author stringclasses 275
values | title stringlengths 2 168 | text stringlengths 59 111k | poem_start stringlengths 13 36.6k | poem_end stringlengths 43 74.1k | form stringclasses 4
values |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Fragment: 'Great Spirit'. | Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
Nurtures within its unimagined caves,
In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,
Giving a voice to its mysterious waves - | Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought | Nurtures within its unimagined caves,
In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,
Giving a voice to its mysterious waves - | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XLIV - The Same | What awful perspective! while from our sight
With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide
Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.
Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite,
Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
Shine on, ... | What awful perspective! while from our sight
With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide
Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light. | Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite,
Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night!
But, from the arms of silence, list! O list!
The music bursteth into second life;
The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed
By sound, or ghost of sound,... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | Prophets At Home | Prophets have honour all over the Earth,
Except in the village where they were born,
Where such as knew them boys from birth
Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn.
When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,
They make a won'erful grievance of it;
(You can see by their writings how they complain),
But 0, 'tis won'erful good... | Prophets have honour all over the Earth,
Except in the village where they were born,
Where such as knew them boys from birth
Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn. | When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,
They make a won'erful grievance of it;
(You can see by their writings how they complain),
But 0, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet!
There's nothing Nineveh Town can give
(Nor being swallowed by whales between),
Makes up for the place where a man's folk live,
Which don't ... | sonnet |
James Elroy Flecker | Tenebris Interlucentem | A linnet who had lost her way
Sang on a blackened bough in Hell,
Till all the ghosts remembered well
The trees, the wind, the golden day.
At last they knew that they had died
When they heard music in that land,
And someone there stole forth a hand
To draw a brother to his side. | A linnet who had lost her way
Sang on a blackened bough in Hell, | Till all the ghosts remembered well
The trees, the wind, the golden day.
At last they knew that they had died
When they heard music in that land,
And someone there stole forth a hand
To draw a brother to his side. | octave |
Sara Teasdale | Sea Longing | A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was bo... | A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical; | The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,
Then with the eb... | sonnet |
John Collings Squire, Sir | The Cracked Bell - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire) | 'Tis bitter-sweet, when winter nights are long,
To watch, beside the flames which smoke and twist,
The distant memories which slowly throng,
Brought by the chime soft-singing through the mist.
Happy the sturdy, vigorous-throated bell
Who, spite of age alert and confident,
Cries hourly, like some strong old sentinel
Fli... | 'Tis bitter-sweet, when winter nights are long,
To watch, beside the flames which smoke and twist,
The distant memories which slowly throng,
Brought by the chime soft-singing through the mist. | Happy the sturdy, vigorous-throated bell
Who, spite of age alert and confident,
Cries hourly, like some strong old sentinel
Flinging the ready challenge from his tent.
For me, my soul is cracked; when sick with care,
She strives with songs to people the cold air
It happens often that her feeble cries
Mock the harsh rat... | sonnet |
John Alexander McCrae | The Dead Master | Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
To-day around him surges from the silences of Time
A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God. | Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime: | To-day around him surges from the silences of Time
A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXIV. Love And Matrimony. | Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
And so, betwixt them both, you see,
They lick'd the platter clean. | Jack Sprat could eat no fat, | His wife could eat no lean;
And so, betwixt them both, you see,
They lick'd the platter clean. | quatrain |
Rupert Brooke | Pine-Trees and the Sky: Evening | I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky,
And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover,
And heard the waves, and the seagull's mocking cry.
And in them all was only the old cry,
That song they always sing, "The best is over!
You may remember now, and think, and sigh,
O silly lover!"
And I was tired and sick that ... | I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky,
And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover,
And heard the waves, and the seagull's mocking cry.
And in them all was only the old cry,
That song they always sing, "The best is over!
You may remember now, and think, and sigh, | O silly lover!"
And I was tired and sick that all was over,
And because I,
For all my thinking, never could recover
One moment of the good hours that were over.
And I was sorry and sick, and wished to die.
Then from the sad west turning wearily,
I saw the pines against the white north sky,
Very beautiful, and still, an... | free_verse |
Emily Pauline Johnson | Brier - Good Friday | Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.
Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you walk before and crush the brier,
It does not pi... | Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day. | Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you walk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.
Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon... | free_verse |
Charles Kingsley | Easter Week | (Written for music to be sung at a parish industrial exhibition)
See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices;
Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild b... | (Written for music to be sung at a parish industrial exhibition)
See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices; | Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.
You, to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;
Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring -
Work ... | free_verse |
Alfred Edward Housman | Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries | These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth's foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth's foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay.
| These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth's foundations fled, | Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth's foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay. | octave |
Robert Herrick | The Deluge. | Drowning, drowning, I espy
Coming from my Julia's eye:
'Tis some solace in our smart,
To have friends to bear a part:
I have none; but must be sure
Th' inundation to endure.
Shall not times hereafter tell
This for no mean miracle?
When the waters by their fall
Threaten'd ruin unto all,
Yet the deluge here was known
Of ... | Drowning, drowning, I espy
Coming from my Julia's eye:
'Tis some solace in our smart,
To have friends to bear a part: | I have none; but must be sure
Th' inundation to endure.
Shall not times hereafter tell
This for no mean miracle?
When the waters by their fall
Threaten'd ruin unto all,
Yet the deluge here was known
Of a world to drown but one. | free_verse |
Charles Sangster | Sonnet: - II. | 'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf
Falls from some stately tree. True type of life!
How emblamatic of the pangs that grief
Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one
Drop from us in our wrestle with the strife
And natural passions of our stately youth.
And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.
Each st... | 'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf
Falls from some stately tree. True type of life!
How emblamatic of the pangs that grief
Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one | Drop from us in our wrestle with the strife
And natural passions of our stately youth.
And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.
Each step conducts us through an opening door
Into new halls of being, hand in hand
With grave Experience, until we command
The open, wide-spread autumn fields, and store
The full ripe grai... | sonnet |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Gardener | True Brahmin, in the morning meadows wet,
Expound the Vedas of the violet,
Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop,
See the plum redden, and the beurr' stoop. | True Brahmin, in the morning meadows wet, | Expound the Vedas of the violet,
Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop,
See the plum redden, and the beurr' stoop. | quatrain |
John Greenleaf Whittier | Help | Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task
Thus set before thee. If it proves at length,
As well it may, beyond thy natural strength,
Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask
A father, pray the Everlasting Good
For light and guidance midst the subtle snares
Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares,
For spiritual st... | Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task
Thus set before thee. If it proves at length,
As well it may, beyond thy natural strength,
Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask | A father, pray the Everlasting Good
For light and guidance midst the subtle snares
Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares,
For spiritual strength and moral hardihood;
Still listening, through the noise of time and sense,
To the still whisper of the Inward Word;
Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard,
Itself its... | sonnet |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Nemesis. | When through the nations stalks contagion wild,
We from them cautiously should steal away.
E'en I have oft with ling'ring and delay
Shunn'd many an influence, not to be defil'd.
And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguil'd,
At length with him preferr'd I not to play,
And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay,
When four... | When through the nations stalks contagion wild,
We from them cautiously should steal away.
E'en I have oft with ling'ring and delay
Shunn'd many an influence, not to be defil'd. | And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguil'd,
At length with him preferr'd I not to play,
And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay,
When four and three-lined verses they compil'd.
But punishment pursues the scoffer straight,
As if by serpent-torch of furies led
From bill to vale, from land to sea to fly.
I hear the ge... | sonnet |
Eugene Field | To His Book | You vain, self-conscious little book,
Companion of my happy days,
How eagerly you seem to look
For wider fields to spread your lays;
My desk and locks cannot contain you,
Nor blush of modesty restrain you.
Well, then, begone, fool that thou art!
But do not come to me and cry,
When critics strike you to the heart:
"Oh, ... | You vain, self-conscious little book,
Companion of my happy days,
How eagerly you seem to look
For wider fields to spread your lays;
My desk and locks cannot contain you,
Nor blush of modesty restrain you.
Well, then, begone, fool that thou art!
But do not come to me and cry,
When critics strike you to the heart:
"Oh, ... | You know I tried to educate you
To shun the fate that must await you.
In youth you may encounter friends
(Pray this prediction be not wrong),
But wait until old age descends
And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song;
Then will the moths connive to eat you
And rural libraries secrete you.
However, should a friend some ... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Conquest | Talk not of strength, until your heart has known
And fought with weakness through long hours alone.
Talk not of virtue, till your conquering soul
Has met temptation and gained full control.
Boast not of garments, all unscorched by sin,
Till you have passed, unscathed, through fires within.
Oh, poor that pride the unsca... | Talk not of strength, until your heart has known
And fought with weakness through long hours alone. | Talk not of virtue, till your conquering soul
Has met temptation and gained full control.
Boast not of garments, all unscorched by sin,
Till you have passed, unscathed, through fires within.
Oh, poor that pride the unscarred soldier shows,
Who safe in camp, has never faced his foes. | octave |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Stanza, Written At Bracknell. | Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest
That was the portion of despair!
Subdued to Duty's hard control,
I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul
Had cankered then - but crushed it not. | Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
Thy gentle words stir poison there; | Thou hast disturbed the only rest
That was the portion of despair!
Subdued to Duty's hard control,
I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul
Had cankered then - but crushed it not. | octave |
Edwin C. Ranck | A Wonderful Feat. | I never walk along the street
Because I haven't any feet;
Nor is this strange when I repeat
That I am but a garden beet. | I never walk along the street | Because I haven't any feet;
Nor is this strange when I repeat
That I am but a garden beet. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | On A Portrait Of The Duke Of Wellington Upon The Field Of Waterloo, By Haydon | By Art's bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand
On ground yet strewn with their last battle's wreck;
Let the Steed glory while his Master's hand
Lies fixed for ages on his conscious neck;
But by the Chieftain's look, though at his side
Hangs that day's treasured sword, how firm a check
Is given to triumph and all h... | By Art's bold privilege Warrior and War-horse stand
On ground yet strewn with their last battle's wreck;
Let the Steed glory while his Master's hand
Lies fixed for ages on his conscious neck; | But by the Chieftain's look, though at his side
Hangs that day's treasured sword, how firm a check
Is given to triumph and all human pride!
Yon trophied Mound shrinks to a shadowy speck
In his calm presence! Him the mighty deed
Elates not, brought far nearer the grave's rest,
As shows that time-worn face, for he such s... | sonnet |
Robert Browning | Parting At Morning | Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain's rim
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me. | Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, | And the sun looked over the mountain's rim
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me. | quatrain |
Margaret Steele Anderson | In The Dawn. | At night it is not strange that thou art dead;
I give thee to the stars, the moonlight snow;
But ah, when desolate I lift my head,
And thou art gone at early morning, No! | At night it is not strange that thou art dead; | I give thee to the stars, the moonlight snow;
But ah, when desolate I lift my head,
And thou art gone at early morning, No! | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Maid | Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty, it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead. | Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise; | For her beauty, it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead. | octave |
George MacDonald | Christmas Day And Every Day | Star high,
Baby low:
'Twixt the two
Wise men go;
Find the baby,
Grasp the star--
Heirs of all things
Near and far! | Star high,
Baby low: | 'Twixt the two
Wise men go;
Find the baby,
Grasp the star--
Heirs of all things
Near and far! | octave |
Robert Burns | The Heron Ballads. (Ballad Second.) | I.
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
For Murray's[1] light horse are to muster,
And O, how the heroes will swear!
An' there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon[2] the battle to win;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.
II.
An' there will be black-lip... | I.
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
For Murray's[1] light horse are to muster,
And O, how the heroes will swear!
An' there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon[2] the battle to win;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.
II.
An' there will be black-lip... | Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation,
He lent them his name to the firm.
V.
But we winna mention Redcastle,[7]
The body, e'en let him escape!
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape.
An' where is our king's lord lieutenant,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' re... | free_verse |
William Henry Drummond | To The Nightingale | Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
(Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers)
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee He did not s... | Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
(Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers) | To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare:
A stain to human sense in sin that lours,
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrong... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | A Book. | There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul! | There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away, | Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul! | octave |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets LXXII - O! lest the world should task you to recite | O! lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would wi... | O! lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove; | Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O! lest your true love may seem false in this
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me... | sonnet |
Arthur Conan Doyle | Darkness | A gentleman of wit and charm,
A kindly heart, a cleanly mind,
One who was quick with hand or purse,
To lift the burden of his kind.
A brain well balanced and mature,
A soul that shrank from all things base,
So rode he forth that winter day,
Complete in every mortal grace.
And then the blunder of a horse,
The crash upon... | A gentleman of wit and charm,
A kindly heart, a cleanly mind,
One who was quick with hand or purse,
To lift the burden of his kind.
A brain well balanced and mature,
A soul that shrank from all things base,
So rode he forth that winter day,
Complete in every mortal grace. | And then the blunder of a horse,
The crash upon the frozen clods,
And Death? Ah! no such dignity,
But Life, all twisted and at odds!
At odds in body and in soul,
Degraded to some brutish state,
A being loathsome and malign,
Debased, obscene, degenerate.
Pathology? The case is clear,
The diagnosis is exact;
A bone depre... | free_verse |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Awakening | I did not know that life could be so sweet,
I did not know the hours could speed so fleet,
Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.
The days grew brief with love and lack of pain--
I was a slave a few short days ago,
The powers of Kings and Princes now I know;
I would not be again in bondage, save
I had your smile, t... | I did not know that life could be so sweet,
I did not know the hours could speed so fleet, | Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.
The days grew brief with love and lack of pain--
I was a slave a few short days ago,
The powers of Kings and Princes now I know;
I would not be again in bondage, save
I had your smile, the liberty I crave. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | She Went As Quiet As The Dew | She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe! | She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower. | Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe! | octave |
William Butler Yeats | Fallen Majesty | Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping place,
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.
The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what's gone. A crowd
Wil... | Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone, | Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping place,
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.
The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what's gone. A crowd
Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud. | octave |
John Greenleaf Whittier | The Reunion | The gulf of seven and fifty years
We stretch our welcoming hands across;
The distance but a pebble's toss
Between us and our youth appears.
For in life's school we linger on
The remnant of a once full list;
Conning our lessons, undismissed,
With faces to the setting sun.
And some have gone the unknown way,
And some awa... | The gulf of seven and fifty years
We stretch our welcoming hands across;
The distance but a pebble's toss
Between us and our youth appears.
For in life's school we linger on
The remnant of a once full list;
Conning our lessons, undismissed,
With faces to the setting sun.
And some have gone the unknown way,
And some awa... | The thanks of grateful hearts are due,
For blessings when our lives were new,
For all the good vouchsafed us since.
The pain that spared us sorer hurt,
The wish denied, the purpose crossed,
And pleasure's fond occasions lost,
Were mercies to our small desert.
'T is something that we wander back,
Gray pilgrims, to our a... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Opportunity | Send forth your heart's desire, and work and wait;
The opportunities of life are brought
To our own doors, not by capricious fate,
But by the strong compelling force of thought.
| Send forth your heart's desire, and work and wait; | The opportunities of life are brought
To our own doors, not by capricious fate,
But by the strong compelling force of thought. | quatrain |
William Blake | To The Accuser Who Is The God Of This World | Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man
Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill | Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man | Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill | octave |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Forbearance | Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teac... | Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? | At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! | octave |
William Cowper | Sonnet, Addressed To William Hayley, Esq. | Hayley'thy tenderness fraternal shown
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distress'd,
Such as it is, has made my heart thy own,
Though heedless now of new engagements grown;
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest
Of friendship more, e... | Hayley'thy tenderness fraternal shown
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distress'd,
Such as it is, has made my heart thy own, | Though heedless now of new engagements grown;
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest
Of friendship more, except with God alone.
But thou hast won me; nor is God my foe,
Who, ere this last afflictive scene began,
Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow,
My brother, by whose ... | sonnet |
John Clare | The Maiden's Welcome | Of all the swains that meet at eve
Upon the green to play,
The shepherd is the lad for me,
And I'll ne'er say him nay.
Though father glowers beneath his hat,
And mother talks of bed,
I'll take my cloak up, late or soon,
To meet my shepherd lad.
Aunt Kitty loved a soldier lad,
Who left her love for war;
A sailor loved m... | Of all the swains that meet at eve
Upon the green to play,
The shepherd is the lad for me,
And I'll ne'er say him nay.
Though father glowers beneath his hat,
And mother talks of bed,
I'll take my cloak up, late or soon,
To meet my shepherd lad.
Aunt Kitty loved a soldier lad,
Who left her love for war;
A sailor loved m... | He is my heart's delight,
And he ne'er leaves his love so far
But he can come at night.
So father he may glower and frown,
And mother scold about it;
The shepherd has my heart to keep,
And can I live without it?
I'm sure he will not part with it,
In spite of what they say,
And if he would as sure I am
It would not come... | free_verse |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Blue | Standin' at de winder,
Feelin' kind o' glum,
Listenin' to de raindrops
Play de kettle drum,
Lookin' crost de medders
Swimmin' lak a sea;
Lawd 'a' mussy on us,
What's de good o' me?
Can't go out a-hoein',
Wouldn't ef I could;
Groun' too wet fu' huntin',
Fishin' ain't no good.
Too much noise fo' sleepin',
No one hyeah to... | Standin' at de winder,
Feelin' kind o' glum,
Listenin' to de raindrops
Play de kettle drum,
Lookin' crost de medders
Swimmin' lak a sea;
Lawd 'a' mussy on us,
What's de good o' me?
Can't go out a-hoein',
Wouldn't ef I could; | Groun' too wet fu' huntin',
Fishin' ain't no good.
Too much noise fo' sleepin',
No one hyeah to chat;
Des mus' stan' an' listen
To dat pit-a-pat.
Hills is gittin' misty,,
Valley's gittin' dahk;
Watch-dog's 'mence a-howlin',
Rathah have 'em ba'k
Dan a-moanin' solemn
Somewhaih out o' sight;
Rain-crow des a-chucklin'--
Di... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Attainment | Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss
The purpose of this life, and do not wait
For circumstance to mould or change your fate;
In your own self lies Destiny. Let this
Vast truth cast out all fear, all prejudice,
All hesitation. Know that you are great,
Great with divinity. So dominate
Environment, and ent... | Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss
The purpose of this life, and do not wait
For circumstance to mould or change your fate;
In your own self lies Destiny. Let this | Vast truth cast out all fear, all prejudice,
All hesitation. Know that you are great,
Great with divinity. So dominate
Environment, and enter into bliss.
Love largely and hate nothing. Hold no aim
That does not chord with universal good.
Hear what the voices of the Silence say -
All joys are yours if you put ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Another. (Abel's Blood) | The blood of Abel was a thing
Of such a rev'rend reckoning,
As that the old world thought it fit
Especially to swear by it. | The blood of Abel was a thing | Of such a rev'rend reckoning,
As that the old world thought it fit
Especially to swear by it. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | The Primiti' To Parents. | Our household-gods our parents be;
And manners good require that we
The first fruits give to them, who gave
Us hands to get what here we have. | Our household-gods our parents be; | And manners good require that we
The first fruits give to them, who gave
Us hands to get what here we have. | quatrain |
Richard Hunter | The Shepherdess. | Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Looks to the sheep;
Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Watches their sleep.
Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
When they cry "Baa,"
Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Knows where they are. | Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Looks to the sheep; | Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Watches their sleep.
Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
When they cry "Baa,"
Shepherdess! Shepherdess!
Knows where they are. | octave |
Arthur Hugh Clough | Selene | My beloved, is it nothing
Though we meet not, neither can,
That I see thee, and thou me,
That we see, and see we see,
When I see I also feel thee;
Is it nothing, my beloved!
Thy luminous clear beauty
Brightens on me in my night,
I withdraw into my darkness
To allure thee into light.
About me and upon me I feel them pas... | My beloved, is it nothing
Though we meet not, neither can,
That I see thee, and thou me,
That we see, and see we see,
When I see I also feel thee;
Is it nothing, my beloved!
Thy luminous clear beauty
Brightens on me in my night,
I withdraw into my darkness
To allure thee into light.
About me and upon me I feel them pas... | So mine on thine in turn
When thou feelest blaze and burn,
Is it nothing, my beloved?
My beloved, is it nothing
When I see thee and thou me,
When we each other see,
Is it nothing, my beloved?
Closer, closer come unto me.
Shall I see thee and no more?
I can see thee, is that all?
Let me also,
Let me feel thee,
Closer, c... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | A Picture. | I strolled last eve across the lonely down;
One solitary picture struck my eye:
A distant ploughboy stood against the sky -
How far he seemed above the noisy town!
Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod
Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by,
And, watching him, I asked myself if I
In very truth stood half as near to ... | I strolled last eve across the lonely down;
One solitary picture struck my eye: | A distant ploughboy stood against the sky -
How far he seemed above the noisy town!
Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod
Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by,
And, watching him, I asked myself if I
In very truth stood half as near to God. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXVIII. Jingles. | Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee
Resolved to have a battle,
For tweedle-dum said tweedle-dee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
Just then flew by a monstrous crow,
As big as a tar-barrel,
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel. | Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee
Resolved to have a battle, | For tweedle-dum said tweedle-dee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
Just then flew by a monstrous crow,
As big as a tar-barrel,
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel. | octave |
Anne Bradstreet | Davids Lamentation For Saul And Jonathan. | 2. Sam. I. 19.
Alas slain is the Head of Israel,
Illustrious Saul whose beauty did excell,
Upon thy places mountainous and high,
How did the Mighty fall, and falling dye?
In Gath let not this things be spoken on,
Nor published in streets of Askalon,
Lest daughters of the Philistines rejoice,
Lest the uncircumcis'd lift... | 2. Sam. I. 19.
Alas slain is the Head of Israel,
Illustrious Saul whose beauty did excell,
Upon thy places mountainous and high,
How did the Mighty fall, and falling dye?
In Gath let not this things be spoken on,
Nor published in streets of Askalon,
Lest daughters of the Philistines rejoice,
Lest the uncircumcis'd lift... | For there the Mighty Ones did soon decay,
The shield of Saul was vilely cast away.
There had his dignity so sore a foyle,
As if his head ne're felt the sacred oyl.
Sometimes from crimson blood of gastly slain,
The bow of Jonathan ne're turn'd in vain:
Nor from the fat, and spoils of Mighty men
With bloodless sword did ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | His Words To Christ Going To The Cross. | When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read,
All Thy disciples Thee forsook and fled.
Let their example not a pattern be
For me to fly, but now to follow Thee. | When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read, | All Thy disciples Thee forsook and fled.
Let their example not a pattern be
For me to fly, but now to follow Thee. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | The Amber Bead. | I saw a fly within a bead
Of amber cleanly buried;
The urn was little, but the room
More rich than Cleopatra's tomb. | I saw a fly within a bead | Of amber cleanly buried;
The urn was little, but the room
More rich than Cleopatra's tomb. | quatrain |
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop | Impersonality | I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold;
And as I walked beneath this golden sun,
The world was like a mighty play-room old,
Made for our pleasure since it was begun.
But when I waked I found the sun was air,
The world was air, and all things only seemed,
Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer
We change to spi... | I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold;
And as I walked beneath this golden sun, | The world was like a mighty play-room old,
Made for our pleasure since it was begun.
But when I waked I found the sun was air,
The world was air, and all things only seemed,
Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer
We change to spirits such as God has dreamed. | octave |
Richard Hunter | Blackman the Giant. | This is the long and
The short of it too:
One dolly stood still,
The other one grew.
She who is little
Prefers to be tall;
Blackman the giant
Would like to be small. | This is the long and
The short of it too: | One dolly stood still,
The other one grew.
She who is little
Prefers to be tall;
Blackman the giant
Would like to be small. | octave |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | Epitaph On Lord Stratford de Redcliffe | Thou third great Canning, stand among our best
And noblest, now thy long day's work hath ceased,
Here silent in our Minster of the West
Who wert the voice of England in the East. | Thou third great Canning, stand among our best | And noblest, now thy long day's work hath ceased,
Here silent in our Minster of the West
Who wert the voice of England in the East. | quatrain |
W. M. MacKeracher | Sonnet to Dr. Macvicar. | Stay of the church and pillar of the state!
Who alway did'st to wrong thy voice oppose,
And strong hast striven corruption to expose,
And, jealous ever for thy country's fate,
Her virtues to preserve inviolate.
Much to thy power the platform, pulpit owes,
Thy pen has held the Right and quelled her foes:
A man withal th... | Stay of the church and pillar of the state!
Who alway did'st to wrong thy voice oppose,
And strong hast striven corruption to expose,
And, jealous ever for thy country's fate, | Her virtues to preserve inviolate.
Much to thy power the platform, pulpit owes,
Thy pen has held the Right and quelled her foes:
A man withal thou art, and truly great.
And, true to thy convictions, firm thou hast
In these last troublous times maintained thy stand,
And boldly at thy post hast faced the blast,
That thre... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. XLVII. Tales. | Punch and Judy,
Fought for a pie,
Punch gave Judy
A sad blow on the eye. | Punch and Judy, | Fought for a pie,
Punch gave Judy
A sad blow on the eye. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Fresh Cheese And Cream. | Would ye have fresh cheese and cream?
Julia's breast can give you them:
And, if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here's strawberries. | Would ye have fresh cheese and cream? | Julia's breast can give you them:
And, if more, each nipple cries:
To your cream here's strawberries. | quatrain |
Dora Sigerson Shorter | Death Of Gormlaith | Gormlaith, wife of Niall Glendu,
Happy was your dream that night,
Dreamt you woke in sudden fright,
Niall of Ulster stood by you.
Niall of Ulster, dead and gone,
Many a year had come again,
Him who was in battle slain
Now your glad eyes rest upon.
Well your gaze caressed him o'er,
His dark head you loved so well,
Where... | Gormlaith, wife of Niall Glendu,
Happy was your dream that night,
Dreamt you woke in sudden fright,
Niall of Ulster stood by you.
Niall of Ulster, dead and gone,
Many a year had come again,
Him who was in battle slain
Now your glad eyes rest upon.
Well your gaze caressed him o'er, | His dark head you loved so well,
Where the coulin curled and fell
On the clever brow he bore.
Those brave shoulders wide and strong,
Many a Dane had quaked to see,
Never a phantom fair as he,-
Wife of Glendu gazed so long.
Glad Queen Gormlaith, at the dawn
Up you sprang to draw him near,
Ah! the grey cock loud and clea... | free_verse |
Michael Earls | Linden Lane | HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917
(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)
Birds are merry and the buds
Come along with May:
Lonely is the linden land
For lads that went today.
What calls the May of song
But the fair young spring?
Heard our boys another tune
Sterner voices sing.
Bugles blew by land and sea,
And the tocsin drum;
See, br... | HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917
(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)
Birds are merry and the buds
Come along with May:
Lonely is the linden land
For lads that went today.
What calls the May of song
But the fair young spring?
Heard our boys another tune
Sterner voices sing. | Bugles blew by land and sea,
And the tocsin drum;
See, brave hearts go down the hill,
Shouting, "Hail, we come."
From the towers that show the Cross,
Staunch the Flag waved out,
And the royal Purple shook
Joyous with the shout.
Heigh-ho! And a lusty cheer,
Down the linden lane:
The pine grove looked but cannot tell
If ... | free_verse |
William Ernest Henley | In Hospital - IX - Lady-Probationer | Some three, or five, or seven, and thirty years;
A Roman nose; a dimpling double-chin;
Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin,
Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears;
A comely shape; a slim, high-coloured hand,
Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring;
A bashful air, becoming everything;
A well-bred silence alw... | Some three, or five, or seven, and thirty years;
A Roman nose; a dimpling double-chin;
Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin,
Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears; | A comely shape; a slim, high-coloured hand,
Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring;
A bashful air, becoming everything;
A well-bred silence always at command.
Her plain print gown, prim cap, and bright steel chain
Look out of place on her, and I remain
Absorbed in her, as in a pleasant mystery.
Quick, skilful, quiet,... | sonnet |
Ambrose Bierce | An Inscription | A conqueror as provident as brave,
He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust. | A conqueror as provident as brave, | He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust. | quatrain |
Charles Stuart Calverley | Leaves Have Their Time To Fall. | FELICIA HEMANS.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,
And stars to set: but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mighti... | FELICIA HEMANS.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,
And stars to set: but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mighti... | There comes a day for grief's overwhelming shower,
A time for softer tears: but all are thine.
Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee! - but thou art not of those
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey!
"FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT."
"
Frondes est ubi decidant,
M... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | Arcturus | Arcturus brings the spring back
As surely now as when
He rose on eastern islands
For Grecian girls and men;
The twilight is as clear a blue,
The star as shaken and as bright,
And the same thought he gave to them
He gives to me to-night. | Arcturus brings the spring back
As surely now as when | He rose on eastern islands
For Grecian girls and men;
The twilight is as clear a blue,
The star as shaken and as bright,
And the same thought he gave to them
He gives to me to-night. | octave |
John Frederick Freeman | Dark And Strange | When first Love came, then was I but a boy
Swept with delirium of undreamt joy.
Now Love comes to a man serious with change
Of life and death--and makes the world dark and strange. | When first Love came, then was I but a boy | Swept with delirium of undreamt joy.
Now Love comes to a man serious with change
Of life and death--and makes the world dark and strange. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | On Julia's Voice | So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice,
As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise,
But listen to thee (walking in thy chamber)
melting melodious words to Lutes of Amber. | So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, | As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise,
But listen to thee (walking in thy chamber)
melting melodious words to Lutes of Amber. | quatrain |
Clark Ashton Smith | The Eldritch Dark | Now as the twilight's doubtful interval
Closes with night's accomplished certainty,
A wizard wind goes crying eerily;
And in the glade unsteady shadows crawl,
Timed to the trees, whose voices rear and fall
As with some dreadful witches' ecstasy,
Flung upward to the dark, whence glitters free
The crooked moon, impendent... | Now as the twilight's doubtful interval
Closes with night's accomplished certainty,
A wizard wind goes crying eerily;
And in the glade unsteady shadows crawl, | Timed to the trees, whose voices rear and fall
As with some dreadful witches' ecstasy,
Flung upward to the dark, whence glitters free
The crooked moon, impendent over all.
Twin veils of covering cloud and silence thrown
Across the movement and the sound of things,
Make blank the night, till in the broken west
The moon'... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Love And The Sea | Love one day, in childish anger,
Tired of his divinity,
Sick of rapture, sick of languor,
Threw his arrows in the sea.
Since then Ocean, like a woman,
Variable of nature seems:
Smiling; cruel; kind; inhuman;
Gloomed with grief and drowned in dreams. | Love one day, in childish anger,
Tired of his divinity, | Sick of rapture, sick of languor,
Threw his arrows in the sea.
Since then Ocean, like a woman,
Variable of nature seems:
Smiling; cruel; kind; inhuman;
Gloomed with grief and drowned in dreams. | octave |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets IV - Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet... | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free: | Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit ... | sonnet |
Jonathan Swift | On Stephen Duck The Thresher, And Favourite Poet; A Quibbling Epigram. | The thresher Duck[1] could o'er the queen prevail,
The proverb says, "no fence against a flail."
From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains;
For which her majesty allows him grains:
Though 'tis confest, that those, who ever saw
His poems, think them all not worth a straw!
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing... | The thresher Duck[1] could o'er the queen prevail,
The proverb says, "no fence against a flail." | From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains;
For which her majesty allows him grains:
Though 'tis confest, that those, who ever saw
His poems, think them all not worth a straw!
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing stubble,
Thy toil is lessen'd, and thy profits double. | octave |
Rudyard Kipling | The Quesion | Brethren, how shall it fare with me
When the war is laid aside,
If it be proven that I am he
For whom a world has died?
If it be proven that all my good,
And the greater good I will make,
Were purchased me by a multitude
Who suffered for my sake?
That I was delivered by mere mankind
Vowed to one sacrifice,
And not, as ... | Brethren, how shall it fare with me
When the war is laid aside,
If it be proven that I am he
For whom a world has died?
If it be proven that all my good,
And the greater good I will make,
Were purchased me by a multitude
Who suffered for my sake? | That I was delivered by mere mankind
Vowed to one sacrifice,
And not, as I hold them, battle-blind,
But dying with open eyes?
That they did not ask me to draw the sword
When they stood to endure their lot,
That they only looked to me for a word,
And I answered I knew them not?
If it be found, when the battle clears,
Th... | free_verse |
Michael Drayton | Sonnets: Idea XLIX | Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And sayst my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love;
But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served,
Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,
Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starv... | Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And sayst my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love; | But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served,
Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,
Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved
Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood;
Thou which hast scorn'd life and hated death,
And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry;
Thou which hast banned thy thoug... | sonnet |
Archibald Lampman | A Prayer. | Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breathe on us
Something of all thy beauty and thy might,
Us that are part of day, but most of night,
Not strong like thee, but ever burdened thus
With glooms and cares, things pale and dolorous
Whose gladest moments are not wholly bright;
Something of all thy freshness and thy light,
Oh earth,... | Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breathe on us
Something of all thy beauty and thy might,
Us that are part of day, but most of night,
Not strong like thee, but ever burdened thus | With glooms and cares, things pale and dolorous
Whose gladest moments are not wholly bright;
Something of all thy freshness and thy light,
Oh earth, oh mighty mother, breathe on us.
Oh mother, who wast long before our day,
And after us full many an age shalt be.
Careworn and blind, we wander from thy way:
Born of thy s... | sonnet |
William Lisle Bowles | On Mr Howard's Account Of Lazarettos | Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,
The path of good right onward hast pursued;
May HE, to whose eternal throne on high
The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry,
Be thy protector! On that dreary road
That leads thee patient to the last abode
Of wretchedness, in peril and in pain,
May HE thy steps direct, thy hea... | Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,
The path of good right onward hast pursued;
May HE, to whose eternal throne on high
The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry,
Be thy protector! On that dreary road
That leads thee patient to the last abode
Of wretchedness, in peril and in pain,
May HE thy steps direct, thy hea... | Burns faint amid the infectious vapours damp;
Beneath its light full many a livid mien,
And haggard eye-ball, through the dusk are seen.
In thought I see thee, at each hollow sound,
With humid lids oft anxious gaze around.
But oh! for him who, to yon vault confined,
Has bid a long farewell to human kind;
His wasted for... | free_verse |
William Lisle Bowles | Sabbath Morning. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.) | The Sabbath bells are knolling slow,
The summer morn how fair!
Whilst father, mother, children go,
And seek the house of prayer.
Some, musing, roam the churchyard round,
Some turn their heads with sighs,
And gaze upon the new-made ground
Where old Giles Summers lies.
But see the pastor in his band,
The bells have cease... | The Sabbath bells are knolling slow,
The summer morn how fair!
Whilst father, mother, children go,
And seek the house of prayer.
Some, musing, roam the churchyard round, | Some turn their heads with sighs,
And gaze upon the new-made ground
Where old Giles Summers lies.
But see the pastor in his band,
The bells have ceased to knoll;
Now enter, and at God's command,
Think, Christian, of thy soul.
Whilst heavenly hopes around thee shine,
As in God's presence live,
And calmer comforts shall ... | free_verse |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | For Ever. | The happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,
Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,
Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
The wise, the bard alone in visions fair,
In my best hours I found in her all this,
And ... | The happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,
Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare, | The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,
Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
The wise, the bard alone in visions fair,
In my best hours I found in her all this,
And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss. | octave |
William Cowper | To Mrs. Unwin. | Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew,
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortaliz... | Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew,
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things, | That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalizes whom it sings.
But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just ... | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Amour 8 | Vnto the World, to Learning, and to Heauen,
Three nines there are, to euerie one a nine;
One number of the earth, the other both diuine,
One wonder woman now makes three od numbers euen.
Nine orders, first, of Angels be in heauen;
Nine Muses doe with learning still frequent:
These with the Gods are euer resident.
Nine ... | Vnto the World, to Learning, and to Heauen,
Three nines there are, to euerie one a nine;
One number of the earth, the other both diuine,
One wonder woman now makes three od numbers euen. | Nine orders, first, of Angels be in heauen;
Nine Muses doe with learning still frequent:
These with the Gods are euer resident.
Nine worthy men vnto the world were giuen.
My Worthie one to these nine Worthies addeth,
And my faire Muse one Muse vnto the nine;
And my good Angell, in my soule diuine,
With one more order t... | sonnet |
Will Carleton | The House Where We Were Wed. | I've been to the old farm-house, good-wife,
Where you and I were wed;
Where the love was born to our two hearts
That now lies cold and dead.
Where a long-kept secret to you I told,
In the yellow beams of the moon,
And we forged our vows out of love's own gold,
To be broken so soon, so soon!
I passed through all the old... | I've been to the old farm-house, good-wife,
Where you and I were wed;
Where the love was born to our two hearts
That now lies cold and dead.
Where a long-kept secret to you I told,
In the yellow beams of the moon,
And we forged our vows out of love's own gold,
To be broken so soon, so soon!
I passed through all the old... | I followed the steps of a flitting ghost,
The ghost of a love that is gone.
And he led me out to the arbor, wife,
Where with myrtles I twined your hair;
And he seated me down on the old stone step,
And left me musing there.
The sun went down as it used to do,
And sunk in the sea of night;
The two bright stars that we c... | free_verse |
Thomas Hood | Sonnet. | Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye; -
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, -
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,
As if the rose made summer, - and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I wou... | Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye; -
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, - | Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,
As if the rose made summer, - and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I would give and seek:
Whose health is of no hue - to feel decay
With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime.
Love is its own great loveliness alway,
And takes new lustre ... | sonnet |
Oliver Goldsmith | Translation Of A South American Ode | In all my Enna's beauties blest,
Amidst profusion still I pine;
For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine. | In all my Enna's beauties blest, | Amidst profusion still I pine;
For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine. | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | At Her Feet | My head is at your feet,
Two Cytherean doves,
The same, O cruel sweet,
As were the Queen of Love's;
They brush my dreaming brows
With silver fluttering beat,
Here in your golden house,
Beneath your feet.
No man that draweth breath
Is in such happy case:
My heart to itself saith -
Though kings gaze on her face,
I would... | My head is at your feet,
Two Cytherean doves,
The same, O cruel sweet,
As were the Queen of Love's;
They brush my dreaming brows
With silver fluttering beat,
Here in your golden house,
Beneath your feet.
No man that draweth breath
Is in such happy case:
My heart to itself saith -
Though kings gaze on her face,
I would... | Here at her feet.
As one in a green land
Beneath a rose-bush lies,
Two petals in his hand,
With shut and dreaming eyes,
And hears the rustling stir,
As the young morning goes,
Shaking abroad the myrrh
Of each awakened rose;
So to me lying there
Comes the soft breath of her, -
O cruel sweet! -
There at her feet.
O lit... | free_verse |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | S.H. | With beams December planets dart
His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,
July was in his sunny heart,
October in his liberal hand. | With beams December planets dart | His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,
July was in his sunny heart,
October in his liberal hand. | quatrain |
D. H. Lawrence (David Herbert Richards) | Submergence | When along the pavement,
Palpitating flames of life,
People flicker round me,
I forget my bereavement,
The gap in the great constellation,
The place where a star used to be.
Nay, though the pole-star
Is blown out like a candle,
And all the heavens are wandering in disarray,
Yet when pleiads of people are
Deployed aroun... | When along the pavement,
Palpitating flames of life,
People flicker round me,
I forget my bereavement, | The gap in the great constellation,
The place where a star used to be.
Nay, though the pole-star
Is blown out like a candle,
And all the heavens are wandering in disarray,
Yet when pleiads of people are
Deployed around me, and I see
The street's long outstretched Milky Way,
When people flicker down the pavement,
I forg... | sonnet |
Hattie Howard | Like Summer. | November? 'tis a summer's day!
For tropic airs are blowing
As soft as whispered roundelay
From unseen lips that seem to say
To feathered songsters going
To sunnier, southern climes afar,
"Stay where you are - stay where you are!"
And other tokens glad as these
Declare that Summer lingers:
Round latent buds still hum th... | November? 'tis a summer's day!
For tropic airs are blowing
As soft as whispered roundelay
From unseen lips that seem to say
To feathered songsters going
To sunnier, southern climes afar,
"Stay where you are - stay where you are!"
And other tokens glad as these
Declare that Summer lingers: | Round latent buds still hum the bees,
Slow fades the green from forest trees
Ere Autumn's artist fingers
Have touched the landscape, and instead
Brought out the amber, brown, and red.
The invalid may yet enjoy
His favorite recreation,
Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy
In outdoor sports the time employ,
And happy consum... | free_verse |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Religion | I am no priest of crooks nor creeds,
For human wants and human needs
Are more to me than prophets' deeds;
And human tears and human cares
Affect me more than human prayers.
Go, cease your wail, lugubrious saint!
You fret high Heaven with your plaint.
Is this the "Christian's joy" you paint?
Is this the Christian's boas... | I am no priest of crooks nor creeds,
For human wants and human needs
Are more to me than prophets' deeds;
And human tears and human cares
Affect me more than human prayers. | Go, cease your wail, lugubrious saint!
You fret high Heaven with your plaint.
Is this the "Christian's joy" you paint?
Is this the Christian's boasted bliss?
Avails your faith no more than this?
Take up your arms, come out with me,
Let Heav'n alone; humanity
Needs more and Heaven less from thee.
With pity for mankind l... | free_verse |
Robert Fuller Murray | Make-Believes | When I was young and well and glad,
I used to play at being sad;
Now youth and health are fled away,
At being glad I sometimes play. | When I was young and well and glad, | I used to play at being sad;
Now youth and health are fled away,
At being glad I sometimes play. | quatrain |
Sara Teasdale | Wisdom | When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things,
And learned that compromises wait
Behind each hardly opened gate,
When I have looked Life in the eyes,
Grown calm and very coldly wise,
Life will have given me the Truth,
And taken in exchange, my youth. | When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things, | And learned that compromises wait
Behind each hardly opened gate,
When I have looked Life in the eyes,
Grown calm and very coldly wise,
Life will have given me the Truth,
And taken in exchange, my youth. | octave |
Henry Austin Dobson | An April Pastoral. | He. Whither away, fair Neat-herdess?
She. Shepherd, I go to tend my kine.
He. Stay thou, and watch this flock of mine.
She. With thee? Nay, that were idleness.
He. Thy kine will pasture none the less.
She. Not so: they wait me and my sign.
He. I'll pipe to thee beneath the pine.
She. Thy pipe will soothe not their dist... | He. Whither away, fair Neat-herdess?
She. Shepherd, I go to tend my kine.
He. Stay thou, and watch this flock of mine.
She. With thee? Nay, that were idleness. | He. Thy kine will pasture none the less.
She. Not so: they wait me and my sign.
He. I'll pipe to thee beneath the pine.
She. Thy pipe will soothe not their distress.
He. Dost thou not hear beside the spring
How the gay birds are carolling?
She. I hear them. But it may not be.
He. Farewell then, Sweetheart! Farewell now... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Cave Of Staffa - After The Crowd Had Departed | Thanks for the lessons of this Spot fit school
For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign
Mechanic laws to agency divine;
And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule
Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule,
Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed,
Might seem designed to humble man, when proud
Of his best workman... | Thanks for the lessons of this Spot fit school
For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign
Mechanic laws to agency divine;
And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule | Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule,
Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed,
Might seem designed to humble man, when proud
Of his best workmanship by plan and tool.
Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight
Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base,
And flashing to that Structure's topmost height,
Ocean has pro... | sonnet |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | A Marine Etching | A yacht from its harbour ropes pulled free,
And leaped like a steed o'er the race-track blue,
Then up behind her the dust of the sea,
A gray fog, drifted, and hid her from view.
| A yacht from its harbour ropes pulled free, | And leaped like a steed o'er the race-track blue,
Then up behind her the dust of the sea,
A gray fog, drifted, and hid her from view. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Call Not The Royal Swede Unfortunate | Call not the royal Swede unfortunate,
Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;
Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly
Temptation; and whose kingly name and state
Have "perished by his choice, and not his fate!"
Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted Pot... | Call not the royal Swede unfortunate,
Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;
Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly
Temptation; and whose kingly name and state | Have "perished by his choice, and not his fate!"
Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted Potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great Servant of a righteous cause
Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,
Yet may ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Frankincense. | When my off'ring next I make,
Be thy hand the hallowed cake,
And thy breast the altar whence
Love may smell the frankincense. | When my off'ring next I make, | Be thy hand the hallowed cake,
And thy breast the altar whence
Love may smell the frankincense. | quatrain |
Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny) | Sonnet. | I hear a voice low in the sunset woods;
Listen, it says: "Decay, decay, decay!"
I hear it in the murmuring of the floods,
And the wind sighs it as it flies away.
Autumn is come; seest thou not in the skies,
The stormy light of his fierce lurid eyes?
Autumn is come; his brazen feet have trod,
Withering and scorching, o'... | I hear a voice low in the sunset woods;
Listen, it says: "Decay, decay, decay!"
I hear it in the murmuring of the floods,
And the wind sighs it as it flies away. | Autumn is come; seest thou not in the skies,
The stormy light of his fierce lurid eyes?
Autumn is come; his brazen feet have trod,
Withering and scorching, o'er the mossy sod.
The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath
Shrivel in his hot grasp; his burning breath
Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade
Wan... | sonnet |
Sara Teasdale | The Faery Forest | The faery forest glimmered
Beneath an ivory moon,
The silver grasses shimmered
Against a faery tune.
Beneath the silken silence
The crystal branches slept,
And dreaming thro' the dew-fall
The cold white blossoms wept. | The faery forest glimmered
Beneath an ivory moon, | The silver grasses shimmered
Against a faery tune.
Beneath the silken silence
The crystal branches slept,
And dreaming thro' the dew-fall
The cold white blossoms wept. | octave |
George MacDonald | Christmas Prayer. | Cold my heart, and poor, and low,
Like thy stable in the rock;
Do not let it orphan go,
It is of thy parent stock!
Come thou in, and it will grow
High and wide, a fane divine;
Like the ruby it will glow,
Like the diamond shine! | Cold my heart, and poor, and low,
Like thy stable in the rock; | Do not let it orphan go,
It is of thy parent stock!
Come thou in, and it will grow
High and wide, a fane divine;
Like the ruby it will glow,
Like the diamond shine! | octave |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | To Constantia. | 1.
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue -
In the gaze of the nightly moon;
For the planet of frost, so cold and bright,
Makes it wan with her borrowed light.
2.
Such is my heart - roses are fair,
And that at best a withered blossom;
But thy false care d... | 1.
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue -
In the gaze of the nightly moon;
For the planet of frost, so cold and bright, | Makes it wan with her borrowed light.
2.
Such is my heart - roses are fair,
And that at best a withered blossom;
But thy false care did idly wear
Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom;
And fed with love, like air and dew,
Its growth -
NOTES:
_1 The rose]The red Rose B.
_2 pleasant]fragrant B.
_6 her omitted B. | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Life And Death. A Quatrain. | Of our own selves God makes a glass, wherein
Two shadows image them as might a breath:
And one is Life, whose other name is Sin;
And one is Love, whose other name is Death. | Of our own selves God makes a glass, wherein | Two shadows image them as might a breath:
And one is Life, whose other name is Sin;
And one is Love, whose other name is Death. | quatrain |
Robert Burns | Inscription On A Goblet. | There's death in the cup, sae beware!
Nay, more, there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?
The man and his wine's sae bewitching! | There's death in the cup, sae beware! | Nay, more, there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?
The man and his wine's sae bewitching! | quatrain |
Thomas Moore | Weep On, Weep On. | Weep on, weep on, your hour is past;
Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more.
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;
The sage's tongue hath warned in vain;--
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again.
Weep on--perhaps in after days,
They'll learn to love... | Weep on, weep on, your hour is past;
Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more.
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;
The sage's tongue hath warned in vain;--
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again. | Weep on--perhaps in after days,
They'll learn to love your name;
When many a deed may wake in praise
That long hath slept in blame.
And when they tread the ruined isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave,
They'll wondering ask, how hands so vile
Could conquer hearts so brave?
"'Twas fate," they'll say, "a waywar... | free_verse |
John Alexander McCrae | Mine Host | There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
"How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most,
"This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will w... | There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
"How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most, | "This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room."
Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of ... | sonnet |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.