, as sunflower to the sun,
Though, pera... | sonnet |
John Clare | Gipsies | The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone;
The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes,
Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back;
The gipsy knocks his hands and tucks them up,
And seeks his squalid camp, half hid in snow,
Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind,
And bushes close in snow-like hovel warm;
There taint... | The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone;
The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes,
Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back;
The gipsy knocks his hands and tucks them up, | And seeks his squalid camp, half hid in snow,
Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind,
And bushes close in snow-like hovel warm;
There tainted mutton wastes upon the coals,
And the half-wasted dog squats close and rubs,
Then feels the heat too strong, and goes aloof;
He watches well, but none a bit can spare,
And va... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Alms. | Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford,
Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word:
God crowns our goodness wheresoe'er He sees,
On our part, wanting all abilities. | Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford, | Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word:
God crowns our goodness wheresoe'er He sees,
On our part, wanting all abilities. | quatrain |
Henry Lawson | For Australia | Now, with the wars of the world begun, they'll listen to you and me,
Now while the frightened nations run to the arms of democracy,
Now, when our blathering fools are scared, and the years have proved us right,
All unprovided and unprepared, the Outpost of the White!
"Get the people, no matter how," that is the way the... | Now, with the wars of the world begun, they'll listen to you and me,
Now while the frightened nations run to the arms of democracy,
Now, when our blathering fools are scared, and the years have proved us right,
All unprovided and unprepared, the Outpost of the White!
"Get the people, no matter how," that is the way the... | New machines that will make machines till our factories are complete,
Block the shoddy and Brummagem, pay them with wool and wheat.
Build to-morrow the foundry shed ['tis a task we dare not shirk],
Lay the runs and the engine-bed, and get the gear to work.
Have no fear when we raise the steam in the hurried factory,
We... | free_verse |
John Greenleaf Whittier | The Tent On The Beach | I would not sin, in this half-playful strain,
Too light perhaps for serious years, though born
Of the enforced leisure of slow pain,
Against the pure ideal which has drawn
My feet to follow its far-shining gleam.
A simple plot is mine: legends and runes
Of credulous days, old fancies that have lain
Silent, from boyhood... | I would not sin, in this half-playful strain,
Too light perhaps for serious years, though born
Of the enforced leisure of slow pain,
Against the pure ideal which has drawn
My feet to follow its far-shining gleam.
A simple plot is mine: legends and runes
Of credulous days, old fancies that have lain
Silent, from boyhood... | And see the lords of song without
Their singing robes and garlands on.
With Wordsworth paddle Rydal mere,
Taste rugged Elliott's home-brewed beer,
And with the ears of Rogers, at fourscore,
Hear Garrick's buskined tread and Walpole's wit once more.
And one there was, a dreamer born,
Who, with a mission to fulfil,
Had l... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | His Comfort. | The only comfort of my life
Is, that I never yet had wife;
Nor will hereafter; since I know
Who weds, o'er-buys his weal with woe | The only comfort of my life | Is, that I never yet had wife;
Nor will hereafter; since I know
Who weds, o'er-buys his weal with woe | quatrain |
Robert Burns | The Toad-Eater. | What of earls with whom you have supt,
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen?
Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen.
| What of earls with whom you have supt, | And of dukes that you dined with yestreen?
Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen. | quatrain |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Assistance | Lean on no mortal, Love, and serve;
(For service is love's complement)
But it was never God's intent,
Your spirit from its path should swerve,
To gain another's point of view.
As well might Jupiter, or Mars
Go seeking help from other stars,
Instead of sweeping ON, as you.
Look to the Great Eternal Cause
And not to any ... | Lean on no mortal, Love, and serve;
(For service is love's complement)
But it was never God's intent,
Your spirit from its path should swerve, | To gain another's point of view.
As well might Jupiter, or Mars
Go seeking help from other stars,
Instead of sweeping ON, as you.
Look to the Great Eternal Cause
And not to any man, for light.
Look in; and learn the wrong, and right,
From your own soul's unwritten laws.
And when you question, or demur,
Let Love be your... | sonnet |
Edgar Allan Poe | Imitation | A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride,
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those ... | A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride,
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought | Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as ... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DLXXVIII. Natural History. | I like little pussy, her coat is so warm,
And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm;
So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away,
But pussy and I very gently will play. | I like little pussy, her coat is so warm, | And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm;
So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away,
But pussy and I very gently will play. | quatrain |
Kate Seymour Maclean | Resignation. | If Thou who seest this heart of mine
To earthly idols prone,
Should'st all those clinging cords untwine,
And take again Thy own,--
Help me to lay my hands in thine,
And say Thy will be done!
But Oh, when Thou dost claim the gift
Which Thou did'st only lend,
And leav'st my life of love bereft,
And lonely to the end,--
O... | If Thou who seest this heart of mine
To earthly idols prone,
Should'st all those clinging cords untwine,
And take again Thy own,--
Help me to lay my hands in thine,
And say Thy will be done! | But Oh, when Thou dost claim the gift
Which Thou did'st only lend,
And leav'st my life of love bereft,
And lonely to the end,--
Oh Saviour! be Thyself but left,
My best beloved Friend!
And still the chastening hand I bless,
Which doth my steps uphold
Along earth's thorny wilderness,
Back to the Father's fold,
Where I T... | free_verse |
Unknown | Americans | You can always tell the English,
You can always tell the Dutch,
You can always tell the Yankees -
But you can't tell them much! | You can always tell the English, | You can always tell the Dutch,
You can always tell the Yankees -
But you can't tell them much! | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To The High And Noble Prince George, Duke, Marquis, And Earl Of Buckingham. | Never my book's perfection did appear
Till I had got the name of Villars here:
Now 'tis so full that when therein I look
I see a cloud of glory fills my book.
Here stand it still to dignify our Muse,
Your sober handmaid, who doth wisely choose
Your name to be a laureate wreath to her
Who doth both love and fear you, ho... | Never my book's perfection did appear
Till I had got the name of Villars here: | Now 'tis so full that when therein I look
I see a cloud of glory fills my book.
Here stand it still to dignify our Muse,
Your sober handmaid, who doth wisely choose
Your name to be a laureate wreath to her
Who doth both love and fear you, honoured sir. | octave |
Alexander Pope | Epitaph VIII. On Sir Godfrey Kneller, In Westminster Abbey, 1723. | Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught,
Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought;
Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate
Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays,
Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might ou... | Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught,
Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; | Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate
Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays,
Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie
Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die. | octave |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | To William Bell Scott - Sonnets | The larks are loud above our leagues of whin
Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold
With odour like the colour: all the wold
Is only light and song and wind wherein
These twain are blent in one with shining din.
And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,
Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,
Bids m... | The larks are loud above our leagues of whin
Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold
With odour like the colour: all the wold
Is only light and song and wind wherein | These twain are blent in one with shining din.
And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,
Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,
Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin.
Though all but we from life be now gone forth
Of that bright household in our joyous north
Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end,... | sonnet |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet XXIV | Rich fooles there be whose base and filthy heart
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow,
And damning their own selues to Tantals smart,
Wealth breeding want; more rich, more wretched growe:
Yet to those fooles Heau'n doth such wit impart
As what their hands do hold, their heads do know,
And knowing loue, and l... | Rich fooles there be whose base and filthy heart
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow,
And damning their own selues to Tantals smart,
Wealth breeding want; more rich, more wretched growe: | Yet to those fooles Heau'n doth such wit impart
As what their hands do hold, their heads do know,
And knowing loue, and louing lay apart
As sacred things, far from all dangers show.
But that rich foole, who by blind Fortunes lot
The richest gemme of loue and life enioys,
And can with foule abuse such beauties blot;
Let... | sonnet |
Matthew Arnold | East And West | In the bare midst of Anglesey they show
Two springs which close by one another play,
And, 'Thirteen hundred years agone,' they say,
'Two saints met often where those waters flow.
'One came from Penmon, westward, and a glow
'Whiten'd his face from the sun's fronting ray.
'Eastward the other, from the dying day;
'And he ... | In the bare midst of Anglesey they show
Two springs which close by one another play,
And, 'Thirteen hundred years agone,' they say,
'Two saints met often where those waters flow. | 'One came from Penmon, westward, and a glow
'Whiten'd his face from the sun's fronting ray.
'Eastward the other, from the dying day;
'And he with unsunn'd face did always go.'
Seiriol the Bright, Kybi the Dark, men said.
The Se'r from the East was then in light,
The Se'r from the West was then in shade.
Ah! now 'tis ch... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Moon. | Moon is a usurer, whose gain,
Seldom or never knows a wain,
Only Moon's conscience, we confess,
That ebbs from pity less and less. | Moon is a usurer, whose gain, | Seldom or never knows a wain,
Only Moon's conscience, we confess,
That ebbs from pity less and less. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | Spoken Of Several Philosophers | I pray you, all ye men who put your trust
In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear,
Holding that Nature lives from year to year
In one continual round because she must--
Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust
Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer--
A pewter-pot disconsolately clear,
Which holds a potful, as i... | I pray you, all ye men who put your trust
In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear,
Holding that Nature lives from year to year
In one continual round because she must-- | Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust
Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer--
A pewter-pot disconsolately clear,
Which holds a potful, as is right and just!
I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will,
If thus ye use me like a pewter pot!
Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot--
will not be the lead to hold thy... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Death And Life. | Apparently with no surprise
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another day
For an approving God. | Apparently with no surprise
To any happy flower, | The frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another day
For an approving God. | octave |
Robert Burns | On Miss Jean Scott. | Oh! had each Scot of ancient times,
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward! | Oh! had each Scot of ancient times, | Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward! | quatrain |
James Elroy Flecker | Felo De Se | The song of a man who was dead
Ere any had heard of his song,
Or had seen this his ultimate song,
With the lines of it written in red,
And the sound of it steady and strong.
When you hear it, you know I am dead.
Not because I was weary of life
As pallid poets are:
My star was a conquering star,
My element strife.
I am ... | The song of a man who was dead
Ere any had heard of his song,
Or had seen this his ultimate song,
With the lines of it written in red,
And the sound of it steady and strong.
When you hear it, you know I am dead.
Not because I was weary of life
As pallid poets are:
My star was a conquering star, | My element strife.
I am young, I am strong, I am brave,
It is therefore I go to the grave.
Now to life and to life's desire,
And to youth and the glory of youth,
Farewell, for I go to acquire,
By the one road left me, Truth.
Though a great God slay me with fire
I will shout till he answer me. Why?
(One soul and a Unive... | free_verse |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | If | (The Argosy, March 1866.)
If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
O, what a day to-day would be!
But now he's away, miles and miles away
From me across the sea.
O little bird, flying, flying, flying
To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying,
As you pass home to your nest.
I have a sister, I h... | (The Argosy, March 1866.)
If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
O, what a day to-day would be!
But now he's away, miles and miles away
From me across the sea.
O little bird, flying, flying, flying
To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying, | As you pass home to your nest.
I have a sister, I have a brother,
A faithful hound, a tame white dove;
But I had another, once I had another,
And I miss him, my love, my love!
In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,
While I sit here all alone;
I would not like to wait and to grow old,
But just to be dead and gone.
... | free_verse |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Warning. | Waken not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers;
Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign'd!
Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,
While her babe is asleep, for 'twill awake but too soon. | Waken not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers; | Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign'd!
Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,
While her babe is asleep, for 'twill awake but too soon. | quatrain |
Walt Whitman | Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life | Weave in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, th... | Weave in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come; | Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end, nor really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on, the death-enve... | free_verse |
Richard Hunter | Algeria. | Dolly's home's far away,
Far away in Algiers,
On the African coast,
She won't see it for years.
But she whispers at night,
And her eyes fill with tears;
"How I wish--how I wish,
I were back in Algiers!" | Dolly's home's far away,
Far away in Algiers, | On the African coast,
She won't see it for years.
But she whispers at night,
And her eyes fill with tears;
"How I wish--how I wish,
I were back in Algiers!" | octave |
Robert Burns | The Lass Of Ballochmyle. | Tune - "Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."
I.
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
All nature listening seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang
Amang the braes o' Ballochm... | Tune - "Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."
I.
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
All nature listening seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang
Amang the braes o' Ballochm... | Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
III.
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But woman, nature's darling child!
There al... | free_verse |
Michael Drayton | Amour 25 | The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed,
When my soules sunne, from her fayre Cabynet,
Her golden beames had now discouered,
Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.
Some muz'd to see the earth enuy the ayre,
Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet,
A world to see, yet how he ioyd to heare
The dainty grasse make ... | The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed,
When my soules sunne, from her fayre Cabynet,
Her golden beames had now discouered,
Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set. | Some muz'd to see the earth enuy the ayre,
Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet,
A world to see, yet how he ioyd to heare
The dainty grasse make musicke with her feete.
But my most meruaile was when from the skyes,
So Comet-like, each starre aduanc'd her lyght,
As though the heauen had now awak'd her eyes,
And summ... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | Translations. - Part I. Sonnet Lix. (From Petrarch.) | I am so weary with the burden old
Of foregone faults, and power of custom base,
That much I fear to perish from the ways,
And fall into my enemy's grim fold.
True, a high friend, to free me, not with gold,
Came, of ineffable and utmost grace--
Then straightway vanished from before my face,
So that in vain I strive him ... | I am so weary with the burden old
Of foregone faults, and power of custom base,
That much I fear to perish from the ways,
And fall into my enemy's grim fold. | True, a high friend, to free me, not with gold,
Came, of ineffable and utmost grace--
Then straightway vanished from before my face,
So that in vain I strive him to behold.
But his voice yet comes echoing below:
O ye that labour, the way open lies!
Come unto me lest some one shut the gate!
--What heavenly grace--what l... | sonnet |
Kate Greenaway | Child's Song. | The King and the Queen were riding
Upon a Summer's day,
And a Blackbird flew above them,
To hear what they did say.
The King said he liked apples,
The Queen said she liked pears.
And what shall we do to the Blackbird
Who listens unawares. | The King and the Queen were riding
Upon a Summer's day, | And a Blackbird flew above them,
To hear what they did say.
The King said he liked apples,
The Queen said she liked pears.
And what shall we do to the Blackbird
Who listens unawares. | free_verse |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | Death's Chill Between | (Athenaeum, October 14, 1848)
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
You can go, - I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest.
My heart-ache is all too deep,
And to... | (Athenaeum, October 14, 1848)
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
You can go, - I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest.
My heart-ache is all too deep,
And to... | And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan, -
None shall say 'She could not bear:'
While life lasts I will be strong, -
But I shall not struggle long.
Listen, listen! Everywhere
A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
And one comes ye do not see,
Listen, listen! Evermore
A dim hand knocks a... | free_verse |
Thomas Hardy | Copying Architecture In An Old Minster (Wimborne) | How smartly the quarters of the hour march by
That the jack-o'-clock never forgets;
Ding-dong; and before I have traced a cusp's eye,
Or got the true twist of the ogee over,
A double ding-dong ricochetts.
Just so did he clang here before I came,
And so will he clang when I'm gone
Through the Minster's cavernous hollows... | How smartly the quarters of the hour march by
That the jack-o'-clock never forgets;
Ding-dong; and before I have traced a cusp's eye,
Or got the true twist of the ogee over,
A double ding-dong ricochetts.
Just so did he clang here before I came,
And so will he clang when I'm gone
Through the Minster's cavernous hollows... | Whose mould lies below and around.
Yes; the next "Come, come," draws them out from their posts,
And they gather, and one shade appears, and another,
As the eve-damps creep from the ground.
See - a Courtenay stands by his quatre-foiled tomb,
And a Duke and his Duchess near;
And one Sir Edmund in columned gloom,
And a Sa... | free_verse |
Walter Crane | The Old Woman Of Norwich | There was an old woman and what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet this plaguey old woman could never be quiet. | There was an old woman and what do you think? | She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet this plaguey old woman could never be quiet. | quatrain |
Robert William Service | The Little Old Log Cabin | When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,
An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,
An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,
An' his fa... | When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,
An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,
An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,
An' his fa... | When he's on the blazin' desert, an' his canteen's sprung a leak,
An' he's all alone an' crazy, an' he's crawlin' like a snail,
An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,
An' he gouges down fer water, an' the raven's on his trail;
When he's done with care and cursin', an' he feels more like t... | free_verse |
Thomas Gent | Sonnet To Charity. | Oh! best belov'd of heaven, on earth bestow'd
To raise the pilgrim, sunk with ghastly fears,
To cool his burning wounds, to wipe his tears,
And strew with amaranths his thorny road.
Alas! how long has superstition hurl'd
Thine altars down, thine attributes revil'd,
The hearts of men with witchcrafts foul beguil'd,
And ... | Oh! best belov'd of heaven, on earth bestow'd
To raise the pilgrim, sunk with ghastly fears,
To cool his burning wounds, to wipe his tears,
And strew with amaranths his thorny road. | Alas! how long has superstition hurl'd
Thine altars down, thine attributes revil'd,
The hearts of men with witchcrafts foul beguil'd,
And spread his empire o'er the vassal world?
But truth returns! she spreads resistless day;
And mark, the monster's cloud-wrapt fabric falls--
He shrinks--he trembles 'mid his inmost hal... | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Amour 33 | Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,
My wofull hart, imprisond in my breast,
Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight,
To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest;
But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Behold! their obiects ouer-soone depart,
And treading in this neuer-ending maze,
Wish now to be trans-... | Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,
My wofull hart, imprisond in my breast,
Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight,
To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest; | But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Behold! their obiects ouer-soone depart,
And treading in this neuer-ending maze,
Wish now to be trans-formd into my hart:
My hart, surcharg'd with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise,
My eyes, made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears;
And whilst my hart and eye enuy... | sonnet |
Thomas Moore | A Dream. | I thought this heart enkindled lay
On Cupid's burning shrine:
I thought he stole thy heart away,
And placed it near to mine.
I saw thy heart begin to melt,
Like ice before the sun;
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And mingled into one! | I thought this heart enkindled lay
On Cupid's burning shrine: | I thought he stole thy heart away,
And placed it near to mine.
I saw thy heart begin to melt,
Like ice before the sun;
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And mingled into one! | octave |
Robert Herrick | His Charge To Julia At His Death. | Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near
That with my lines my life must full-stop here.
Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed
Over my turf when I am buried.
Then for effusions, let none wanting be,
Or other rites that do belong to me;
As love shall help thee, when thou dost go hence
Unto thy everlasting re... | Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near
That with my lines my life must full-stop here. | Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed
Over my turf when I am buried.
Then for effusions, let none wanting be,
Or other rites that do belong to me;
As love shall help thee, when thou dost go hence
Unto thy everlasting residence. | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | The Saddest Hour. | The saddest hour of anguish and of loss
Is not that season of supreme despair
When we can find no least light anywhere
To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross;
Not in that luxury of sorrow when
We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall
Of memories of days beyond recall -
Of lost delights that cannot come again.... | The saddest hour of anguish and of loss
Is not that season of supreme despair
When we can find no least light anywhere
To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross; | Not in that luxury of sorrow when
We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall
Of memories of days beyond recall -
Of lost delights that cannot come again.
But when, with eyes that are no longer wet,
We look out on the great, wide world of men,
And, smiling, lean toward a bright to-morrow,
Then backward shrink, with su... | sonnet |
Eric Mackay | Visions. | The Poet meets Apollo on the hill,
And Pan and Flora and the Paphian Queen,
And infant na'ads bathing in the rill,
And dryad maids that dance upon the green,
And fauns and Oreads in the silver sheen
They wear in summer, when the air is still.
He quaffs the wine of life, and quaffs his fill,
And sees Creation through it... | The Poet meets Apollo on the hill,
And Pan and Flora and the Paphian Queen,
And infant na'ads bathing in the rill,
And dryad maids that dance upon the green, | And fauns and Oreads in the silver sheen
They wear in summer, when the air is still.
He quaffs the wine of life, and quaffs his fill,
And sees Creation through its mask terrene.
The dead are wise, for they alone can see
As see the bards, - as see, beyond the dust,
The eyes of babes. The dead alone are just.
There is no... | sonnet |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | Bird Or Beast? | Did any bird come flying
After Adam and Eve,
When the door was shut against them
And they sat down to grieve?
I think not Eve's peacock
Splendid to see,
And I think not Adam's eagle;
But a dove may be.
Did any beast come pushing
Through the thorny hedge
Into the thorny thistly world,
Out from Eden's edge?
I think not a... | Did any bird come flying
After Adam and Eve,
When the door was shut against them
And they sat down to grieve?
I think not Eve's peacock
Splendid to see, | And I think not Adam's eagle;
But a dove may be.
Did any beast come pushing
Through the thorny hedge
Into the thorny thistly world,
Out from Eden's edge?
I think not a lion,
Though his strength is such;
But an innocent loving lamb
May have done as much.
If the dove preached from her bough
and the lamb from his sod,
The... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | Death Undreaded | Death stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear. | Death stands above me, whispering low | I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear. | quatrain |
Robert Browning | Eurydice to Orpheus - A Picture by Leighton | But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!
Let them once more absorb me! One look now
Will lap me round for ever, not to pass
Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond:
Hold me but safe again within the bond
Of one immortal look! All woe that was,
Forgotten, and all terror that may be,
Defied, no past is mine,... | But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!
Let them once more absorb me! One look now | Will lap me round for ever, not to pass
Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond:
Hold me but safe again within the bond
Of one immortal look! All woe that was,
Forgotten, and all terror that may be,
Defied, no past is mine, no future: look at me! | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXXX. Natural History. | Hie hie, says Anthony,
Puss in the pantry
Gnawing, gnawing
A mutton mutton-bone;
See now she tumbles it,
See now she mumbles it,
See how she tosses
The mutton mutton-bone. | Hie hie, says Anthony,
Puss in the pantry | Gnawing, gnawing
A mutton mutton-bone;
See now she tumbles it,
See now she mumbles it,
See how she tosses
The mutton mutton-bone. | octave |
William Morris | Pomona. | I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now.
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.
Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer's joy. | I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now. | For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.
Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer's joy. | octave |
Walter Savage Landor | Child Of A Day | Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thy urn,
The gushing eyes that read thy lot,
Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return!
And why the wish! the pure and blest
Watch like thy mother o'er thy sleep.
O peaceful night! O envied rest!
Thou wilt not ever see her weep. | Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thy urn, | The gushing eyes that read thy lot,
Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return!
And why the wish! the pure and blest
Watch like thy mother o'er thy sleep.
O peaceful night! O envied rest!
Thou wilt not ever see her weep. | octave |
Thomas Gent | Burlesque Sonnet. To A Bee. | Sweet Insect! that on two small wings doth fly,
And, flying, carry on those wings yourself;
Methinks I see you, looking from your eye,
As tho' you thought the world a wicked elf.
Offspring of summer! brimstone is thy foe;
And when it kills ye, soon you lose your breath:
They rob your honey; but don't let you go,
Thou h... | Sweet Insect! that on two small wings doth fly,
And, flying, carry on those wings yourself;
Methinks I see you, looking from your eye,
As tho' you thought the world a wicked elf. | Offspring of summer! brimstone is thy foe;
And when it kills ye, soon you lose your breath:
They rob your honey; but don't let you go,
Thou harmless victim of ambitious death!
How sweet is honey! coming from the Bee;
Sweeter than sugar, in the lump or not:
And, as we get this honey all from thee,
Child of the hive! tho... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Punchin. Epig. | Give me a reason why men call
Punchin a dry plant-animal.
Because as plants by water grow,
Punchin by beer and ale spreads so. | Give me a reason why men call | Punchin a dry plant-animal.
Because as plants by water grow,
Punchin by beer and ale spreads so. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Suspense. | Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room,
If in that room a friend await
Felicity or doom.
What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door! | Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room, | If in that room a friend await
Felicity or doom.
What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door! | free_verse |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Hymn | There is in all the sons of men
A love that in the spirit dwells,
That panteth after things unseen,
And tidings of the future tells.
And God hath built his altar here
To keep this fire of faith alive,
And sent his priests in holy fear
To speak the truth--for truth to strive.
And hither come the pensive train
Of rich an... | There is in all the sons of men
A love that in the spirit dwells,
That panteth after things unseen,
And tidings of the future tells.
And God hath built his altar here
To keep this fire of faith alive,
And sent his priests in holy fear
To speak the truth--for truth to strive.
And hither come the pensive train | Of rich and poor, of young and old,
Of ardent youth untouched by pain,
Of thoughtful maids and manhood bold.
They seek a friend to speak the word
Already trembling on their tongue,
To touch with prophet's hand the chord
Which God in human hearts hath strung.
To speak the plain reproof of sin
That sounded in the soul be... | free_verse |
John Clare | Summer. | How sweet, when weary, dropping on a bank,
Turning a look around on things that be!
E'en feather-headed grasses, spindling rank,
A trembling to the breeze one loves to see;
And yellow buttercup, where many a bee
Comes buzzing to its head and bows it down;
And the great dragon-fly with gauzy wings,
In gilded coat of pur... | How sweet, when weary, dropping on a bank,
Turning a look around on things that be!
E'en feather-headed grasses, spindling rank,
A trembling to the breeze one loves to see; | And yellow buttercup, where many a bee
Comes buzzing to its head and bows it down;
And the great dragon-fly with gauzy wings,
In gilded coat of purple, green, or brown,
That on broad leaves of hazel basking clings,
Fond of the sunny day:--and other things
Past counting, please me while thus here I lie.
But still reflec... | sonnet |
John Keats | Sonnet: Why Did I Laugh Tonight? | Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell
Then to my human heart I turn at once:
Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart... | Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell
Then to my human heart I turn at once: | Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And all the world's gaudy e... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Rasp. Epig. | Rasp plays at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets
Many a tester by his game and bets:
But of his gettings there's but little sign;
When one hole wastes more than he gets by nine. | Rasp plays at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets | Many a tester by his game and bets:
But of his gettings there's but little sign;
When one hole wastes more than he gets by nine. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXLVII. Relics. | Who comes here?
A grenadier.
What do you want?
A pot of beer.
Where is your money?
I've forgot.
Get you gone,
You drunken sot! | Who comes here?
A grenadier. | What do you want?
A pot of beer.
Where is your money?
I've forgot.
Get you gone,
You drunken sot! | octave |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Poetry. | God to his untaught children sent
Law, order, knowledge, art, from high,
And ev'ry heav'nly favour lent,
The world's hard lot to qualify.
They knew not how they should behave,
For all from Heav'n stark-naked came;
But Poetry their garments gave,
And then not one had cause for shame. | God to his untaught children sent
Law, order, knowledge, art, from high, | And ev'ry heav'nly favour lent,
The world's hard lot to qualify.
They knew not how they should behave,
For all from Heav'n stark-naked came;
But Poetry their garments gave,
And then not one had cause for shame. | octave |
George Gordon Byron | To - - [606] | 1.
But once I dared to lift my eyes -
To lift my eyes to thee;
And since that day, beneath the skies,
No other sight they see.
2.
In vain sleep shuts them in the night -
The night grows day to me;
Presenting idly to my sight
What still a dream must be.
3.
A fatal dream - for many a bar
Divides thy fate from mine;
And s... | 1.
But once I dared to lift my eyes -
To lift my eyes to thee;
And since that day, beneath the skies,
No other sight they see. | 2.
In vain sleep shuts them in the night -
The night grows day to me;
Presenting idly to my sight
What still a dream must be.
3.
A fatal dream - for many a bar
Divides thy fate from mine;
And still my passions wake and war,
But peace be still with thine.
[First published, New Monthly Magazine, 1833, vol. 37, p. 308.] | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Like Pattern, Like People. | This is the height of justice: that to do
Thyself which thou put'st other men unto.
As great men lead, the meaner follow on,
Or to the good, or evil action. | This is the height of justice: that to do | Thyself which thou put'st other men unto.
As great men lead, the meaner follow on,
Or to the good, or evil action. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Cherry Ripe | Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come, and buy:
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, there
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle;
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow. | Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come, and buy: | If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, there
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle;
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow. | octave |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Curtain | Villain shows his indiscretion,
Villain's partner makes confession.
Juvenile, with golden tresses,
Finds her pa and dons long dresses.
Scapegrace comes home money-laden,
Hero comforts tearful maiden,
Soubrette marries loyal chappie,
Villain skips, and all are happy. | Villain shows his indiscretion,
Villain's partner makes confession. | Juvenile, with golden tresses,
Finds her pa and dons long dresses.
Scapegrace comes home money-laden,
Hero comforts tearful maiden,
Soubrette marries loyal chappie,
Villain skips, and all are happy. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXXV. Natural History. | Hickety, pickety, my black hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen;
Gentlemen come every day
To see what my black hen doth lay. | Hickety, pickety, my black hen, | She lays eggs for gentlemen;
Gentlemen come every day
To see what my black hen doth lay. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CVIII. Proverbs. | When the sand doth feed the clay,
England woe and well-a-day!
But when the clay doth feed the sand,
Then it is well with Angle-land. | When the sand doth feed the clay, | England woe and well-a-day!
But when the clay doth feed the sand,
Then it is well with Angle-land. | quatrain |
John Alexander McCrae | The Shadow of the Cross | At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,
An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill
'Round the cross a mid-day twilight fell
That darkened earth and o'ershadowed hell?"
Through the streets of a city the angel sped;
Like an ... | At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,
An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill
'Round the cross a mid-day twilight fell
That darkened earth and o'ershadowed hell?"
Through the streets of a city the angel sped;
Like an ... | In a monarch's ear his courtiers lied
And humble faces hid hearts of pride.
Men's hate waxed hot, and their hearts grew cold,
As they haggled and fought for the lust of gold.
Despairing, he cried, "After all these years
Is there naught but hatred and strife and tears?"
He found two waifs in an attic bare;
-- A single c... | free_verse |
Matthew Arnold | Quiet Work | One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
One lesson which in every wind is blown,
One lesson of two duties kept at one
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity.
Of toil unsever'd from tranquility!
Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows
Far noisier schemes, accomplish'd in repose,
Too great for haste, too high for... | One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
One lesson which in every wind is blown,
One lesson of two duties kept at one
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity. | Of toil unsever'd from tranquility!
Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows
Far noisier schemes, accomplish'd in repose,
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry.
Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,
Man's fitful uproar mingling with his toil,
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on,
Their glorious tasks in... | sonnet |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | The Poet's Song | The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He pass'd by the town and out of the street;
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat;
And he sat him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his fe... | The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He pass'd by the town and out of the street;
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat;
And he sat him down in a lonely place, | And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly,
The snake slipt under a spray,
The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey;
And the nightingale thought, 'I have sung many... | free_verse |
Siegfried Loraine Sassoon | Break Of Day | There seemed a smell of autumn in the air
At the bleak end of night; he shivered there
In a dank, musty dug-out where he lay,
Legs wrapped in sand-bags, - lumps of chalk and clay
Spattering his face. Dry-mouthed, he thought, "To-day
We start the damned attack; and, Lord knows why,
Zero's at nine; how bloody if I'm done... | There seemed a smell of autumn in the air
At the bleak end of night; he shivered there
In a dank, musty dug-out where he lay,
Legs wrapped in sand-bags, - lumps of chalk and clay
Spattering his face. Dry-mouthed, he thought, "To-day
We start the damned attack; and, Lord knows why,
Zero's at nine; how bloody if I'm done... | He sniffs the chilly air; (his dreaming starts).
He's riding in a dusty Sussex lane
In quiet September; slowly night departs;
And he's a living soul, absolved from pain.
Beyond the brambled fences where he goes
Are glimmering fields with harvest piled in sheaves,
And tree-tops dark against the stars grown pale;
Then, c... | free_verse |
Clark Ashton Smith | Fairy Lanterns | 'Tis said these blossom-lanterns light
The elves upon their midnight way;
That fairy toil and elfin play
Receive their beams of magic white.
I marvel not if it be true;
I know this flower has lighted me
Nearer to Beauty's mystery,
And past the veils of secrets new. | 'Tis said these blossom-lanterns light
The elves upon their midnight way; | That fairy toil and elfin play
Receive their beams of magic white.
I marvel not if it be true;
I know this flower has lighted me
Nearer to Beauty's mystery,
And past the veils of secrets new. | octave |
Ambrose Bierce | The Mad Philosopher | The flabby wine-skin of his brain
Yields to some pathologic strain,
And voids from its unstored abysm
The driblet of an aphorism. | The flabby wine-skin of his brain | Yields to some pathologic strain,
And voids from its unstored abysm
The driblet of an aphorism. | quatrain |
Jean de La Fontaine | The Old Man's Calendar | OFT have I seen in wedlock with surprise,
That most forgot from which true bliss would rise
When marriage for a daughter is designed,
The parents solely riches seem to mind;
All other boons are left to heav'n above,
And sweet SIXTEEN must SIXTY learn to love!
Yet still in other things they nicer seem,
Their chariot-hor... | OFT have I seen in wedlock with surprise,
That most forgot from which true bliss would rise
When marriage for a daughter is designed,
The parents solely riches seem to mind;
All other boons are left to heav'n above,
And sweet SIXTEEN must SIXTY learn to love!
Yet still in other things they nicer seem,
Their chariot-hor... | Though far to sail they always would refuse.
One day it happened better to amuse,
Our couple diff'rent fishing vessels took,
And skimm'd the wave to try who most could hook,
Of fish and pleasure; and they laid a bet,
The greatest number which of them should get.
On board they had a man or two at most.
And each the best... | free_verse |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | The Old Cruiser | Here's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.
Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!
Comes a vessel out... | Here's the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine,
Forty times she 's crossed the line;
Same old masts and sails and crew,
Tight and tough and as good as new.
Into the harbor she bravely steers
Just as she 's done for these forty years,
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang!
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang!
Comes a vessel out... | "Ho! you Boatswain that walks the deck,
How does it happen you're not a wreck?
One and another have come to grief,
How have you dodged by rock and reef?"
Boatswain, lifting one knowing lid,
Hitches his breeches and shifts his quid
"Hey? What is it? Who 's come to grief
Louder, young swab, I 'm a little deaf."
"I say, o... | free_verse |
William Schwenck Gilbert | The Sailor Boy To His Lass. | I go away this blessed day,
To sail across the sea, Matilda!
My vessel starts for various parts
At twenty after three, Matilda.
I hardly know where we may go,
Or if it's near or far, Matilda,
For Captain Hyde does not confide
In any 'fore-mast tar, Matilda!
Beneath my ban that mystic man
Shall suffer, coute qui coute, ... | I go away this blessed day,
To sail across the sea, Matilda!
My vessel starts for various parts
At twenty after three, Matilda.
I hardly know where we may go,
Or if it's near or far, Matilda,
For Captain Hyde does not confide
In any 'fore-mast tar, Matilda!
Beneath my ban that mystic man
Shall suffer, coute qui coute, ... | Remember, do, what I've gone through,
Before you give me up, Matilda!
Recall again the mental pain
Of what I've had to do, Matilda!
And be assured that I've endured
It, all along of you, Matilda!
Do you forget, my blithesome pet,
How once with jealous rage, Matilda,
I watched you walk and gaily talk
With some one thric... | free_verse |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | A Wintry Sonnet. | A robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rive... | A robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain. | The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.
When springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
C... | sonnet |
D. H. Lawrence (David Herbert Richards) | In Church | In the choir the boys are singing the hymn.
The morning light on their lips
Moves in silver-moist flashes, in musical trim.
Sudden outside the high window, one crow
Hangs in the air
And lights on a withered oak-tree's top of woe.
One bird, one blot, folded and still at the top
Of the withered tree! - in the grail
Of cr... | In the choir the boys are singing the hymn.
The morning light on their lips
Moves in silver-moist flashes, in musical trim.
Sudden outside the high window, one crow | Hangs in the air
And lights on a withered oak-tree's top of woe.
One bird, one blot, folded and still at the top
Of the withered tree! - in the grail
Of crystal heaven falls one full black drop.
Like a soft full drop of darkness it seems to sway
In the tender wine
Of our Sabbath, suffusing our sacred day. | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | Oh! Breathe Not His Name. | Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, tho' in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And ... | Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid: | Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, tho' in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, tho' in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Once Poor, Still Penurious. | Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard:
The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor. | Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard: | The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor. | quatrain |
John McCrae | Quebec | Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong,
Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word,
"The spoils unto the conquerors belong.
Who winneth me must win me by the sword."
Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize
That strong men battled for in savage hate,
Can she look forth with unregretful eyes,
Where sleep Montcalm... | Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong,
Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word, | "The spoils unto the conquerors belong.
Who winneth me must win me by the sword."
Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize
That strong men battled for in savage hate,
Can she look forth with unregretful eyes,
Where sleep Montcalm and Wolfe beside her gate? | octave |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Suppose | If 'twere fair to suppose
That your heart were not taken,
That the dew from the rose
Petals still were not shaken,
I should pluck you,
Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me,
And wear you for life as the green of the bower.
If 'twere fair to suppose
That that road was for vagrants,
That the wind and the rose,
Counted... | If 'twere fair to suppose
That your heart were not taken,
That the dew from the rose
Petals still were not shaken, | I should pluck you,
Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me,
And wear you for life as the green of the bower.
If 'twere fair to suppose
That that road was for vagrants,
That the wind and the rose,
Counted all in their fragrance;
Oh, my dear one,
By love, I should take you and make you,
The green of my life from the sc... | sonnet |
R. C. Lehmann | Gelert | Tested and staunch through many a changing year,
Gelert, his master's faithful hound, lies here.
Humble in friendship, but in service proud,
He gave to man whate'er his lot allowed;
And, rich in love, on each well-trusted friend
Spent all his wealth and still had more to spend.
Now, reft beyond the unfriendly Stygian t... | Tested and staunch through many a changing year,
Gelert, his master's faithful hound, lies here. | Humble in friendship, but in service proud,
He gave to man whate'er his lot allowed;
And, rich in love, on each well-trusted friend
Spent all his wealth and still had more to spend.
Now, reft beyond the unfriendly Stygian tide,
For these he yearns and has no wish beside. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Tristram And Isolt. | Night and vast caverns of rock and of iron;
Voices like water, and voices like wind;
Horror and tempests of hail that environ
Shapes and the shadows of two who have sinned.
Wan on the whirlwind, in loathing uplifting
Faces that loved once, forever they go,
TRISTAM and ISOLT, the lovers, go drifting,
The sullen laughter... | Night and vast caverns of rock and of iron;
Voices like water, and voices like wind; | Horror and tempests of hail that environ
Shapes and the shadows of two who have sinned.
Wan on the whirlwind, in loathing uplifting
Faces that loved once, forever they go,
TRISTAM and ISOLT, the lovers, go drifting,
The sullen laughter of Hell below. | octave |
Robert Herrick | The Rainbow, Or Curious Covenant. | Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain;
And as they thus did entertain
The gentle beams from Julia's sight
To mine eyes levell'd opposite,
O thing admir'd! there did appear
A curious rainbow smiling there;
Which was the covenant that she
No more would drown mine eyes or me. | Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain;
And as they thus did entertain | The gentle beams from Julia's sight
To mine eyes levell'd opposite,
O thing admir'd! there did appear
A curious rainbow smiling there;
Which was the covenant that she
No more would drown mine eyes or me. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Beginnings And Endings. | Paul, he began ill, but he ended well;
Judas began well, but he foully fell:
In godliness not the beginnings so
Much as the ends are to be look'd unto. | Paul, he began ill, but he ended well; | Judas began well, but he foully fell:
In godliness not the beginnings so
Much as the ends are to be look'd unto. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To The Detractor. | Where others love and praise my verses, still
Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill:
A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come
For to unslate or to untile that thumb!
But cry thee mercy: exercise thy nails
To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not rails:
Some numbers prurient are, and some of these
Are wanton... | Where others love and praise my verses, still
Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill: | A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come
For to unslate or to untile that thumb!
But cry thee mercy: exercise thy nails
To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not rails:
Some numbers prurient are, and some of these
Are wanton with their itch; scratch, and 'twill please. | octave |
Michael Drayton | Sonet 10 | Loue in an humor played the prodigall,
And bids my sences to a solemne feast,
Yet more to grace the company withall,
Inuites my heart to be the chiefest guest;
No other drinke would serue this gluttons turne,
But precious teares distilling from mine eyne,
Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burne,
Quaffing carouses i... | Loue in an humor played the prodigall,
And bids my sences to a solemne feast,
Yet more to grace the company withall,
Inuites my heart to be the chiefest guest; | No other drinke would serue this gluttons turne,
But precious teares distilling from mine eyne,
Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burne,
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine,
Where, in his cups or'come with foule excesse,
Begins to play a swaggering Ruffins part,
And at the banquet, in his drunkennes,
Slew my dear... | sonnet |
Edgar Allan Poe | To F--s S. O--d | Thou wouldst be loved? then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love, a simple duty. | Thou wouldst be loved? then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not! | Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love, a simple duty. | octave |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Consolation | All are not taken; there are left behind
Living Belov'ds, tender looks to bring
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
But if it were not so, if I could find
No love in all this world for comforting,
Nor any path but hollowly did ring
Where 'dust to dust' the love from life... | All are not taken; there are left behind
Living Belov'ds, tender looks to bring
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind: | But if it were not so, if I could find
No love in all this world for comforting,
Nor any path but hollowly did ring
Where 'dust to dust' the love from life disjoin'd;
And if, before those sepulchres unmoving
I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb
Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth)
Crying 'Where are ye, O my love... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XXX - Forms Of Prayer At Sea | To kneeling Worshipers no earthly floor
Gives holier invitation than the deck
Of a storm-shattered Vessel saved from Wreck
(When all that Man could do availed no more)
By him who raised the Tempest and restrains:
Happy the crew who this have felt, and pour
Forth for his mercy, as the Church ordains,
Solemn thanksgiving... | To kneeling Worshipers no earthly floor
Gives holier invitation than the deck
Of a storm-shattered Vessel saved from Wreck
(When all that Man could do availed no more) | By him who raised the Tempest and restrains:
Happy the crew who this have felt, and pour
Forth for his mercy, as the Church ordains,
Solemn thanksgiving. Nor will 'they' implore
In vain who, for a rightful cause, give breath
To words the Church prescribes aiding the lip
For the heart's sake, ere ship with hostile ship
... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | A Prayer | Thou who mad'st the mighty clock
Of the great world go;
Mad'st its pendulum swing and rock,
Ceaseless to and fro;
Thou whose will doth push and draw
Every orb in heaven,
Help me move by higher law
In my spirit graven.
Like a planet let me swing--
With intention strong;
In my orbit rushing sing
Jubilant along;
Help me a... | Thou who mad'st the mighty clock
Of the great world go;
Mad'st its pendulum swing and rock,
Ceaseless to and fro;
Thou whose will doth push and draw | Every orb in heaven,
Help me move by higher law
In my spirit graven.
Like a planet let me swing--
With intention strong;
In my orbit rushing sing
Jubilant along;
Help me answer in my course
To my seasons due;
Lord of every stayless force,
Make my Willing true. | free_verse |
Matthew Prior | Songs Set To Music: 3. Set By Mr. De Fesch | Strephonetta, why d'ye fly me,
With such rigour in your eyes:
Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,
Since your charms I so much prize.
But I plainly see the reason
Why in vain I you pursued,
Her to gain 'twas out of season,
Who before the chaplain woo'd. | Strephonetta, why d'ye fly me,
With such rigour in your eyes: | Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,
Since your charms I so much prize.
But I plainly see the reason
Why in vain I you pursued,
Her to gain 'twas out of season,
Who before the chaplain woo'd. | octave |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | Devon | Deep-wooded combes, clear-mounded hills of morn,
Red sunset tides against a red sea-wall,
High lonely barrows where the curlews call,
Far moors that echo to the ringing horn,--
Devon! thou spirit of all these beauties born,
All these are thine, but thou art more than all:
Speech can but tell thy name, praise can but fa... | Deep-wooded combes, clear-mounded hills of morn,
Red sunset tides against a red sea-wall,
High lonely barrows where the curlews call,
Far moors that echo to the ringing horn,-- | Devon! thou spirit of all these beauties born,
All these are thine, but thou art more than all:
Speech can but tell thy name, praise can but fall
Beneath the cold white sea-mist of thy scorn.
Yet, yet, O noble land, forbid us not
Even now to join our faint memorial chime
To the fierce chant wherewith their hearts were ... | sonnet |
Maurice Henry Hewlett | Helen Redeemed | PROEM
Sing of the end of Troy, and of that flood
Of passion by the blood
Of heroes consecrate, by poet's craft
Hallowed, if that thin waft
Of godhead blown upon thee stretch thy song
To span such store of strong
And splendid vision of immortal themes
Late harvested in dreams,
Albeit long years laid up in tilth. Most me... | PROEM
Sing of the end of Troy, and of that flood
Of passion by the blood
Of heroes consecrate, by poet's craft
Hallowed, if that thin waft
Of godhead blown upon thee stretch thy song
To span such store of strong
And splendid vision of immortal themes
Late harvested in dreams,
Albeit long years laid up in tilth. Most me... | "Yet this thing more I'd have thee tell--what led
Thy thought to me? From him, what turned thy troth--
Such troth as there could be?"
She cried, "The oath!
The oath ye sware before the Lords of Heaven,
The sacrifice, the pledges taken and given
When thou and Paris met upon the plain,
And all the host sat down to watch ... | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Love. | Love is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath. | Love is anterior to life, | Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath. | quatrain |
Friedrich Schiller | The Inquirers. | Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too!
How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit?
That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee
But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng. | Men now seek to explore each thing from within and without too! | How canst thou make thy escape, Truth, from their eager pursuit?
That they may catch thee, with nets and poles extended they seek thee
But with a spirit-like tread, glidest thou out of the throng. | quatrain |
Robert Burns | On Robert Riddel. | To Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;
Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere. | To Riddel, much-lamented man, | This ivied cot was dear;
Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DIX. Natural History. | Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail,
The best man among them durst not touch her tail;
She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow,
Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all e'en now. | Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail, | The best man among them durst not touch her tail;
She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow,
Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all e'en now. | quatrain |
William Ernest Henley | London Types - II. Life-Guardsman | Joy of the Milliner, Envy of the Line,
Star of the Parks, jack-booted, sworded, helmed,
He sits between his holsters, solid of spine;
Nor, as it seems, though WESTMINSTER were whelmed,
With the great globe, in earthquake and eclipse,
Would he and his charger cease from mounting guard,
This Private in the Blues, nor wou... | Joy of the Milliner, Envy of the Line,
Star of the Parks, jack-booted, sworded, helmed,
He sits between his holsters, solid of spine;
Nor, as it seems, though WESTMINSTER were whelmed, | With the great globe, in earthquake and eclipse,
Would he and his charger cease from mounting guard,
This Private in the Blues, nor would his lips
Move, though his gorge with throttled oaths were charred!
He wears his inches weightily, as he wears
His old-world armours; and with his port and pride,
His sturdy graces an... | sonnet |
Henry Kendall | Rizpah | Said one who led the spears of swarthy Gad,
To Jesse's mighty son: 'My Lord, O King,
I, halting hard by Gibeon's bleak-blown hill
Three nightfalls past, saw dark-eyed Rizpah, clad
In dripping sackcloth, pace with naked feet
The flinty rock where lie unburied yet
The sons of her and Saul; and he whose post
Of watch is i... | Said one who led the spears of swarthy Gad,
To Jesse's mighty son: 'My Lord, O King,
I, halting hard by Gibeon's bleak-blown hill
Three nightfalls past, saw dark-eyed Rizpah, clad
In dripping sackcloth, pace with naked feet
The flinty rock where lie unburied yet
The sons of her and Saul; and he whose post
Of watch is i... | And many beasts that flee not at her step,
And many cunning eyes do look at her
From serpent-holes and burrows of the rat.
Moreover,' spake the scout, 'her skin is brown
And sere by reason of exceeding heat;
And all her darkness of abundant hair
Is shot with gray, because of many nights
When grief hath crouched in fell... | free_verse |
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