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Clark Ashton Smith | The Morning Pool | All night the pool held mysteries,
Vague depths of night that lay in dream,
Where phantoms of the pale-white stars
Wandered, with darkness-tangled gleam.
And now it holds the limpid light
And shadeless azure of the skies,
Wherein, like some enclasp'd gem,
The morning's golden glamour lies. | All night the pool held mysteries,
Vague depths of night that lay in dream, | Where phantoms of the pale-white stars
Wandered, with darkness-tangled gleam.
And now it holds the limpid light
And shadeless azure of the skies,
Wherein, like some enclasp'd gem,
The morning's golden glamour lies. | octave |
Thomas Moore | To The Same. On Looking Through Her Album. | No wonder bards, both high and low,
From Byron down to ***** and me,
Should seek the fame which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
Let but the theme be Jersey's eyes,
At once all errors are forgiven;
As even old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, tho' dull, he sings of heaven. | No wonder bards, both high and low,
From Byron down to ***** and me, | Should seek the fame which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
Let but the theme be Jersey's eyes,
At once all errors are forgiven;
As even old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, tho' dull, he sings of heaven. | octave |
Robert Lee Frost | Blue-Butterfly Day | It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where w... | It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry | There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire. | octave |
Robert Southey | Sonnet X. | How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns
The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud
The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud
Tho' distant; while upon the misty downs
Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
I never saw so terrible a storm!
Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain
Wraps his torn raiment ... | How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns
The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud
The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud
Tho' distant; while upon the misty downs | Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
I never saw so terrible a storm!
Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain
Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form
Cold even as Hope within him! I the while
Pause me in sadness tho' the sunbeams smile
Cheerily round me. Ah that thus my lot
Might be with Peace and So... | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Sonet 43 | Whilst thus my pen striues to eternize thee,
Age rules my lines with wrincles in my face,
Where in the Map of all my misery,
Is modeld out the world of my disgrace,
Whilst in despight of tyrannizing times,
Medea like I make thee young againe,
Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rimes,
And murther'st vertue with t... | Whilst thus my pen striues to eternize thee,
Age rules my lines with wrincles in my face,
Where in the Map of all my misery,
Is modeld out the world of my disgrace, | Whilst in despight of tyrannizing times,
Medea like I make thee young againe,
Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rimes,
And murther'st vertue with thy coy disdaine;
And though in youth, my youth vntimely perrish,
To keepe thee from obliuion and the graue,
Ensuing ages yet my rimes shall cherrish,
Where I entomb'... | sonnet |
Edgar Allan Poe | Sonnet: To Science | Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise?
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies,
Albeit h... | Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? | How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise?
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the N... | sonnet |
R. C. Lehmann | Epitaph For An English Soldier And An Indian Soldier Buried Together In France | When the fierce bugle thrilled alarm,
From lands apart these fighters came.
An equal courage nerved each arm,
And stirred each generous heart to flame.
Now, greatly dead, they lie below;
Their creed or language no man heeds,
Since for their colour they can show
The blood-red blazon of their deeds! | When the fierce bugle thrilled alarm,
From lands apart these fighters came. | An equal courage nerved each arm,
And stirred each generous heart to flame.
Now, greatly dead, they lie below;
Their creed or language no man heeds,
Since for their colour they can show
The blood-red blazon of their deeds! | octave |
Sara Teasdale | If I Must Go | If I must go to heaven's end
Climbing the ages like a stair,
Be near me and forever bend
With the same eyes above me there;
Time will fly past us like leaves flying,
We shall not heed, for we shall be
Beyond living, beyond dying,
Knowing and known unchangeably. | If I must go to heaven's end
Climbing the ages like a stair, | Be near me and forever bend
With the same eyes above me there;
Time will fly past us like leaves flying,
We shall not heed, for we shall be
Beyond living, beyond dying,
Knowing and known unchangeably. | octave |
Clark Ashton Smith | Ode To The Abyss | O many-gulfed, unalterable one,
Whose deep sustains
Far-drifting world and sun,
Thou wast ere ever star put out on thee;
And thou shalt be
When never world remains;
When all the suns' triumphant strength and pride
Is sunk in voidness absolute,
And their majestic music wide
In vaster silence rendered mute.
And though Go... | O many-gulfed, unalterable one,
Whose deep sustains
Far-drifting world and sun,
Thou wast ere ever star put out on thee;
And thou shalt be
When never world remains;
When all the suns' triumphant strength and pride
Is sunk in voidness absolute,
And their majestic music wide
In vaster silence rendered mute.
And though Go... | Their treasures centrally confined
In crypts by continental pillars sealed.
What suns and worlds have been thy prey
Through unhorizoned stretches of the Past!
What spheres that now essay
Time's undimensioned vast,
Shall plunge forgotten to thy gloom at length,
With life that cried its query of the Night
To ears with si... | free_verse |
Oliver Herford | Education | When People think that Kittens play,
It's really quite the other way.
For when they chase the Ball or Bobbin
They learn to catch a Mouse or Robin.
The Kitten, deaf to Duty's call,
Who will not chase the bounding ball,
A hungry Cathood will enjoy,
The scorn of Mouse and Bird and Boy. | When People think that Kittens play,
It's really quite the other way. | For when they chase the Ball or Bobbin
They learn to catch a Mouse or Robin.
The Kitten, deaf to Duty's call,
Who will not chase the bounding ball,
A hungry Cathood will enjoy,
The scorn of Mouse and Bird and Boy. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Her Face. | The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace
Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall
Are parts of her sweet nature. Such a face
Was Ruth's, methinks, divinely spiritual. | The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace | Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall
Are parts of her sweet nature. Such a face
Was Ruth's, methinks, divinely spiritual. | quatrain |
John Clare | The Beautiful Stranger | I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;
I never knew a foreign face so rare.
The world of waters rolls and rushes bye,
Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie.
But surely France must be a pleasant place
That greets the stranger w... | I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;
I never knew a foreign face so rare. | The world of waters rolls and rushes bye,
Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie.
But surely France must be a pleasant place
That greets the stranger with so fair a face;
The English maiden blushes down the dance,
But few can equal the fair maid of France.
I saw thee lovely and I wished thee mine,
And the last song I... | sonnet |
Richard Le Gallienne | Beauty Accurst | I am so fair that wheresoe'er I wend
Men yearn with strange desire to kiss my face,
Stretch out their hands to touch me as I pass,
And women follow me from place to place.
A poet writing honey of his dear
Leaves the wet page, - ah! leaves it long to dry.
The bride forgets it is her marriage-morn,
The bridegroom too for... | I am so fair that wheresoe'er I wend
Men yearn with strange desire to kiss my face,
Stretch out their hands to touch me as I pass,
And women follow me from place to place.
A poet writing honey of his dear
Leaves the wet page, - ah! leaves it long to dry.
The bride forgets it is her marriage-morn,
The bridegroom too for... | In my gold head forget their meaner gold,
The poor man grows unmindful of his debt.
Two lovers kissing in a secret place,
Should I draw nigh, - will never kiss again;
I come between the king and his desire,
And where I am all loving else is vain.
Lo! when I walk along the woodland way
Strange creatures leer at me with ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon One-Ey'd Broomsted. Epig. | Broomsted a lameness got by cold and beer:
And to the bath went, to be cured there:
His feet were helped, and left his crutch behind;
But home returned, as he went forth, half blind. | Broomsted a lameness got by cold and beer: | And to the bath went, to be cured there:
His feet were helped, and left his crutch behind;
But home returned, as he went forth, half blind. | quatrain |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | The Wish | Should some great angel say to me to-morrow,
"Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start,
But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,
Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart."
This were my wish! from my life's dim beginning
Let be what has been! wisdom planned the whole;
My want, my woe, my errors, and my sinn... | Should some great angel say to me to-morrow,
"Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start, | But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,
Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart."
This were my wish! from my life's dim beginning
Let be what has been! wisdom planned the whole;
My want, my woe, my errors, and my sinning,
All, all were needed lessons for my soul. | octave |
James McIntyre | Shelly. | We have scarcely time to tell thee
Of the strange and gifted Shelly,
Kind hearted man but ill-fated,
So youthful, drowned and cremated. | We have scarcely time to tell thee | Of the strange and gifted Shelly,
Kind hearted man but ill-fated,
So youthful, drowned and cremated. | quatrain |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Sound Of The Sea | The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain's side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So ... | The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep; | A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain's side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are so... | sonnet |
Robert Burns | The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water To The Noble Duke Of Athole. | I.
My Lord, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.
II.
The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
If... | I.
My Lord, I know your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.
II.
The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
If... | As Nature gave them me,
I am, altho' I say't mysel',
Worth gaun a mile to see.
V.
Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
And bonnie spreading bushes.
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,
You'll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
Return you tune... | free_verse |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | From 'The Sorrows Of Young Werther.' | Ev'ry youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
Ev'ry maiden sighs to win man's love;
Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?
Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov'st him well,
From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME. | Ev'ry youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
Ev'ry maiden sighs to win man's love; | Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?
Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov'st him well,
From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Momus. | Who read'st this book that I have writ,
And can'st not mend but carp at it;
By all the Muses! thou shalt be
Anathema to it and me. | Who read'st this book that I have writ, | And can'st not mend but carp at it;
By all the Muses! thou shalt be
Anathema to it and me. | quatrain |
Eugene Field | B'ranger's "Broken Fiddle" | I
There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend,
Pay you no heed unto my sorrow:
But feast to-day while yet you may,--
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow!
II
"Give us a tune," the foemen cried,
In one of their profane caprices;
I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo!
They dashed this innocent in pieces!
III
This fid... | I
There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend,
Pay you no heed unto my sorrow:
But feast to-day while yet you may,--
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow!
II
"Give us a tune," the foemen cried,
In one of their profane caprices;
I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo!
They dashed this innocent in pieces!
III
This fid... | Why, it discoursed so merrily,
It quickly banished all dejection;
And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed
I played with pious circumspection.
VI
And though, in patriotic song,
It was our guide, compatriot, teacher,
I never thought the foe had wrought
His fury on the helpless creature!
VII
But there, poor dog, my fa... | free_verse |
John Frederick Freeman | The Shade | I saw him as he went
With merry voice and eye.
I met him when he came
Back, tired but the same--
The same clear voice, bright eye,
Merry laugh, quick reply.
And now, if I but look
Unnoting at a book,
Or from the window stare
At dark woods newly bare,
I see that shining eye,
The same as when he went:
--But whose is the ... | I saw him as he went
With merry voice and eye.
I met him when he came
Back, tired but the same-- | The same clear voice, bright eye,
Merry laugh, quick reply.
And now, if I but look
Unnoting at a book,
Or from the window stare
At dark woods newly bare,
I see that shining eye,
The same as when he went:
--But whose is the low sigh,
The cold shade o'er me bent? | sonnet |
Hilaire Belloc | The Early Morning | The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other:
The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother.
The moon on my left and the dawn on my right.
My brother, good morning: my sister, good night. | The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: | The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother.
The moon on my left and the dawn on my right.
My brother, good morning: my sister, good night. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 - III. - At Rome | Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?
Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock,
Tarpeian named of yore, and keeping still
That name, a local Phantom proud to mock
The Traveler's expectation? Could our Will
Destroy the ideal Power within, 'twere done
Thro' what men see and touch, slaves wandering on,
Impelled by thirs... | Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?
Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock,
Tarpeian named of yore, and keeping still
That name, a local Phantom proud to mock | The Traveler's expectation? Could our Will
Destroy the ideal Power within, 'twere done
Thro' what men see and touch, slaves wandering on,
Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill.
Full oft, our wish obtained, deeply we sigh;
Yet not unrecompensed are they who learn,
From that depression raised, to mount on hig... | sonnet |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | The Birth Of Pleasure. | At the creation of the Earth
Pleasure, that divinest birth,
From the soil of Heaven did rise,
Wrapped in sweet wild melodies -
Like an exhalation wreathing
To the sound of air low-breathing
Through Aeolian pines, which make
A shade and shelter to the lake
Whence it rises soft and slow;
Her life-breathing [limbs] did fl... | At the creation of the Earth
Pleasure, that divinest birth,
From the soil of Heaven did rise,
Wrapped in sweet wild melodies - | Like an exhalation wreathing
To the sound of air low-breathing
Through Aeolian pines, which make
A shade and shelter to the lake
Whence it rises soft and slow;
Her life-breathing [limbs] did flow
In the harmony divine
Of an ever-lengthening line
Which enwrapped her perfect form
With a beauty clear and warm. | sonnet |
Ben Jonson | So Breaks The Sun | So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Wherein rude winter bound her veins;
So grows both stream and source of price,
That lately fettered were with ice.
So naked trees get crisped heads,
And colored coats the roughest meads,
And all get vigor, youth, and sprite,
That are but looked on by his light. | So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Wherein rude winter bound her veins; | So grows both stream and source of price,
That lately fettered were with ice.
So naked trees get crisped heads,
And colored coats the roughest meads,
And all get vigor, youth, and sprite,
That are but looked on by his light. | octave |
William Wordsworth | By The Seashore, Isle Of Man | Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,
With wonder smit by its transparency,
And all-enraptured with its purity?
Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline,
Have ever in them something of benign;
Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye
Of a young maiden, only not divine... | Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine,
With wonder smit by its transparency,
And all-enraptured with its purity?
Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, | Have ever in them something of benign;
Whether in gem, in water, or in sky,
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye
Of a young maiden, only not divine.
Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm
For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well;
Temptation centres in the liquid Calm;
Our daily raiment seems no obstacle
To in... | sonnet |
Thomas Frederick Young | To A Friend. | With kindly thoughts full oft we've met,
And bow'd at Friendship's sacred shrine;
Oh, may we ne'er those thoughts forget,
But may they still our hearts entwine.
May both retain those feelings long,
Which prompt the words of friendly tongue,
May I not fail to think of thee,
Nor you to think of T. F. Young. | With kindly thoughts full oft we've met,
And bow'd at Friendship's sacred shrine; | Oh, may we ne'er those thoughts forget,
But may they still our hearts entwine.
May both retain those feelings long,
Which prompt the words of friendly tongue,
May I not fail to think of thee,
Nor you to think of T. F. Young. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To God. | Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be
With me in my misery;
Suffer me to be so bold
As to speak, Lord, say and hold. | Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be | With me in my misery;
Suffer me to be so bold
As to speak, Lord, say and hold. | quatrain |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Anniversary Song. | Why pacest thou, my neighbour fair,
The garden all alone?
If house and land thou seek'st to guard,
I'd thee as mistress own.
My brother sought the cellar-maid,
And suffered her no rest;
She gave him a refreshing draught,
A kiss, too, she impress'd.
My cousin is a prudent wight,
The cook's by him ador'd;
He turns the sp... | Why pacest thou, my neighbour fair,
The garden all alone?
If house and land thou seek'st to guard,
I'd thee as mistress own.
My brother sought the cellar-maid,
And suffered her no rest;
She gave him a refreshing draught,
A kiss, too, she impress'd.
My cousin is a prudent wight,
The cook's by him ador'd; | He turns the spit round ceaselessly,
To gain love's sweet reward.
We six together then began
A banquet to consume,
When lo! a fourth pair singing came,
And danced into the room.
Welcome were they, and welcome too
Was a fifth jovial pair.
Brimful of news, and stored with tales
And jests both new and rare.
For riddles, s... | free_verse |
Robert von Ranke Graves | Corporal Stare | Back from the line one night in June,
I gave a dinner at Bethune,
Seven courses, the most gorgeous meal
Money could buy or batman steal.
Five hungry lads welcomed the fish
With shouts that nearly cracked the dish;
Asparagus came with tender tops,
Strawberries in cream, and mutton chops.
Said Jenkins, as my hand he sho... | Back from the line one night in June,
I gave a dinner at Bethune,
Seven courses, the most gorgeous meal
Money could buy or batman steal.
Five hungry lads welcomed the fish
With shouts that nearly cracked the dish;
Asparagus came with tender tops,
Strawberries in cream, and mutton chops.
Said Jenkins, as my hand he sho... | We bawled Church anthems in choro
Of Bethlehem and Hermon snow,
With drinking songs, a jolly sound
To help the good red Pommard round.
Stories and laughter interspersed,
We drowned a long La Bass'e thirst,
Trenches in June make throats damned dry.
Then through the window suddenly,
Badge, stripes and medals all complet... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Jack And Jill. Epig. | When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat,
Jack kisses Jill and bids her freely eat:
Jill says, Of what? says Jack, On that sweet kiss,
Which full of nectar and ambrosia is,
The food of poets. So I thought, says Jill,
That makes them look so lank, so ghost-like still.
Let poets feed on air, or what they will;
Let me... | When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat,
Jack kisses Jill and bids her freely eat: | Jill says, Of what? says Jack, On that sweet kiss,
Which full of nectar and ambrosia is,
The food of poets. So I thought, says Jill,
That makes them look so lank, so ghost-like still.
Let poets feed on air, or what they will;
Let me feed full, till that I fart, says Jill. | octave |
Alexander Pope | Translation Of A Prayer Of Brutus | Goddess of woods, tremendous in the chase,
To mountain wolves and all the savage race,
Wide o'er the aerial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er the infernal regions void of day.
On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choi... | Goddess of woods, tremendous in the chase,
To mountain wolves and all the savage race, | Wide o'er the aerial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er the infernal regions void of day.
On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise? | octave |
Robert Herrick | The Pillar Of Fame. | Fame's pillar here, at last, we set,
Outduring marble, brass, or jet.
Charm'd and enchanted so
As to withstand the blow
Of o v e r t h r o w;
Nor shall the seas,
Or o u t r a g e s
Of storms o'erbear
What we uprear.
Tho' kingdoms fall,
This pillar nev... | Fame's pillar here, at last, we set,
Outduring marble, brass, or jet.
Charm'd and enchanted so
As to withstand the blow | Of o v e r t h r o w;
Nor shall the seas,
Or o u t r a g e s
Of storms o'erbear
What we uprear.
Tho' kingdoms fall,
This pillar never shall
Decline or waste at all;
But stand for ever by his own
Firm and well-fix'd foundation. | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - IX. - Hymn - For The Boatmen, As They Approach The Rapids Under The Castle Of Heidelberg | Jesu! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings, let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar!
Saviour, for our warning, seen
Bleeding on that precious Rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood,
We ... | Jesu! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings, let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar!
Saviour, for our warning, seen
Bleeding on that precious Rood; | If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood,
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard thy Suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient Tower
Watching o'er the River's bed,
Fling the shadow of thy power,
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod'st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our... | free_verse |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | All Saints. | They are flocking from the East
And the West,
They are flocking from the North
And the South,
Every moment setting forth
From realm of snake or lion,
Swamp or sand,
Ice or burning;
Greatest and least,
Palm in hand
And praise in mouth,
They are flocking up the path
To their rest,
Up the path that hath
No returning.
Up t... | They are flocking from the East
And the West,
They are flocking from the North
And the South,
Every moment setting forth
From realm of snake or lion,
Swamp or sand,
Ice or burning;
Greatest and least,
Palm in hand
And praise in mouth,
They are flocking up the path
To their rest,
Up the path that hath
No returning.
Up t... | They are mounting,
Coming, coming,
Throngs beyond man's counting;
With a sound
Like innumerable bees
Swarming, humming
Where flowering trees
Many-tinted,
Many-scented,
All alike abound
With honey, -
With a swell
Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable
From a shadowed dell
To the hill-tops sunny, -
With a thunder
Like the... | free_verse |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | The Coming Era | They tell us that the Muse is soon to fly hence,
Leaving the bowers of song that once were dear,
Her robes bequeathing to her sister, Science,
The groves of Pindus for the axe to clear.
Optics will claim the wandering eye of fancy,
Physics will grasp imagination's wings,
Plain fact exorcise fiction's necromancy,
The wo... | They tell us that the Muse is soon to fly hence,
Leaving the bowers of song that once were dear,
Her robes bequeathing to her sister, Science,
The groves of Pindus for the axe to clear.
Optics will claim the wandering eye of fancy,
Physics will grasp imagination's wings,
Plain fact exorcise fiction's necromancy,
The wo... | Shall tell the secret whence our being came;
The chemist show us death is life's black oxide,
Left when the breath no longer fans its flame.
Instead of crack-brained poets in their attics
Filling thin volumes with their flowery talk,
There shall be books of wholesome mathematics;
The tutor with his blackboard and his c... | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Willow Wood | I.
Deep in the wood of willow-trees
The summer sounds and whispering breeze
Bound me as if with glimmering arms
And spells of witchcraft, sorceries,
That filled the wood with phantom forms,
And held me with their faery charms.
II.
Within the wood they laid their snare.
The invisible web was everywhere:
I felt it clasp ... | I.
Deep in the wood of willow-trees
The summer sounds and whispering breeze
Bound me as if with glimmering arms
And spells of witchcraft, sorceries,
That filled the wood with phantom forms,
And held me with their faery charms.
II.
Within the wood they laid their snare.
The invisible web was everywhere:
I felt it clasp ... | V.
And through the willow-leaves I saw,
As in a crystal without flaw,
Slim limbs and faces sly of eye,
Elves, piping on gnat-flutes of straw,
Thin as the violin of a fly,
Or clashing cricket-cymbals by.
VI.
And then I saw the warted gnomes
Creep, beetle-backed, from rocky combs,
Lamped with their jewelled talismans,
Ru... | free_verse |
George Pope Morris | We Were Boys Together. | (Music by Russell.)
We were boys together,
And never can forget
The school-house near the heather,
In childhood where we met;
The humble home to memory dear,
Its sorrows and its joys;
Where woke the transient smile or tear,
When you and I were boys.
We were youths together,
And castles built in air,
Your heart was like... | (Music by Russell.)
We were boys together,
And never can forget
The school-house near the heather,
In childhood where we met;
The humble home to memory dear,
Its sorrows and its joys;
Where woke the transient smile or tear, | When you and I were boys.
We were youths together,
And castles built in air,
Your heart was like a feather,
And mine weighed down with care;
To you came wealth with manhood's prime,
To me it brought alloys--
Foreshadowed in the primrose time.
When you and I were boys.
We're old men together--
The friends we loved of yo... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio | The fountain shivers lightly in the rain,
The laurels drip, the fading roses fall,
The marble satyr plays a mournful strain
That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.
Oh dripping laurel, Phoebus sacred tree,
Would that swift Daphne's lot might come to me,
Then would I still my soul and for an hour
Change to a laurel in t... | The fountain shivers lightly in the rain,
The laurels drip, the fading roses fall, | The marble satyr plays a mournful strain
That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.
Oh dripping laurel, Phoebus sacred tree,
Would that swift Daphne's lot might come to me,
Then would I still my soul and for an hour
Change to a laurel in the glancing shower. | octave |
John Milton | Translations of the Italian Poems II | As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
That scarcely can its tender bud display
Borne from its native genial airs away,
So, on my tongue these accents new and rare
Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there,
While thus, o sweetly s... | As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
That scarcely can its tender bud display | Borne from its native genial airs away,
So, on my tongue these accents new and rare
Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there,
While thus, o sweetly scornful! I essay
Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown,
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain;
So Love has will'd, and oftimes Love has shown
That what He wi... | sonnet |
Sara Teasdale | Twilight | Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling;
Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.
Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling. | Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling; | Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.
Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling. | octave |
Robert William Service | Lost | "Black is the sky, but the land is white -
(O the wind, the snow and the storm!) -
Father, where is our boy to-night?
Pray to God he is safe and warm."
"Mother, mother, why should you fear?
Safe is he, and the Arctic moon
Over his cabin shines so clear -
Rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon."
"It's getting dark aw... | "Black is the sky, but the land is white -
(O the wind, the snow and the storm!) -
Father, where is our boy to-night?
Pray to God he is safe and warm."
"Mother, mother, why should you fear?
Safe is he, and the Arctic moon
Over his cabin shines so clear -
Rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon."
"It's getting dark aw... | That's what they'll strike, I reckon; that's how they'll find their pard,
A pie-faced corpse in a snowbank - curse you, don't be a fool!
Play the game to the finish; bet on your very last card;
Nerve yourself for the struggle. Oh, you coward, keep cool!
"I'm going to lick this blizzard; I'm going to live the night.
It ... | free_verse |
Richard Hunter | Jujuba. | Here's Uncle Jujuba,
Who has a sweet tooth;
He used to eat sugar-
Cane oft in his youth,
In South Carolina,
Where sugar-cane grows,
From which they make sugar,
As everyone knows. | Here's Uncle Jujuba,
Who has a sweet tooth; | He used to eat sugar-
Cane oft in his youth,
In South Carolina,
Where sugar-cane grows,
From which they make sugar,
As everyone knows. | octave |
Thomas Hood | The Carelesse Nurse Mayd. | I sawe a Mayd sitte on a Bank,
Beguiled by Wooer fayne and fond;
And whiles His flatterynge Vowes She drank,
Her Nurselynge slipt within a Pond!
All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist,
For She was Fayre and He was Kinde;
The Sunne went down before She wist
Another Sonne had sett behinde!
With angrie Hands and frownynge Bro... | I sawe a Mayd sitte on a Bank,
Beguiled by Wooer fayne and fond;
And whiles His flatterynge Vowes She drank,
Her Nurselynge slipt within a Pond!
All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist, | For She was Fayre and He was Kinde;
The Sunne went down before She wist
Another Sonne had sett behinde!
With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe,
That deemd Her owne the Urchine's Sinne,
She pluckt Him out, but he was nowe
Past being Whipt for fallynge in.
She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde
With Shrikes that Echo answer... | free_verse |
Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson | The First Meeting (From The Fisher Maiden) | The first fond meeting holy
Is like the woodbirds' trilling,
Is like a sea-song thrilling,
When red the sun sinks slowly, -
Is like a horn on mountain,
That wakes time's sleep thereunder
And summons to life's fountain
To meet in nature's wonder. | The first fond meeting holy
Is like the woodbirds' trilling, | Is like a sea-song thrilling,
When red the sun sinks slowly, -
Is like a horn on mountain,
That wakes time's sleep thereunder
And summons to life's fountain
To meet in nature's wonder. | octave |
Oliver Herford | The Dove Of Peace | Here's to the Dove of Peace!
May she find a mate some day,
And may her tribe increase
As fast as she can lay!
With cooing doves galore
Then may the sky be dark
Until the Dogs of War
Can't see each other bark! | Here's to the Dove of Peace!
May she find a mate some day, | And may her tribe increase
As fast as she can lay!
With cooing doves galore
Then may the sky be dark
Until the Dogs of War
Can't see each other bark! | octave |
Oliver Herford | Daniel Frohman | I love to picture Daniel Frohman
In costume of a noble Roman.
For Dan has just the style of hair,
That Julius C'sar used to wear. | I love to picture Daniel Frohman | In costume of a noble Roman.
For Dan has just the style of hair,
That Julius C'sar used to wear. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To His Book. Another. | Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need,
The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts. | Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need, | The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts. | quatrain |
William Butler Yeats | Owen Aherne And His Dancers | A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought
Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad. | A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought | Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Charms. | Bring the holy crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head;
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep. | Bring the holy crust of bread, | Lay it underneath the head;
'Tis a certain charm to keep
Hags away, while children sleep. | quatrain |
George Augustus Baker, Jr. | Easter Morning. | Too early, of course! How provoking!
I told Ma just how it would be.
I might as well have on a wrapper,
For there isn't a soul here to see.
There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,
I declare if it isn't too bad!
I know my suit cost more than hers did,
And I wanted to see her look mad.
I do think that sexton's too stupid ... | Too early, of course! How provoking!
I told Ma just how it would be.
I might as well have on a wrapper,
For there isn't a soul here to see.
There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,
I declare if it isn't too bad!
I know my suit cost more than hers did,
And I wanted to see her look mad.
I do think that sexton's too stupid ... | Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you?
Well, I don't think you need be so proud
Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it,
It's horrid fast-looking and loud.
What a dress! for a girl in her senses
To go on the street in light blue!
And those coat-sleeves they wore them last Summer
Don't doubt, though, that she th... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | To His Book | Make haste away, and let one be
A friendly patron unto thee;
Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie
Torn for the use of pastery;
Or see thy injured leaves serve well
To make loose gowns for mackerel;
Or see the grocers, in a trice,
Make hoods of thee to serve out spice. | Make haste away, and let one be
A friendly patron unto thee; | Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie
Torn for the use of pastery;
Or see thy injured leaves serve well
To make loose gowns for mackerel;
Or see the grocers, in a trice,
Make hoods of thee to serve out spice. | octave |
Walter Savage Landor | Ianthe | From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples down a sunny river;
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever. | From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass | Like little ripples down a sunny river;
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CXXXVII. Songs. | Up at Piccadilly oh!
The coachman takes his stand,
And when he meets a pretty girl,
He takes her by the hand;
Whip away for ever oh!
Drive away so clever oh!
All the way to Bristol oh!
He drives her four-in-hand. | Up at Piccadilly oh!
The coachman takes his stand, | And when he meets a pretty girl,
He takes her by the hand;
Whip away for ever oh!
Drive away so clever oh!
All the way to Bristol oh!
He drives her four-in-hand. | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Divorced | Thinking of one thing all day long, at night
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;
But only for a little while. At three,
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,
Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,
From that white marriage morning of our youth
Down to this dreadf... | Thinking of one thing all day long, at night
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;
But only for a little while. At three,
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,
Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,
From that white marriage morning of our youth
Down to this dreadf... | I knew I should conserve myself for this
Most holy office; knew God meant it so.
Yet even then, I held your wishes first;
And by my double duties lost the bloom
And freshness of my beauty; and beheld
A look of disapproval in your eyes.
But with the coming of our precious child,
The lover's smile, tinged with the father... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | Florence | The bells ring over the Anno,
Midnight, the long, long chime;
Here in the quivering darkness
I am afraid of time.
Oh, gray bells cease your tolling,
Time takes too much from me,
And yet to rock and river
He gives eternity. | The bells ring over the Anno,
Midnight, the long, long chime; | Here in the quivering darkness
I am afraid of time.
Oh, gray bells cease your tolling,
Time takes too much from me,
And yet to rock and river
He gives eternity. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Christ. | I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all. | I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum: | Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Epitaph On The Tomb Of Sir Edward Giles And His Wife In The South Aisle Of Dean Prior Church, Devon. | No trust to metals nor to marbles, when
These have their fate and wear away as men;
Times, titles, trophies may be lost and spent,
But virtue rears the eternal monument.
What more than these can tombs or tombstones pay?
But here's the sunset of a tedious day:
These two asleep are: I'll but be undress'd
And so to bed: p... | No trust to metals nor to marbles, when
These have their fate and wear away as men; | Times, titles, trophies may be lost and spent,
But virtue rears the eternal monument.
What more than these can tombs or tombstones pay?
But here's the sunset of a tedious day:
These two asleep are: I'll but be undress'd
And so to bed: pray wish us all good rest. | octave |
Thomas Frederick Young | Ireland. | Thou green isle of sorrows, I think of thee daily,
And sad are the thoughts that come into my brain,
When here, to my home, o'er the wide, rolling ocean,
Is wafted the news of thy trouble and pain.
Oh, Erin! I love thee in spite of thine errors,
And now for thee, Erin, my heart is forlorn,
Disturb'd as thou art by such... | Thou green isle of sorrows, I think of thee daily,
And sad are the thoughts that come into my brain,
When here, to my home, o'er the wide, rolling ocean,
Is wafted the news of thy trouble and pain.
Oh, Erin! I love thee in spite of thine errors,
And now for thee, Erin, my heart is forlorn,
Disturb'd as thou art by such... | Oh, Erin, I roam, in my thoughts, by thy rivers,
I stand by thy lakes, in delight at the view,
And ever I pray for the time, that delivers
This nation from strife, and from misery, too.
From Shannon's green banks unto Erne's limpid waters,
I've travell'd in thought, while this was my pray'r:
That sons of Fermanagh, and... | free_verse |
William Morris | The End Of May. | How the wind howls this morn
About the end of May,
And drives June on apace
To mock the world forlorn
And the world's joy passed away
And my unlonged-for face!
The world's joy passed away;
For no more may I deem
That any folk are glad
To see the dawn of day
Sunder the tangled dream
Wherein no grief they had.
Ah, throug... | How the wind howls this morn
About the end of May,
And drives June on apace
To mock the world forlorn
And the world's joy passed away
And my unlonged-for face!
The world's joy passed away;
For no more may I deem | That any folk are glad
To see the dawn of day
Sunder the tangled dream
Wherein no grief they had.
Ah, through the tangled dream
Where others have no grief
Ever it fares with me
That fears and treasons stream
And dumb sleep slays belief
Whatso therein may be.
Sleep slayeth all belief
Until the hopeless light
Wakes at th... | free_verse |
James Stephens | Behind The Hill (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg) | Behind the hill I met a man in green
Who asked me if my mother had gone out?
I said she had. He asked me had I seen
His castle where the people sing and shout
From dawn to dark, and told me that he had
A crock of gold inside a hollow tree,
And I could have it., I wanted money bad
To buy a sword with, and I thought t... | Behind the hill I met a man in green
Who asked me if my mother had gone out?
I said she had. He asked me had I seen
His castle where the people sing and shout | From dawn to dark, and told me that he had
A crock of gold inside a hollow tree,
And I could have it., I wanted money bad
To buy a sword with, and I thought that he
Would keep his solemn word; so, off we went.
He said he had a pound hid in the crock,
And owned the castle too, and paid no rent
To any one, and that you h... | sonnet |
Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson | In A Heavy Hour | (See Note 13)
Be glad when danger presses
Each power your soul possesses!
In greater strain
Your strength shall gain,
Till greater vict'ry blesses!
Supports may break in pieces,
Your friends may have caprices,
But you shall see,
The end will be,
Your need of crutches ceases.
- 'T is clear,
Whom God makes lonely,
To him... | (See Note 13)
Be glad when danger presses
Each power your soul possesses!
In greater strain | Your strength shall gain,
Till greater vict'ry blesses!
Supports may break in pieces,
Your friends may have caprices,
But you shall see,
The end will be,
Your need of crutches ceases.
- 'T is clear,
Whom God makes lonely,
To him He comes more near. | sonnet |
Henry Kendall | Prefatory Sonnets | I
I purposed once to take my pen and write,
Not songs, like some, tormented and awry
With passion, but a cunning harmony
Of words and music caught from glen and height,
And lucid colours born of woodland light
And shining places where the sea-streams lie.
But this was when the heat of youth glowed white,
And since I've... | I
I purposed once to take my pen and write,
Not songs, like some, tormented and awry
With passion, but a cunning harmony
Of words and music caught from glen and height,
And lucid colours born of woodland light
And shining places where the sea-streams lie.
But this was when the heat of youth glowed white,
And since I've... | Who read this book; but certain syllables
Herein are borrowed from unfooted dells
And secret hollows dear to noontide dew;
And these at least, though far between and few,
May catch the sense like subtle forest spells.
II
So take these kindly, even though there be
Some notes that unto other lyres belong,
Stray echoes fr... | free_verse |
William Butler Yeats | There | There all the barrel-hoops are knit,
There all the serpent-tails are bit,
There all the gyres converge in one,
There all the planets drop in the Sun. | There all the barrel-hoops are knit, | There all the serpent-tails are bit,
There all the gyres converge in one,
There all the planets drop in the Sun. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Robert Browning | Master of human harmonies, where gong
And harp and violin and flute accord;
Each instrument confessing you its lord,
Within the deathless orchestra of Song.
Albeit at times your music may sound wrong
To our dulled senses, and its meaning barred
To Earth's slow understanding, never marred
Your message brave: clear, and ... | Master of human harmonies, where gong
And harp and violin and flute accord;
Each instrument confessing you its lord,
Within the deathless orchestra of Song. | Albeit at times your music may sound wrong
To our dulled senses, and its meaning barred
To Earth's slow understanding, never marred
Your message brave: clear, and of trumpet tongue.
Poet-revealer, who, both soon and late,
Within an age of doubt kept clean your faith,
Crying your cry of"With the world all's well!"
How s... | sonnet |
Herman Melville | The Portent | Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.
Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
Th... | Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah! | The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.
Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war. | sonnet |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | On A Mourner | I.
Nature, so far as in her lies,
Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,
Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place;
II.
Fills out the homely quickset-screens,
And makes the purple lilac ripe,
Steps from her airy hill, and greens
The swamp, where humm'd the dr... | I.
Nature, so far as in her lies,
Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,
Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place;
II.
Fills out the homely quickset-screens,
And makes the purple lilac ripe,
Steps from her airy hill, and greens
The swamp, where humm'd the dr... | Saying, 'Beat quicker, for the time
Is pleasant, and the woods and ways
Are pleasant, and the beech and lime
Put forth and feel a gladder clime.'
IV.
And murmurs of a deeper voice,
Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice,
Till all thy life one way incline
With one wide Will that close... | free_verse |
Thomas Hardy | After Schiller | Knight, a true sister-love
This heart retains;
Ask me no other love,
That way lie pains!
Calm must I view thee come,
Calm see thee go;
Tale-telling tears of thine
I must not know! | Knight, a true sister-love
This heart retains; | Ask me no other love,
That way lie pains!
Calm must I view thee come,
Calm see thee go;
Tale-telling tears of thine
I must not know! | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXXIII. Relics. | What's the news of the day,
Good neighbour, I pray?
They say the balloon
Is gone up to the moon. | What's the news of the day, | Good neighbour, I pray?
They say the balloon
Is gone up to the moon. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXLVIII. Relics. | Go to bed, Tom!
Go to bed, Tom!
Drunk or sober,
Go to bed, Tom! | Go to bed, Tom! | Go to bed, Tom!
Drunk or sober,
Go to bed, Tom! | quatrain |
Unknown | After Dinner Speeches | Every rose has its thorn
There's fuzz on all the peaches.
There never was a dinner yet
Without some lengthy speeches. | Every rose has its thorn | There's fuzz on all the peaches.
There never was a dinner yet
Without some lengthy speeches. | quatrain |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | A Shadow | I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer see
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and ... | I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said, | Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer see
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and so full of dread.
Be comforted; the world is very old,
And generations pass, as they have passed,
A troop of shadows moving with the sun;
Thousands of times has the old tale been... | sonnet |
Richard Le Gallienne | Invitation | Unless you come while still the world is green,
A place of birds and the blue dreaming sea,
In vain has all the singing summer been,
Unless you come, and share it all with me.
Ah! come, ere August flames its heart away,
Ere, like a golden widow, autumn goes
Across the woodlands, sad with thoughts of May,
An aster in he... | Unless you come while still the world is green,
A place of birds and the blue dreaming sea, | In vain has all the singing summer been,
Unless you come, and share it all with me.
Ah! come, ere August flames its heart away,
Ere, like a golden widow, autumn goes
Across the woodlands, sad with thoughts of May,
An aster in her bosom for a rose. | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | God's Kin | There is no summit you may not attain,
No purpose which you may not yet achieve,
If you will wait serenely and believe
Each seeming loss is but a step toward gain.
Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain;
Let nothing make you question, doubt or grieve;
Give only good, and good alone receive;
And as you welcome joy... | There is no summit you may not attain,
No purpose which you may not yet achieve,
If you will wait serenely and believe
Each seeming loss is but a step toward gain. | Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain;
Let nothing make you question, doubt or grieve;
Give only good, and good alone receive;
And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain.
That which you most desire awaits your word;
Throw wide the door and bid it enter in.
Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred;
Speak, a... | sonnet |
Bliss Carman (William) | A Friend's Wish. To C. W. S. | Give me your last Aloha,
When I go out of sight,
Over the dark rim of the sea
Into the Polar night!
And all the Northland give you
Skoal for the voyage begun,
When your bright summer sail goes down
Into the zones of sun! | Give me your last Aloha,
When I go out of sight, | Over the dark rim of the sea
Into the Polar night!
And all the Northland give you
Skoal for the voyage begun,
When your bright summer sail goes down
Into the zones of sun! | octave |
George Pope Morris | In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr. | He was the pulse-beat of true hearts,
The love-light of fond eyes:
When such a man from earth departs,
'Tis the survivor dies. | He was the pulse-beat of true hearts, | The love-light of fond eyes:
When such a man from earth departs,
'Tis the survivor dies. | quatrain |
Eugene Field | A Heine Love Song | The image of the moon at night
All trembling in the ocean lies,
But she, with calm and steadfast light,
Moves proudly through the radiant skies,
How like the tranquil moon thou art--
Thou fairest flower of womankind!
And, look, within my fluttering heart
Thy image trembling is enshrined! | The image of the moon at night
All trembling in the ocean lies, | But she, with calm and steadfast light,
Moves proudly through the radiant skies,
How like the tranquil moon thou art--
Thou fairest flower of womankind!
And, look, within my fluttering heart
Thy image trembling is enshrined! | octave |
Robert Burns | For Gavin Hamilton. | The poor man weeps, here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam'd:
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd! | The poor man weeps, here Gavin sleeps, | Whom canting wretches blam'd:
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd! | quatrain |
Manmohan Ghose | A Lament | Over thy head, in joyful wanderings
Through heaven's wide spaces, free,
Birds fly with music in their wings;
And from the blue, rough sea
The fishes flash and leap;
There is a life of loveliest things
O'er thee, so fast asleep.
In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier,
Eve after eve; and still
The glorious stars re... | Over thy head, in joyful wanderings
Through heaven's wide spaces, free,
Birds fly with music in their wings;
And from the blue, rough sea | The fishes flash and leap;
There is a life of loveliest things
O'er thee, so fast asleep.
In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier,
Eve after eve; and still
The glorious stars remember to appear;
The roses on the hill
Are fragrant as before:
Only thy face, of all that's dear,
I shall see nevermore! | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Amour 40 | O thou vnkindest fayre! most fayrest shee,
In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,
Now doe I sweare by heauens, before we part,
My halfe-slaine hart shall take reuenge on thee.
Thy mother dyd her lyfe to death resigne,
And thou an Angell art, and from aboue;
Thy father was a man, that will I proue,
Yet thou a G... | O thou vnkindest fayre! most fayrest shee,
In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,
Now doe I sweare by heauens, before we part,
My halfe-slaine hart shall take reuenge on thee. | Thy mother dyd her lyfe to death resigne,
And thou an Angell art, and from aboue;
Thy father was a man, that will I proue,
Yet thou a Goddesse art, and so diuine.
And thus, if thou be not of humaine kinde,
A Bastard on both sides needes must thou be;
Our Lawes allow no land to basterdy:
By natures Lawes we thee a basta... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | The Aurora Borealis | Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge
Unto my future nights, and I will cut
Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut
On every set of day; or as a sledge
Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge
Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but
The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut
That swims in the broad moonlight! ... | Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge
Unto my future nights, and I will cut
Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut
On every set of day; or as a sledge | Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge
Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but
The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut
That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge
Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven
Right home into the fastness of the north!
Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven!
And I with it have clom... | sonnet |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | The Hut | Dear little Hut by the rice-fields circled,
That cocoa-nuts shade above.
I hear the voices of children singing,
And that means love.
When shall the traveller's march be over,
When shall his wandering cease?
This little homestead is bare and simple,
And that means peace.
Nay! to the road I am not unfaithful;
In tents le... | Dear little Hut by the rice-fields circled,
That cocoa-nuts shade above.
I hear the voices of children singing,
And that means love. | When shall the traveller's march be over,
When shall his wandering cease?
This little homestead is bare and simple,
And that means peace.
Nay! to the road I am not unfaithful;
In tents let my dwelling be!
I am not longing for Peace or Passion
From any one else but thee,
My Krishna,
Any one else but thee! | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Abandoned | The hornets build in plaster-dropping rooms,
And on its mossy porch the lizard lies;
Around its chimneys slow the swallow flies,
And on its roof the locusts snow their blooms.
Like some sad thought that broods here, old perfumes
Haunt its dim stairs; the cautious zephyr tries
Each gusty door, like some dead hand, then ... | The hornets build in plaster-dropping rooms,
And on its mossy porch the lizard lies;
Around its chimneys slow the swallow flies,
And on its roof the locusts snow their blooms. | Like some sad thought that broods here, old perfumes
Haunt its dim stairs; the cautious zephyr tries
Each gusty door, like some dead hand, then sighs
With ghostly lips among the attic glooms.
And now a heron, now a kingfisher,
Flits in the willows where the riffle seems
At each faint fall to hesitate to leap,
Flutterin... | sonnet |
William Butler Yeats | The Nineteenth Century And After | Though the great song return no more
There's keen delight in what we have:
The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave. | Though the great song return no more | There's keen delight in what we have:
The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave. | quatrain |
Michael Drayton | Amour 51 | Goe you, my lynes, Embassadours of loue,
With my harts tribute to her conquering eyes,
From whence, if you one tear of pitty moue
For all my woes, that onely shall suffise.
When you Minerua in the sunne behold,
At her perfections stand you then and gaze,
Where in the compasse of a Marygold,
Meridianis sits within a maz... | Goe you, my lynes, Embassadours of loue,
With my harts tribute to her conquering eyes,
From whence, if you one tear of pitty moue
For all my woes, that onely shall suffise. | When you Minerua in the sunne behold,
At her perfections stand you then and gaze,
Where in the compasse of a Marygold,
Meridianis sits within a maze.
And let Inuention of her beauty vaunt
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamelas loue,
And tell the Gods, Mars is predominant,
Seated with Sol, and weares Mineruas gloue:
And tel... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Feud. | A Mile of lane, hedged high with iron-weeds
And dying daisies, white with sun, that leads
Downward into a wood; through which a stream
Steals like a shadow; over which is laid
A bridge of logs, worn deep by many a team,
Sunk in the tangled shade.
Far off a wood-dove lifts its lonely cry;
And in the sleepy silver of the... | A Mile of lane, hedged high with iron-weeds
And dying daisies, white with sun, that leads
Downward into a wood; through which a stream
Steals like a shadow; over which is laid
A bridge of logs, worn deep by many a team,
Sunk in the tangled shade.
Far off a wood-dove lifts its lonely cry;
And in the sleepy silver of the... | A ragged fence of pickets, warped and sprung,
On which the fragments of a gate are hung,
Divides a hill, the fox and ground-hog haunt,
A wilderness of briers; o'er whose tops
A battered barn is seen, low-roofed and gaunt,
'Mid fields that know no crops.
Fields over which a path, o'erwhelmed with burs
And ragweeds, nois... | free_verse |
Robert Burns | The League And Covenant. | The solemn League and Covenant
Cost Scotland blood, cost Scotland tears;
But it sealed freedom's sacred cause,
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers.
| The solemn League and Covenant | Cost Scotland blood, cost Scotland tears;
But it sealed freedom's sacred cause,
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. | quatrain |
Walter Savage Landor | Dirce | Stand close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Or Charon, seeing, may forget
That he is old and she a shade. | Stand close around, ye Stygian set, | With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Or Charon, seeing, may forget
That he is old and she a shade. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Departure Of The Good Daemon | What can I do in poetry,
Now the good spirit's gone from me?
Why, nothing now but lonely sit
And over-read what I have writ. | What can I do in poetry, | Now the good spirit's gone from me?
Why, nothing now but lonely sit
And over-read what I have writ. | quatrain |
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) | To Laura In Death. Sonnet XLI. | L' alto e novo miracol ch' a d' nostri.
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO DESCRIBE HER EXCELLENCES.
The wonder, high and new, that, in our days,
Dawn'd on the world, yet would not there remain,
Which heaven but show'd to us to snatch again
Better to blazon its own starry ways;
That to far times I her should paint and praise
... | L' alto e novo miracol ch' a d' nostri.
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO DESCRIBE HER EXCELLENCES.
The wonder, high and new, that, in our days,
Dawn'd on the world, yet would not there remain,
Which heaven but show'd to us to snatch again | Better to blazon its own starry ways;
That to far times I her should paint and praise
Love wills, who prompted first my passionate strain;
But now wit, leisure, pen, page, ink in vain
To the fond task a thousand times he sways.
My slow rhymes struggle not to life the while;
I feel it, and whoe'er to-day below,
Or speak... | free_verse |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | The Yelpers. | Our rides in all directions bend,
For business or for pleasure,
Yet yelpings on our steps attend,
And barkings without measure.
The dog that in our stable dwells,
After our heels is striding,
And all the while his noisy yells
But show that we are riding. | Our rides in all directions bend,
For business or for pleasure, | Yet yelpings on our steps attend,
And barkings without measure.
The dog that in our stable dwells,
After our heels is striding,
And all the while his noisy yells
But show that we are riding. | octave |
Thomas Gent | To ------. | Come, JENNY, let me sip the dew
That on those coral lips doth play,
One kiss would every care subdue,
And bid my weary soul be gay.
For surely thou wert form'd by love
To bless the suff'rer's parting sigh;
In pity then my griefs remove,
And on that bosom let me die! | Come, JENNY, let me sip the dew
That on those coral lips doth play, | One kiss would every care subdue,
And bid my weary soul be gay.
For surely thou wert form'd by love
To bless the suff'rer's parting sigh;
In pity then my griefs remove,
And on that bosom let me die! | octave |
Thomas Hood | A Few Lines On Completing Forty-Seven. | When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence -
There's cook a-calling John.
Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand and not on rocks,
We're hourly standing at Death's door -
There's some one double knocks.
All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cann... | When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence -
There's cook a-calling John.
Our lives are built so frail and poor, | On sand and not on rocks,
We're hourly standing at Death's door -
There's some one double knocks.
All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms -
They're come to lunch of course!
And when my body's turned to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
Oh let them give ... | free_verse |
W. M. MacKeracher | An Aristocrat. | Her fair companions she outshone,
As this or that transcendent star
Makes all its sister orbs look wan
And dim and lustreless and far.
Her charm impressed the fleeting glance,
But chiefly the reflective mind;
A century's inheritance,
By carefull'st nurture still refined.
Devotions, manners, hopes that were,
Ideals high... | Her fair companions she outshone,
As this or that transcendent star
Makes all its sister orbs look wan
And dim and lustreless and far. | Her charm impressed the fleeting glance,
But chiefly the reflective mind;
A century's inheritance,
By carefull'st nurture still refined.
Devotions, manners, hopes that were,
Ideals high, traditions fine,
Were felt to culminate in her,
The efflorescence of her line.
What time and cost conspired to trace
Her lineaments o... | sonnet |
Richard Hunter | The Imp. | You may call him an imp,
Or a gnome or a sprite;
And whate'er you call him
You are sure to be right.
He is here, he is there,
He will never stay long;
If you think he is caught,
You are sure to be wrong. | You may call him an imp,
Or a gnome or a sprite; | And whate'er you call him
You are sure to be right.
He is here, he is there,
He will never stay long;
If you think he is caught,
You are sure to be wrong. | octave |
John Kendall (Dum-Dum) | Adam | After W. W.
An adventure of the Author's, and one designed to show that grievances may be met with in the cottages of the humblest, and may take the most unexpected forms.
When in my white-washed walls confined
Till eve her freedom brings,
I often turn a musing mind
To think awhile of things,
And thus about the noontid... | After W. W.
An adventure of the Author's, and one designed to show that grievances may be met with in the cottages of the humblest, and may take the most unexpected forms.
When in my white-washed walls confined
Till eve her freedom brings,
I often turn a musing mind
To think awhile of things,
And thus about the noontid... | And Adam sighed, and paused to say
'It's werry, werry hard.'
I marvelled much to hear him sigh,
And when he paused again,
'Come, come, you quaint old thing,' said I,
'Why thus this tone of pain?'
In silence Adam rose, and gained
A seat amid the stones,
And thus the veteran complained,
The dear old bag of bones.
'Down b... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | Song. | When Time who steals our years away
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stay
And half our joys renew,
Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flower
Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour
When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom;
Our joys shall always last;
For Hop... | When Time who steals our years away
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stay
And half our joys renew,
Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flower
Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour
When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom;
Our joys shall always last;
For Hop... | Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,
I drink to Love and thee:
Thou never canst decay in soul,
Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy; lips the tear-drop chase,
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
That sorrow leaves behind.
Then fill the bowl--away with gloom!
Our joys shall always last;
Fo... | free_verse |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Fragment: A Wanderer. | He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined. | He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, | Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined. | quatrain |
Gerard Manley Hopkins | Fragment | 'The child is father to the man.'
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
'The child is father to the man.'
No; what the poet did write ran,
'The man is father to the child.'
'The child is father to the man!'
How can he be? The words are wild. | 'The child is father to the man.'
How can he be? The words are wild. | Suck any sense from that who can:
'The child is father to the man.'
No; what the poet did write ran,
'The man is father to the child.'
'The child is father to the man!'
How can he be? The words are wild. | octave |
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