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Michael Drayton | To My Most Dearely-Loued Friend Henery Reynolds Esquire, Of Poets & Poesie | My dearely loued friend how oft haue we,
In winter evenings (meaning to be free,)
To some well-chosen place vs'd to retire;
And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire,
Haue past the howres contentedly with chat,
Now talk of this, and then discours'd of that,
Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if not
Other ... | My dearely loued friend how oft haue we,
In winter evenings (meaning to be free,)
To some well-chosen place vs'd to retire;
And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire,
Haue past the howres contentedly with chat,
Now talk of this, and then discours'd of that,
Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if not
Other ... | With the two former, which accompted are
That times best makers, and the authors were
Of those small poems, which the title beare,
Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit
On many dainty passages of wit.
Gascoine and Churchyard after them againe
In the beginning of Eliza's raine,
Accoumpted were great Meterers many a... | free_verse |
Horatio Alger, Jr. | What Another Poet Did. | Another expounder of life's thorny mazes
Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare,
And troubled the city's most troublesome places,
While singing his ditty of "Nothing to Wear."
"A tale worth the telling,"' though I tell for the same,
Great objects of pity we see in the street,
"With nothing to wear, though a legion by ... | Another expounder of life's thorny mazes
Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare, | And troubled the city's most troublesome places,
While singing his ditty of "Nothing to Wear."
"A tale worth the telling,"' though I tell for the same,
Great objects of pity we see in the street,
"With nothing to wear, though a legion by name,
Is not to buy clothing, but something to eat. | octave |
Charles Baudelaire | The Ideal | It will not be these beauties of vignettes,
Poor products of a worthless century,
Feet in half-boots, fingers in castanets,
Who satisfy the yearning heart in me.
That poet of chlorosis, Gavarni,
Can keep his twittering troupe of sickly queens,
Since these pale roses do not let me see
My red ideal, the tlower of my drea... | It will not be these beauties of vignettes,
Poor products of a worthless century,
Feet in half-boots, fingers in castanets,
Who satisfy the yearning heart in me. | That poet of chlorosis, Gavarni,
Can keep his twittering troupe of sickly queens,
Since these pale roses do not let me see
My red ideal, the tlower of my dreams.
I need a heart abyssal in its depth,
A soul confirmed in crime, Lady Macbeth,
Aeschylus' dream, storm-born out of the south,
Or you, great Night of Michelange... | sonnet |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | Rondel* | Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me:
Mine is not the love that strays,
Though I wander far-off ways:
Faithfully for all my days
I have vowed myself to thee:
Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me. | Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me: | Mine is not the love that strays,
Though I wander far-off ways:
Faithfully for all my days
I have vowed myself to thee:
Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me. | octave |
Edward Powys Mathers (As Translator) | A Proverb | Before you love,
Learn to run through snow
Leaving no footprint.
From the Turkish. | Before you love, | Learn to run through snow
Leaving no footprint.
From the Turkish. | quatrain |
John Milton | Sonnets. I. | O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have l... | O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, | Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny:
As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
For my relie... | sonnet |
Robert Burns | Epitaph On William Nicol. | Ye maggots, feast on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For deil a bit o't's rotten. | Ye maggots, feast on Nicol's brain, | For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For deil a bit o't's rotten. | quatrain |
Sara Teasdale | To Eleonora Duse In "The Dead City" | Were you a Greek when all the world was young,
Before the weary years that pass and pass,
Had scattered all the temples on the grass,
Before the moss to marble columns clung?
I think your snowy tunic must have hung
As now your gown does, wave on wave a mass
Of woven water. As within a glass
I see your face when Homer's... | Were you a Greek when all the world was young,
Before the weary years that pass and pass,
Had scattered all the temples on the grass,
Before the moss to marble columns clung? | I think your snowy tunic must have hung
As now your gown does, wave on wave a mass
Of woven water. As within a glass
I see your face when Homer's tales were sung.
Alcaeus kissed your mouth and found it sweet,
And Sappho's hand has lingered in your hand.
You half remember Lesbos as you stand
Where all the times and coun... | sonnet |
Horatio Alger, Jr. | He Discourseth Of A Common Prayer. | Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer,
Far more than their own or their neighbor's salvation,
Absorbs every thought, every dream, and all care,
"To eat or to wear, is anything new in creation?" | Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer, | Far more than their own or their neighbor's salvation,
Absorbs every thought, every dream, and all care,
"To eat or to wear, is anything new in creation?" | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | "I Asked No Other Thing," | I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?" | I asked no other thing,
No other was denied. | I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?" | octave |
Alexander Pope | Occasioned By Some Verses Of His Grace The Duke Of Buckingham | Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends,
And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends.
Let Crowds and Critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain;
Time, health, and fortune are not lost in vain.
Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus b... | Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends,
And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends. | Let Crowds and Critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain;
Time, health, and fortune are not lost in vain.
Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends,
And I and Malice from this hour are friends. | octave |
Nora Pembroke (Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall) | Lines On Annexation. | We honour Brother Jonathan,
For what he has done and dared;
Nobly and firmly he hath stood
His freeborn rights to guard.
And when we see him, go ahead,
We are not with envy vexed;
We wish him all prosperity
Yet will not be annexed.
We know he has much moral force;
Much that is good and great;
Much enterprise and energy... | We honour Brother Jonathan,
For what he has done and dared;
Nobly and firmly he hath stood
His freeborn rights to guard.
And when we see him, go ahead,
We are not with envy vexed;
We wish him all prosperity
Yet will not be annexed.
We know he has much moral force;
Much that is good and great;
Much enterprise and energy... | But there's upon his scutcheon stains,
Which we lament to see;
And will not share--will not annex--
Our soil and air are free--
And far more glorious is the flag
Which o'er the Briton waves,
Than that whose stars of freedom shine
Upon the stripes of slaves.
We love our Queen--we love our laws;
We feel that we are free-... | free_verse |
Matthew Prior | Nell and John | When Nell, given o'er by the doctor, was dying,
And John at the chimney stood decently crying,
'Tis in vain said the woman to make such ado,
For to our long home we must all of us go.
True, Nell, replied John; but what yet is the worst
For us that remain, the best always go first;
Remember, dear wife, that I said so la... | When Nell, given o'er by the doctor, was dying,
And John at the chimney stood decently crying, | 'Tis in vain said the woman to make such ado,
For to our long home we must all of us go.
True, Nell, replied John; but what yet is the worst
For us that remain, the best always go first;
Remember, dear wife, that I said so last year,
When you lost your white heifer, and I my brown mare. | octave |
Vachel Lindsay | The Sun Says his Prayers | "The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
Or else he would wither and die.
"The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
"For strength to climb up through the sky.
He leans on invisible angels,
And Faith is his prop and his rod.
The sky is his crystal cathedral.
And dawn is his altar to God." | "The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
Or else he would wither and die. | "The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
"For strength to climb up through the sky.
He leans on invisible angels,
And Faith is his prop and his rod.
The sky is his crystal cathedral.
And dawn is his altar to God." | octave |
Robert Herrick | Clemency. | For punishment in war it will suffice
If the chief author of the faction dies;
Let but few smart, but strike a fear through all;
Where the fault springs there let the judgment fall. | For punishment in war it will suffice | If the chief author of the faction dies;
Let but few smart, but strike a fear through all;
Where the fault springs there let the judgment fall. | quatrain |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | I Shall Forget | Although my life, which thou hast scarred and shaken,
Retains awhile some influence of thee,
As shells, by faithless waves long since forsaken,
Still murmur with the music of the Sea,
I shall forget. Not thine the haunting beauty,
Which, once beheld, for ever holds the heart,
Or, if resigned from stress of Fate or D... | Although my life, which thou hast scarred and shaken,
Retains awhile some influence of thee,
As shells, by faithless waves long since forsaken,
Still murmur with the music of the Sea, | I shall forget. Not thine the haunting beauty,
Which, once beheld, for ever holds the heart,
Or, if resigned from stress of Fate or Duty,
Takes part of life away: - the dearer part.
I gave thee love; thou gavest but Desire.
Ah, the delusion of that summer night!
Thy soul vibrated at the rate of Fire;
Mine, with the ... | sonnet |
John Hartley | Disapointment. (Prose) | "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall net be disappointed."
Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an' his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a ... | "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall net be disappointed." | Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an' his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a bit a' brass. One day he war gain up Hepenstull Bunk, Jenny o' Jooans a' th... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Ursley. | Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace
The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth. | Ursley, she thinks those velvet patches grace | The candid temples of her comely face;
But he will say, whoe'er those circlets seeth,
They be but signs of Ursley's hollow teeth. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Ballad Of Low-Lie-Down | John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum
Came a-riding into town:
At the Sign o' the Jug-and-Jorum
There they met with Low-lie-down.
Brave in shoes of Romany leather,
Bodice blue and gypsy gown,
And a cap of fur and feather,
In the inn sat Low-lie-down.
Harum-Scarum kissed her lightly;
Smiled into her eyes of brown:
Clasped her ... | John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum
Came a-riding into town:
At the Sign o' the Jug-and-Jorum
There they met with Low-lie-down.
Brave in shoes of Romany leather,
Bodice blue and gypsy gown,
And a cap of fur and feather,
In the inn sat Low-lie-down.
Harum-Scarum kissed her lightly;
Smiled into her eyes of brown:
Clasped her ... | As a man of great renown,
On the board he clapped his dagger,
Called for sack and sat him down.
So a while they laughed together;
Then he rose and with a frown
Sighed, "While still 'tis pleasant weather,
I must leave thee, Low-lie-down."
So away rode Harum-Scarum;
With a song rode out of town;
At the Sign o' the Jug-an... | free_verse |
Robert Southey | Birth-Day Ode, 1796. | And wouldst thou seek the low abode
Where PEACE delights to dwell?
Pause Traveller on thy way of life!
With many a snare and peril rife
Is that long labyrinth of road:
Dark is the vale of years before
Pause Traveller on thy way!
Nor dare the dangerous path explore
Till old EXPERIENCE comes to lend his leading ray.
Not ... | And wouldst thou seek the low abode
Where PEACE delights to dwell?
Pause Traveller on thy way of life!
With many a snare and peril rife
Is that long labyrinth of road:
Dark is the vale of years before
Pause Traveller on thy way!
Nor dare the dangerous path explore
Till old EXPERIENCE comes to lend his leading ray.
Not ... | Traveller, shalt thou march along.
Tho' POWER invite thee to her hall,
Regard not thou her tempting call
Her splendors meteor glare;
Tho' courteous Flattery there await
And Wealth adorn the dome of State,
There stalks the midnight spectre CARE;
PEACE, Traveller! does not sojourn there.
If FAME allure thee, climb not th... | free_verse |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet XXXVIII | This night, while sleepe begins with heauy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that vnbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powres are brought
To leaue the scepter of all subiect things;
The first that straight my fancys errour brings
Vnto my mind is Stellas image, wrought
By Loues own selfe, but with so curious dr... | This night, while sleepe begins with heauy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that vnbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powres are brought
To leaue the scepter of all subiect things; | The first that straight my fancys errour brings
Vnto my mind is Stellas image, wrought
By Loues own selfe, but with so curious drought
That she, methinks, not onley shines but sings.
I start, look, hearke: but in what closde-vp sence
Was held, in opend sense it flies away,
Leauing me nought but wayling eloquence.
I, se... | sonnet |
George Gordon Byron | To An Oak At Newstead. [1] | 1.
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground,
I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine;
That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around,
And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.
2.
Such, such was my hope, when in Infancy's years,
On the land of my Fathers I rear'd thee with pride;
They are past, an... | 1.
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground,
I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine;
That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around,
And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.
2.
Such, such was my hope, when in Infancy's years,
On the land of my Fathers I rear'd thee with pride;
They are past, an... | Oh! hardy thou wert - even now little care
Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal:
But thou wert not fated affection to share -
For who could suppose that a Stranger would feel?
5.
Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while;
Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run,
The hand of thy Master... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCLIV. Relics. | A good child, a good child,
As I suppose you be,
Never laughed nor smiled
At the tickling of your knee. | A good child, a good child, | As I suppose you be,
Never laughed nor smiled
At the tickling of your knee. | quatrain |
James Stephens | The Coolun | Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will;
And we will talk until
Talk is a trouble, too,
Out on the side of the hill,
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye
And a hand in a hand to slip,
And a sigh to answer a sigh,
And a lip to ... | Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will;
And we will talk until
Talk is a trouble, too, | Out on the side of the hill,
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye
And a hand in a hand to slip,
And a sigh to answer a sigh,
And a lip to find out a lip:
What if the night be black
And the air on the mountain chill,
Where the goat lies down in her track
And all but the fern is still!
Stay with me, ... | free_verse |
Matthew Arnold | Worldly Place | Even in a palace, life may be led well!
So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,
Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
And drudge under some foolish master's ken
Who rates us if we peer outside our pen,
Match'd with a palace, is not ... | Even in a palace, life may be led well!
So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell, | Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
And drudge under some foolish master's ken
Who rates us if we peer outside our pen,
Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?
Even in a palace! On his truth sincere,
Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came;
And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame
Some nobler, ampler stage o... | sonnet |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets CXXIV - If my dear love were but the child of state | If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd,
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th' ... | If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd,
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. | No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drow... | sonnet |
William Butler Yeats | Paudeen | Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye,
There cannot b... | Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind | Among the stones and thorn trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye,
There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,
A single soul that lacks a sweet crystaline cry. | octave |
Rudyard Kipling | Samuel Pepys | Like as the Oak whose roots descend
Through earth and stillness seeking food
Most apt to furnish in the end
That dense, indomitable wood
Which, felled, may arm a seaward flank
Of Ostia's mole or, bent to frame
The beaked Liburnian's triple bank,
Carry afar the Roman name;
But which, a tree, the season moves
Through gen... | Like as the Oak whose roots descend
Through earth and stillness seeking food
Most apt to furnish in the end
That dense, indomitable wood
Which, felled, may arm a seaward flank
Of Ostia's mole or, bent to frame
The beaked Liburnian's triple bank,
Carry afar the Roman name;
But which, a tree, the season moves | Through gentler Gods than Wind or Tide,
Delightedly to harbour doves,
Or take some clasping vine for bride;
So this man, prescient to ensure
(Since even now his orders hold)
A little State might ride secure
At sea from foes her sloth made bold,,
Turned in his midmost harried round,
As Venus drove or Liber led,
And snat... | free_verse |
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (Joyce) | Love's Lantern | (For Aline)
Because the road was steep and long
And through a dark and lonely land,
God set upon my lips a song
And put a lantern in my hand.
Through miles on weary miles of night
That stretch relentless in my way
My lantern burns serene and white,
An unexhausted cup of day.
O golden lights and lights like wine,
How di... | (For Aline)
Because the road was steep and long
And through a dark and lonely land,
God set upon my lips a song | And put a lantern in my hand.
Through miles on weary miles of night
That stretch relentless in my way
My lantern burns serene and white,
An unexhausted cup of day.
O golden lights and lights like wine,
How dim your boasted splendors are.
Behold this little lamp of mine;
It is more starlike than a star! | free_verse |
Lola Ridge | Brooklyn Bridge | Pythoness body - arching
Over the night like an ecstasy -
I feel your coils tightening...
And the world's lessening breath. | Pythoness body - arching | Over the night like an ecstasy -
I feel your coils tightening...
And the world's lessening breath. | quatrain |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | To Lida. | The only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,
Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee;
He too is wholly thine; since doomed to rove
Far from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see
Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view,
As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true,
It cheers me, like the stars eterne ... | The only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,
Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee; | He too is wholly thine; since doomed to rove
Far from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see
Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view,
As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true,
It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam
Across the northern-lights' far-flick'ring beam. | octave |
John Charles McNeill | Dawn | The hills again reach skyward with a smile.
Again, with waking life along its way,
The landscape marches westward mile on mile
And time throbs white into another day.
Though eager life must wait on livelihood,
And all our hopes be tethered to the mart,
Lacking the eagle's wild, high freedom, would
That ours might be th... | The hills again reach skyward with a smile.
Again, with waking life along its way, | The landscape marches westward mile on mile
And time throbs white into another day.
Though eager life must wait on livelihood,
And all our hopes be tethered to the mart,
Lacking the eagle's wild, high freedom, would
That ours might be this day the eagle's heart! | octave |
Marietta Holley | Sometime. | On the shore I sit and gaze
Out on the twilight sea,
For my ship may come, though many days
I have waited patiently;
With waiting trusting eyes,
A lonely watch I keep
For its silver sails to rise
Like a blossom out of the deep.
It is built of a costly wood,
Bearing the strange perfume
Of the gorgeous solitude,
Where it... | On the shore I sit and gaze
Out on the twilight sea,
For my ship may come, though many days
I have waited patiently;
With waiting trusting eyes,
A lonely watch I keep
For its silver sails to rise
Like a blossom out of the deep.
It is built of a costly wood,
Bearing the strange perfume
Of the gorgeous solitude,
Where it... | Slowly and proudly 'twill glide to my feet
In the eve of that fair "Sometime,"
Before me its sails will be furled,
A princess I shall be,
Crowned with the wealth of the world,
When my ship comes in from sea.
Sweet faces I then shall see,
Tender, undoubting, true,
Soft hands will be stretched to me
With a welcome I neve... | free_verse |
Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny) | The Red Indian. | Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past, -
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
Still rings upon the rushing blast,
That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,
Beneath the hand of death bends low,
Thy fiery glance is quenched now,
In the cold grave's obscurity.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy ... | Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past, -
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
Still rings upon the rushing blast,
That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,
Beneath the hand of death bends low,
Thy fiery glance is quenched now,
In the cold grave's obscurity. | Rest, warrior, rest! thy rising sun
Is set in blood, thy day is done;
Like lightning flash thy race is run,
And thou art sleeping peacefully.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more
The boundless forest shall explore,
Or trackless cross the sandy shore,
Or chase the red deer rapidly.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe,... | free_verse |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets CXXI - 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd | 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing:
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their will... | 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: | For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank though... | sonnet |
Eric Mackay | Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter XII. Victory. | Letter XII. Victory.
I.
Now have I reach'd the goal of my desire,
For thou hast sworn - as sweetly as a bell
Makes out its chime - the oath I love to tell,
The fealty-oath of which I never tire.
The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre,
And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.
II.
The air is fill'd with voi... | Letter XII. Victory.
I.
Now have I reach'd the goal of my desire,
For thou hast sworn - as sweetly as a bell
Makes out its chime - the oath I love to tell,
The fealty-oath of which I never tire.
The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre,
And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.
II.
The air is fill'd with voi... | At dawn's approach. The firmament was blind
Of all its eyes; and, wanton up the wind,
There came the shuddering that the twilight sends.
VIII.
The hills exulted at the Morning's birth, -
And clouds assembled, quick, as heralds run
Before a king to say the fight is won.
The rich, warm daylight fell upon the earth
Like w... | free_verse |
Charles Hamilton Musgrove | Idols. | I.
Mouths have they, but they speak not:
Yet something in the certainty of faith
To their disciples saith:
"Believe on me and vengeance I will wreak not."
The word that conquers death--
The immutable and boundless gift of grace--
Dwells in that stony face,
And every supplication answereth.
Mouths have they, but they sp... | I.
Mouths have they, but they speak not:
Yet something in the certainty of faith
To their disciples saith:
"Believe on me and vengeance I will wreak not."
The word that conquers death--
The immutable and boundless gift of grace--
Dwells in that stony face,
And every supplication answereth.
Mouths have they, but they sp... | II.
Eyes have they, but they see not:
Yet the pagan builds his shrine,
And keeps his fires divine
Forever bright, nor darkly doubts there be not
Enough of grace and power
Within those eyes that glower
To read his soul. To him they are not blind,
For some dim, undefined
Reward of faith that thrills his untaught breast
L... | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | Composed At The Same Time And On The Same Occasion | I dropped my pen; and listened to the Wind
That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined
Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptat... | I dropped my pen; and listened to the Wind
That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined | Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptation from the World will find.
Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink
A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past;
And to the attendant promise will give heed
The pro... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Be Glad | Be glad, just for to-day!
O heart, be glad!
Cast all your cares away!
Doff all that 's sad!
Put of your garments gray
Be glad to-day!
Be merry while you-can;
For life is short
It seemeth but a span
Before we part.
Let each maid take her man,
And dance while dance she can:
Life's but a little span
Be merry while you can... | Be glad, just for to-day!
O heart, be glad!
Cast all your cares away!
Doff all that 's sad! | Put of your garments gray
Be glad to-day!
Be merry while you-can;
For life is short
It seemeth but a span
Before we part.
Let each maid take her man,
And dance while dance she can:
Life's but a little span
Be merry while you can. | sonnet |
Ellis Parker Butler | The Ballade Of The Automobile | When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel
And the wind is moist with breath of brine
And our laughter tells of our perfect weal,
We may carol the praises of ruby wine;
But if, automobiling, my woes combine
And fuel gives out in my road-machine
And it's sixteen miles to that home of mine
Then ho! For a gallon of gasol... | When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel
And the wind is moist with breath of brine
And our laughter tells of our perfect weal,
We may carol the praises of ruby wine;
But if, automobiling, my woes combine
And fuel gives out in my road-machine
And it's sixteen miles to that home of mine
Then ho! For a gallon of gasol... | With a deft touch guiding each taut drawn line
And the inn ahead holds a royal meal,
We may carol the praises of ruby wine;
But when, on some long and steep incline,
In a manner entirely unforeseen
The motor stops with a last sad whine
Then ho! For a gallon of gasoline!
When the air is crisp and the brooks congeal
And ... | free_verse |
William Hayley | Two Hymns Written for the Asylum of Female Orphans. | I.
Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To thee, O Charity! the praise
Of filial love shall flow.
Base want, and vice, a foe to all!
Round us their snares had thrown.
Had not thy arm, at pity's call,
Embrac'd us for thine own.
O blest the land! where all to Thee
A tender homage pay!
Where indigence ... | I.
Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To thee, O Charity! the praise
Of filial love shall flow.
Base want, and vice, a foe to all!
Round us their snares had thrown.
Had not thy arm, at pity's call,
Embrac'd us for thine own.
O blest the land! where all to Thee
A tender homage pay!
Where indigence ... | When ruthless nations groan;
Her guarded orphan's grateful prayer
May rise to mercy's throne.
Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To Thee, O Charity, the praise
Of filial love shall flow.
II.
We have no parent but our God;
Yet will we not in grief despair;
For He this vale of sorrow trod,
To make t... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | To A Castillan Song | We held the book together timidly,
Whose antique music in an alien tongue
Once rose among the dew-drenched vines that hung
Beneath a high Castilian balcony.
I felt the lute strings' ancient ecstasy,
And while he read, my love-filled heart was stung,
And throbbed, as where an ardent bird has clung
The branches tremble o... | We held the book together timidly,
Whose antique music in an alien tongue
Once rose among the dew-drenched vines that hung
Beneath a high Castilian balcony. | I felt the lute strings' ancient ecstasy,
And while he read, my love-filled heart was stung,
And throbbed, as where an ardent bird has clung
The branches tremble on a blossomed tree.
Oh lady for whose sake the song was made,
Laid long ago in some still cypress shade,
Divided from the man who longed for thee,
Here in a ... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 - VII - Men Of The Western World | Men of the Western World! in Fate's dark book
Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent?
Think ye your British Ancestors forsook
Their native Land, for outrage provident;
From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook
To give, in their Descendants, freer vent
And wider range to passions turbulent,
To mutual tyranny a d... | Men of the Western World! in Fate's dark book
Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent?
Think ye your British Ancestors forsook
Their native Land, for outrage provident; | From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook
To give, in their Descendants, freer vent
And wider range to passions turbulent,
To mutual tyranny a deadlier look?
Nay, said a voice, soft as the south wind's breath,
Dive through the stormy surface of the flood
To the great current flowing underneath;
Explore the countless spr... | sonnet |
Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson | Taylor's Song (From Maria Stuart) | For joys the hours of earth bestow
With sorrow thou must pay.
Though many follow close, yet know,
They're loaned but for a day.
With sighing in thy laughter's stead
Shall come a time of grief,
The load of usury bow thy head,
With loss of thy belief.
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Hadst thou not smiled upon... | For joys the hours of earth bestow
With sorrow thou must pay.
Though many follow close, yet know,
They're loaned but for a day.
With sighing in thy laughter's stead
Shall come a time of grief,
The load of usury bow thy head,
With loss of thy belief. | Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Hadst thou not smiled upon me, thou,
I were not weeping now.
May God help him who never can
Give only half his soul;
The time comes surely for that man
To take the sorrow whole.
May God help him who was so glad,
That he cannot forget,
Help him who lost the all he had,
But not... | free_verse |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | The Poet | He sang of life, serenely sweet,
With, now and then, a deeper note.
From some high peak, nigh yet remote,
He voiced the world's absorbing beat.
He sang of love when earth was young,
And Love, itself, was in his lays.
But ah, the world, it turned to praise
A jingle in a broken tongue. | He sang of life, serenely sweet,
With, now and then, a deeper note. | From some high peak, nigh yet remote,
He voiced the world's absorbing beat.
He sang of love when earth was young,
And Love, itself, was in his lays.
But ah, the world, it turned to praise
A jingle in a broken tongue. | octave |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | A Roadway | Let those who will stride on their barren roads
And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads,
Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,
If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray:
For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks,
The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks,
A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay,
A paus... | Let those who will stride on their barren roads
And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads, | Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,
If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray:
For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks,
The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks,
A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay,
A pause to pick a flower beside the way. | octave |
Richard Le Gallienne | Faith Reborn | 'The old gods pass,' the cry goes round;
'Lo! how their temples strew the ground';
Nor mark we where, on new-fledged wings,
Faith, like the phoenix, soars and sings. | 'The old gods pass,' the cry goes round; | 'Lo! how their temples strew the ground';
Nor mark we where, on new-fledged wings,
Faith, like the phoenix, soars and sings. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | I Watch, And Long Have Watched, With Calm Regret | I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
Yon slowly-sinking star, immortal Sire
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire!
Blue ether still surrounds him, yet, and yet;
But now the horizon's rocky parapet
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire,
He burns, transmuted to a dusky fire,
Then pays submi... | I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret
Yon slowly-sinking star, immortal Sire
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire!
Blue ether still surrounds him, yet, and yet; | But now the horizon's rocky parapet
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire,
He burns, transmuted to a dusky fire,
Then pays submissively the appointed debt
To the flying moments, and is seen no more.
Angels and gods! We struggle with our fate,
While health, power, glory, from their height decline,
Depressed; a... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXXVIII. Love And Matrimony. | Rowley Powley, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry;
When the girls begin to cry,
Rowley Powley runs away. | Rowley Powley, pudding and pie, | Kissed the girls and made them cry;
When the girls begin to cry,
Rowley Powley runs away. | quatrain |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets LXXVI - Why is my verse so barren of new pride | Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where th... | Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? | Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O! know sweet love I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is alre... | sonnet |
Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Epitaph | Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death:
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He as... | Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod | A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death:
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same. | octave |
Siegfried Loraine Sassoon | The Fathers | Snug at the club two fathers sat,
Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat.
One of them said: "My eldest lad
Writes cheery letters from Bagdad.
But Arthur's getting all the fun
At Arras with his nine-inch gun."
"Yes," wheezed the other, "that's the luck!
My boy's quite broken-hearted, stuck
In England training all this yea... | Snug at the club two fathers sat,
Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat.
One of them said: "My eldest lad
Writes cheery letters from Bagdad. | But Arthur's getting all the fun
At Arras with his nine-inch gun."
"Yes," wheezed the other, "that's the luck!
My boy's quite broken-hearted, stuck
In England training all this year.
Still, if there's truth in what we hear,
The Huns intend to ask for more
Before they bolt across the Rhine."
I watched them toddle throug... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Poor Man's Part. | Tell me, rich man, for what intent
Thou load'st with gold thy vestiment?
Whenas the poor cry out: To us
Belongs all gold superfluous. | Tell me, rich man, for what intent | Thou load'st with gold thy vestiment?
Whenas the poor cry out: To us
Belongs all gold superfluous. | quatrain |
Oliver Herford | A Kitten's Fancy | The Kitten mews outside the Door,
The Cat-bird in the Tree,
The Sea-mew mews upon the Shore,
The Catfish in the Sea.
The Emu with his feathers queer
Is mewing in the Zoo.
Why is it that I never hear
A Pussy-willow mew? | The Kitten mews outside the Door,
The Cat-bird in the Tree, | The Sea-mew mews upon the Shore,
The Catfish in the Sea.
The Emu with his feathers queer
Is mewing in the Zoo.
Why is it that I never hear
A Pussy-willow mew? | octave |
Robert Herrick | To His Valentine On St. Valentine's Day. | Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say
Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day;
But by their flight I never can divine
When I shall couple with my valentine. | Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say | Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day;
But by their flight I never can divine
When I shall couple with my valentine. | quatrain |
Paul Cameron Brown | The Clearing That Is The Trees | "They know they are going to the filth of numbers and laws,
to the games anyone can play, and the work without fruit."
Lorca
I want to go walking in troubled marshes
where cold gray coves leave off the mind
and the scent of rushes twist the wind
as fall covers dungeons of angry sparrows.
I want to go quickly to trouble... | "They know they are going to the filth of numbers and laws,
to the games anyone can play, and the work without fruit."
Lorca
I want to go walking in troubled marshes
where cold gray coves leave off the mind
and the scent of rushes twist the wind
as fall covers dungeons of angry sparrows.
I want to go quickly to trouble... | like stone gargoyles.
I want to handle anguish as if
it were an interesting bauble
plucked from the shallows,
a curious snail with ritual markings
or a mauve shellfish
caught in swift eddies
as the tide goes out.
I want to examine canker introspection
as a peevish child might
faint tracings on an old stone
lodged in th... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Reape. | Reape's eyes so raw are that, it seems, the flies
Mistake the flesh, and fly-blow both his eyes;
So that an angler, for a day's expense,
May bait his hook with maggots taken thence. | Reape's eyes so raw are that, it seems, the flies | Mistake the flesh, and fly-blow both his eyes;
So that an angler, for a day's expense,
May bait his hook with maggots taken thence. | quatrain |
Jean Blewett | The Highland Shepherd. | O the hills of purple heather,
And the skies so warm and gray!
O the shimmer of the sea-mist
In the sea-wind far away!
O the calling of the torrent,
Sweeping down Ben Vorlich's side,
And my white flocks faring foldward
In the hush of eventide! | O the hills of purple heather,
And the skies so warm and gray! | O the shimmer of the sea-mist
In the sea-wind far away!
O the calling of the torrent,
Sweeping down Ben Vorlich's side,
And my white flocks faring foldward
In the hush of eventide! | octave |
James Joyce | O, It Was Out By Donnycarney | O, it was out by Donnycarney
When the bat flew from tree to tree
My love and I did walk together;
And sweet were the words she said to me.
Along with us the summer wind
Went murmuring, O, happily!
But softer than the breath of summer
Was the kiss she gave to me. | O, it was out by Donnycarney
When the bat flew from tree to tree | My love and I did walk together;
And sweet were the words she said to me.
Along with us the summer wind
Went murmuring, O, happily!
But softer than the breath of summer
Was the kiss she gave to me. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Julia. | Offer thy gift; but first the law commands
Thee, Julia, first, to sanctify thy hands:
Do that, my Julia, which the rites require,
Then boldly give thine incense to the fire. | Offer thy gift; but first the law commands | Thee, Julia, first, to sanctify thy hands:
Do that, my Julia, which the rites require,
Then boldly give thine incense to the fire. | quatrain |
Walt Whitman | O Hymen! O Hymenee! | O Hymen! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would soon certainly kill me? | O Hymen! O hymenee! | Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would soon certainly kill me? | free_verse |
Jonathan Swift | Epigram Added By Stella[1] | When Margery chastises Ned,
She calls it combing of his head;
A kinder wife was never born:
She combs his head, and finds him horn. | When Margery chastises Ned, | She calls it combing of his head;
A kinder wife was never born:
She combs his head, and finds him horn. | quatrain |
Matthew Prior | Epigram - To John I Owed Great Obligation | To John I owed great obligation,
But John unhappily thought fit
To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John and I are more than quit. | To John I owed great obligation, | But John unhappily thought fit
To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John and I are more than quit. | quatrain |
Charles Baudelaire | What Will You Say Tonight, Poor Lonely Soul | What will you say tonight, poor lonely soul,
What will you say old withered heart of mine,
To the most beautiful, the best, most dear,
Whose heavenly regard brings back your bloom?
We will assign our pride to sing her praise:
Nothing excels the sweetness of her will;
Her holy body has an angel's scent,
Her eye invests ... | What will you say tonight, poor lonely soul,
What will you say old withered heart of mine,
To the most beautiful, the best, most dear,
Whose heavenly regard brings back your bloom? | We will assign our pride to sing her praise:
Nothing excels the sweetness of her will;
Her holy body has an angel's scent,
Her eye invests us with a cloak of light.
Whether it be in night and solitude,
Or in the streets among the multitude,
Her ghost before us dances like a torch.
It speaks out: 'I am lovely and comman... | sonnet |
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen | The End | After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne,
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased
And from the bronze west long retreat is blown,
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?
Or fill these void veins full again with youth... | After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne,
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased
And from the bronze west long retreat is blown, | Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?
Or fill these void veins full again with youth
And wash with an immortal water age?
When I do ask white Age, he saith not so,--
"My head hangs weighed with snow."
And when I hearken to the Earth she saith
My fiery heart sinks aching. ... | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Sonet 56 A Consonet | Eyes with your teares, blind if you bee,
Why haue these teares such eyes to see,
Poore eyes, if yours teares cannot moue,
My teares, eyes, then must mone my loue,
Then eyes, since you haue lost your sight,
Weepe still, and teares shall lend you light,
Till both desolu'd, and both want might.
No, no, cleere eyes, you ar... | Eyes with your teares, blind if you bee,
Why haue these teares such eyes to see,
Poore eyes, if yours teares cannot moue,
My teares, eyes, then must mone my loue, | Then eyes, since you haue lost your sight,
Weepe still, and teares shall lend you light,
Till both desolu'd, and both want might.
No, no, cleere eyes, you are not blind,
But in my teares discerne my mind:
Teares be the language which you speake,
Which my hart wanting, yet must breake;
My tongue must cease to tell my wr... | sonnet |
John Clare | The Firetail's Nest | "Tweet" pipes the robin as the cat creeps by
Her nestling young that in the elderns lie,
And then the bluecap tootles in its glee,
Picking the flies from orchard apple tree,
And "pink" the chaffinch cries its well-known strain,
Urging its kind to utter "pink" again,
While in a quiet mood hedgesparrows try
An inward sti... | "Tweet" pipes the robin as the cat creeps by
Her nestling young that in the elderns lie,
And then the bluecap tootles in its glee,
Picking the flies from orchard apple tree, | And "pink" the chaffinch cries its well-known strain,
Urging its kind to utter "pink" again,
While in a quiet mood hedgesparrows try
An inward stir of shadowed melody.
Around the rotten tree the firetail mourns
As the old hedger to his toil returns,
Chopping the grain to stop the gap close by
The hole where her blue eg... | sonnet |
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde | Poem: Quantum Mutata | There was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England's lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so
While England could a great Republic show.
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair
The Pontiff in his painted portico
Trem... | There was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England's lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so | While England could a great Republic show.
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair
The Pontiff in his painted portico
Trembled before our stern ambassadors.
How comes it then that from such high estate
We have thus fallen, save that Luxury
With barren merchandise piles up the ... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - II. - Bruges | Bruges I saw attired with golden light
(Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power:
The splendour fled; and now the sunless hour,
That, slowly making way for peaceful night,
Best suits with fallen grandeur, to my sight
Offers the beauty, the magnificence,
And sober graces, left her for defense
Against the injuries... | Bruges I saw attired with golden light
(Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power:
The splendour fled; and now the sunless hour,
That, slowly making way for peaceful night, | Best suits with fallen grandeur, to my sight
Offers the beauty, the magnificence,
And sober graces, left her for defense
Against the injuries of time, the spite
Of fortune, and the desolating storms
Of future war. Advance not, spare to hide,
O gentle Power of darkness! these mild hues;
Obscure not yet these silent aven... | sonnet |
Thomas Moore | Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LI. | Fly not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely wanton! fly not so.
Though the wane of age is mine,
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine,
Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee,
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!
See, in yonder flowery braid,
Culled for thee, my blushing maid,[1]
How the rose, of orient glow,
Mingles with the lily... | Fly not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely wanton! fly not so.
Though the wane of age is mine,
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine, | Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee,
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!
See, in yonder flowery braid,
Culled for thee, my blushing maid,[1]
How the rose, of orient glow,
Mingles with the lily's snow;
Mark, how sweet their tints agree,
Just, my girl, like thee and me! | free_verse |
James Henry Leigh Hunt | On Receiving A Crown Of Ivy From John Keats | It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind,
Thus to be topped with leaves;--to have a sense
Of honour-shaded thought,--an influence
As from great nature's fingers, and be twined
With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind,
As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence
A head that bows to her benevolence,
Midst pomp of fanci... | It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind,
Thus to be topped with leaves;--to have a sense
Of honour-shaded thought,--an influence
As from great nature's fingers, and be twined | With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind,
As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence
A head that bows to her benevolence,
Midst pomp of fancied trumpets in the wind.
It is what's within us crowned. And kind and great
Are all the conquering wishes it inspires,
Love of things lasting, love of the tall woods,
Lo... | sonnet |
Jean Blewett | August. | God in His own right hand doth take each day -
Each sun-filled day - each rare and radiant night,
And drop it softly on the earth and say:
"Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight." | God in His own right hand doth take each day - | Each sun-filled day - each rare and radiant night,
And drop it softly on the earth and say:
"Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight." | quatrain |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Fiction And Fact | In books I read, how men have lived and died,
With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden.
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.
In real life, I never chanced to see
The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me:
No man... | In books I read, how men have lived and died,
With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. | While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.
In real life, I never chanced to see
The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me:
No man can love a woman and not show it. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Universal Wind. | Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm,
Now East, now West, now North, now South he goes,
Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm,
And in the other, sunshine and a rose. | Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm, | Now East, now West, now North, now South he goes,
Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm,
And in the other, sunshine and a rose. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | With A Flower. | When roses cease to bloom, dear,
And violets are done,
When bumble-bees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the sun,
The hand that paused to gather
Upon this summer's day
Will idle lie, in Auburn, --
Then take my flower, pray! | When roses cease to bloom, dear,
And violets are done, | When bumble-bees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the sun,
The hand that paused to gather
Upon this summer's day
Will idle lie, in Auburn, --
Then take my flower, pray! | octave |
Rudyard Kipling | Death Of A Believer | Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,
Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave.
Yet at the last, though the Kafirs had maimed him,
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the river,
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had... | Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, | Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave.
Yet at the last, though the Kafirs had maimed him,
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the river,
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him,
He called on Allah, and died a Believer! | octave |
William Cowper | Gratitude. Addressed To Lady Hesketh. | This cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath'd into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is tied.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contrived both for to... | This cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath'd into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is tied.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contrived both for to... | Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot,
Escaped from a cross-country ride!
This table, and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin
And periwig nicely adjust:
This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use,
And charged with octavos and twelves,
The gayest... | free_verse |
R. C. Lehmann | For Wilma (Aged Five Years) | Like winds that with the setting of the sun
Draw to a quiet murmuring and cease,
So is her little struggle fought and done;
And the brief fever and the pain
In a last sigh fade out and so release
The lately-breathing dust they may not hurt again.
Now all that Wilma was is made as naught:
Stilled is the laughter that wa... | Like winds that with the setting of the sun
Draw to a quiet murmuring and cease,
So is her little struggle fought and done;
And the brief fever and the pain
In a last sigh fade out and so release
The lately-breathing dust they may not hurt again.
Now all that Wilma was is made as naught:
Stilled is the laughter that wa... | Reft from the nooks that she had made her own
And from the love that sheltered, fared alone
Forth through the gloomy spaces of the night,
Until at last she lit before the gate
Where all the suppliant shades must stand and wait.
Grim Cerberus, the foiler of the dead,
Keeping his everlasting vigil there
In deep-mouthed w... | free_verse |
Edna St. Vincent Millay | Ashes Of Life | Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the sa... | Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!--with twilight near! | Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through,--
There's little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me,--and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the ... | free_verse |
Alexander Pope | The Rape of the Lock | Part 1
What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things,
I sing ' This Verse to C, , Muse! is due;
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:
Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my Lays.
Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou'd compel
A ... | Part 1
What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things,
I sing ' This Verse to C, , Muse! is due;
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:
Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my Lays.
Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou'd compel
A ... | To Fifty chosen Sylphs, of special Note,
We trust th' important Charge, the Petticoat.
Oft have we known that sev'nfold Fence to fail;
Tho' stiff with Hoops, and arm'd with Ribs of Whale.
Form a strong Line about the Silver Bound,
And guard the wide Circumference around.
Whatever spirit, careless of his Charge,
His Pos... | free_verse |
John Clare | Night. | Night spreads upon the plain her ebon pall,
Day seems unable to wash out the stain;
A pausing truce kind nature gives to all,
And fairy nations now have leave to reign:
So may conjecturing Fancy think, and feign.
Doubtless in tiny legions, now unseen,
They venture from their dwellings once again:
From keck-stalk cavity... | Night spreads upon the plain her ebon pall,
Day seems unable to wash out the stain;
A pausing truce kind nature gives to all,
And fairy nations now have leave to reign: | So may conjecturing Fancy think, and feign.
Doubtless in tiny legions, now unseen,
They venture from their dwellings once again:
From keck-stalk cavity, or hollow bean,
Or perfum'd bosom of pea-flower between,
They to the dark green rings now haste, to meet,
To dance, or pay some homage to their queen;
Or journey on, s... | sonnet |
James Whitcomb Riley | In Fervent Praise Of Picnics | Picnics is fun 'at's purty hard to beat.
I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than eat.
I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than go
With our Charlotty to the Trick-Dog Show. | Picnics is fun 'at's purty hard to beat. | I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than eat.
I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than go
With our Charlotty to the Trick-Dog Show. | quatrain |
Thomas Moore | Epigram. | What news to-day?--"Oh! worse and worse--
"Mac[1] is the Prince's Privy Purse!"--
The Prince's Purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Prince's Ridicule. | What news to-day?--"Oh! worse and worse-- | "Mac[1] is the Prince's Privy Purse!"--
The Prince's Purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Prince's Ridicule. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Young England - What Is Then Become Of Old | Young England, what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold
In the true filial bosom's inmost fold
For ever. The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this ... | Young England, what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold | In the true filial bosom's inmost fold
For ever. The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.
What, how! shall she submit in will and deed
To Beardless Boys, an imitative race,
The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed?
Dear Mother! if thou '... | sonnet |
Walter Scott (Sir) | Lucy Ashton's Song | Look not thou on beauty's charming;
Sit thou still when kings are arming;
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens;
Speak not when the people listens;
Stop thine ear against the singer;
From the red gold keep thy finger;
Vacant heart and hand and eye,
Easy live and quiet die. | Look not thou on beauty's charming;
Sit thou still when kings are arming; | Taste not when the wine-cup glistens;
Speak not when the people listens;
Stop thine ear against the singer;
From the red gold keep thy finger;
Vacant heart and hand and eye,
Easy live and quiet die. | octave |
Walter Scott (Sir) | March, March, Ettrick And Teviotdale | I.
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story.
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight fo... | I.
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head, | Many a crest that is famous in story.
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.
II.
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the lance, ... | free_verse |
Walt Whitman | As I Lay With Head In Your Lap, Camerado | AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,
The confession I made I resume--what I said to you in the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;
(Indeed I am myself the real soldier;
It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-str... | AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,
The confession I made I resume--what I said to you in the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death; | (Indeed I am myself the real soldier;
It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-striped artilleryman;)
For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them;
I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me;
I heed not, and have never heede... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCIX. Local. | Cripple Dick upon a stick,
And Sandy on a sow,
Riding away to Galloway,
To buy a pound o' woo. | Cripple Dick upon a stick, | And Sandy on a sow,
Riding away to Galloway,
To buy a pound o' woo. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | A Hymn To Bacchus | Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore!
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadils giv'n up to thee. | Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore! | When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadils giv'n up to thee. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Hope. | Hope is a subtle glutton;
He feeds upon the fair;
And yet, inspected closely,
What abstinence is there!
His is the halcyon table
That never seats but one,
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amounts remain. | Hope is a subtle glutton;
He feeds upon the fair; | And yet, inspected closely,
What abstinence is there!
His is the halcyon table
That never seats but one,
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amounts remain. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Masked. | Lying alone I dreamed a dream last night:
Methought that Joy had come to comfort me
For all the past, its suffering and slight,
Yet in my heart I felt this could not be.
All that he said unreal seemed and strange,
Too beautiful to last beyond to-morrow;
Then suddenly his features seemed to change,
The mask of joy dropp... | Lying alone I dreamed a dream last night:
Methought that Joy had come to comfort me | For all the past, its suffering and slight,
Yet in my heart I felt this could not be.
All that he said unreal seemed and strange,
Too beautiful to last beyond to-morrow;
Then suddenly his features seemed to change,
The mask of joy dropped from the face of Sorrow. | octave |
Washington Irving | Rural Life In England - Prose | Oh! friendly to the best pursuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue and to peace,
Domestic life in rural pleasures past!
- COWPER.
The stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character, must not confine his observations to the metropolis. He must go forth into the country; he must sojourn in villa... | Oh! friendly to the best pursuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue and to peace,
Domestic life in rural pleasures past!
- COWPER.
The stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character, must not confine his observations to the metropolis. He must go forth into the country; he must sojourn in villa... | The residence of people of fortune and refinement in the country, has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy that descends to the lowest class. The very laborer, with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the lit... | free_verse |
Thomas Frederick Young | To Miss - - | The fairest flowers often fade,
And die, alas! too soon,
Ere half their life is sped, they droop,
And wither in their bloom.
But may thy life thro' future years,
In healthful beauty shine,
And when you think of other days,
Think of this wish of mine. | The fairest flowers often fade,
And die, alas! too soon, | Ere half their life is sped, they droop,
And wither in their bloom.
But may thy life thro' future years,
In healthful beauty shine,
And when you think of other days,
Think of this wish of mine. | octave |
Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton) | The Corner-Man | I dreamt a dream at the midnight deep,
When fancies come and go
To vex a man in his soothing sleep
With thoughts of awful woe,
I dreamed that I was the corner man
Of a nigger minstrel show.
I cracked my jokes, and the building rang
With laughter loud and long;
I hushed the house as I softly sang
An old plantation song,... | I dreamt a dream at the midnight deep,
When fancies come and go
To vex a man in his soothing sleep
With thoughts of awful woe,
I dreamed that I was the corner man
Of a nigger minstrel show.
I cracked my jokes, and the building rang
With laughter loud and long;
I hushed the house as I softly sang
An old plantation song,... | A small boy sat on the foremost seat,
A mirthful youngster he,
He beat the time with his restless feet
To each new melody,
And he picked me out as the brightest star
Of the black fraternity.
"Oh, father," he said, "what would we do
If the corner man should die?
I never saw such a man, did you?
He makes the people cry,
... | free_verse |
Jonathan Swift | The Garden Plot | When Naboth's vineyard[1] look'd so fine,
The king cried out, "Would this were mine!"
And yet no reason could prevail
To bring the owner to a sale.
Jezebel saw, with haughty pride,
How Ahab grieved to be denied;
And thus accosted him with scorn:
"Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn?
A king, and weep! The ground's your ow... | When Naboth's vineyard[1] look'd so fine,
The king cried out, "Would this were mine!"
And yet no reason could prevail
To bring the owner to a sale. | Jezebel saw, with haughty pride,
How Ahab grieved to be denied;
And thus accosted him with scorn:
"Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn?
A king, and weep! The ground's your own;
I'll vest the garden in the crown."
With that she hatch'd a plot, and made
Poor Naboth answer with his head;
And when his harmless blood was spil... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Cricket | Here is a tale for those who sing with reason:
There was a cricket, troubadouring fellow,
Who chirped his lay, or zoomed it like a 'cello,
Day in, day out, no matter what the season.
Great was his love for his own violining;
He never wearied saying, "What performing!"
And oft, when through, would ask, "Was not that cha... | Here is a tale for those who sing with reason:
There was a cricket, troubadouring fellow,
Who chirped his lay, or zoomed it like a 'cello,
Day in, day out, no matter what the season. | Great was his love for his own violining;
He never wearied saying, "What performing!"
And oft, when through, would ask, "Was not that charming?"
Then play it over, right from the beginning.
A talent, such as his, should be rewarded,
So thought he, all unconscious of intention
Of any one among the violin sects,
Until by... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Better Lot. | Her life was bound to crutches: pale and bent,
But smiling ever, she would go and come:
For of her soul GOD made an instrument
Of strength and comfort to an humble home.
Better a life of toil and slow disease
That LOVE companions through the patient years,
Than one whose heritage is loveless ease,
That never knows the ... | Her life was bound to crutches: pale and bent,
But smiling ever, she would go and come: | For of her soul GOD made an instrument
Of strength and comfort to an humble home.
Better a life of toil and slow disease
That LOVE companions through the patient years,
Than one whose heritage is loveless ease,
That never knows the blessedness of tears. | octave |
Walter Crane | Tom, The Piper's Son | Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away did run;
The pig was eat, and Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street. | Tom, Tom, the piper's son, | Stole a pig and away did run;
The pig was eat, and Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street. | quatrain |
Jonathan Swift | On Psyche[1] | At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire,
Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire:
So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle;
Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle?
Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race,
Yet would rather be hang'd than he'd leave a warm place.
She gives you such plenty, it pu... | At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire,
Her tea-kettle's on, and her smock at the fire:
So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle;
Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle? | Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race,
Yet would rather be hang'd than he'd leave a warm place.
She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain;
But ever with prudence takes care of the main.
To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit;
For her taste is almost as refined as her wit.
To oblige a good fr... | sonnet |
John Clare | The Invitation | Come hither, my dear one, my choice one, and rare one,
And let us be walking the meadows so fair,
Where on pilewort and daisies the eye fondly gazes,
And the wind plays so sweet in thy bonny brown hair.
Come with thy maiden eye, lay silks and satins by;
Come in thy russet or grey cotton gown;
Come to the meads, dear, w... | Come hither, my dear one, my choice one, and rare one,
And let us be walking the meadows so fair,
Where on pilewort and daisies the eye fondly gazes,
And the wind plays so sweet in thy bonny brown hair.
Come with thy maiden eye, lay silks and satins by; | Come in thy russet or grey cotton gown;
Come to the meads, dear, where flags, sedge, and reeds appear,
Rustling to soft winds and bowing low down.
Come with thy parted hair, bright eyes, and forehead bare;
Come to the whitethorn that grows in the lane;
To banks of primroses, where sweetness reposes,
Come, love, and let... | free_verse |
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