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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Oliver Herford | To Stern Critics | Here's to stern Critics!
May they some day learn
The forward lookout's
Better than the stern!
| Here's to stern Critics! | May they some day learn
The forward lookout's
Better than the stern! | quatrain |
Thomas Gent | Written On The Death Of General Washington. | Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds
The world shall gaze with wonder and applause,
While, on fair History's page, the patriot reads
Thy matchless virtue in thy Country's cause.
Yes, it was thine, amid destructive war,
To shield it nobly from oppression's chain;
By justice arm'd, to brave each threat'ning jar,
As... | Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds
The world shall gaze with wonder and applause,
While, on fair History's page, the patriot reads
Thy matchless virtue in thy Country's cause.
Yes, it was thine, amid destructive war, | To shield it nobly from oppression's chain;
By justice arm'd, to brave each threat'ning jar,
Assert its freedom, and its rights maintain.
Much honour'd Statesman, Husband, Father, Friend,
A generous nation's grateful tears are thine;
E'en unborn ages shall thy worth commend,
And never-fading laurels deck thy shrine.
Il... | free_verse |
Archibald Lampman | Why Do Ye Call The Poet Lonely. | Why do ye call the poet lonely,
Because he dreams in lonely places?
He is not desolate, but only
Sees, where ye cannot, hidden faces. | Why do ye call the poet lonely, | Because he dreams in lonely places?
He is not desolate, but only
Sees, where ye cannot, hidden faces. | quatrain |
Michael Drayton | Sonnets: Idea XXV | O, why should nature niggardly restrain
That foreign nations relish not our tongue?
Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,
And crown the Pyren's with my living song.
But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!
Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!
There let my verse get glory in the north,
Making my sighs ... | O, why should nature niggardly restrain
That foreign nations relish not our tongue?
Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,
And crown the Pyren's with my living song. | But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!
Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!
There let my verse get glory in the north,
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas.
And let the bards within that Irish isle,
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,
Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile,
And mollify the sla... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Spring | First Came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips;
A pursuivant who heralded a prince:
And dawn put on her livery of tints,
And dusk bound gold about her hair and hips:
And, all in silver mail, the sunlight came,
A knight, who bade the winter let him pass;
And freed imprisoned beauty, naked as
The Court of Love, in all her... | First Came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips;
A pursuivant who heralded a prince:
And dawn put on her livery of tints,
And dusk bound gold about her hair and hips: | And, all in silver mail, the sunlight came,
A knight, who bade the winter let him pass;
And freed imprisoned beauty, naked as
The Court of Love, in all her wildflower shame.
And so she came, in breeze-borne loveliness,
Across the hills; and heav'n bent down to bless:
Above her head the birds were as a lyre;
And at her ... | sonnet |
Henry Kendall | By a River | By red-ripe mouth and brown, luxurious eyes
Of her I love, by all your sweetness shed
In far, fair days, on one whose memory flies
To faithless lights, and gracious speech gainsaid,
I pray you, when yon river-path I tread,
Make with the woodlands some soft compromise,
Lest they should vex me into fruitless sighs
With v... | By red-ripe mouth and brown, luxurious eyes
Of her I love, by all your sweetness shed
In far, fair days, on one whose memory flies
To faithless lights, and gracious speech gainsaid, | I pray you, when yon river-path I tread,
Make with the woodlands some soft compromise,
Lest they should vex me into fruitless sighs
With visions of a woman's gleaming head!
For every green and golden-hearted thing
That gathers beauty in that shining place,
Beloved of beams and wooed by wind and wing,
Is rife with glimp... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose | Mark the concentred hazels that enclose
Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray
Of noontide suns: and even the beams that play
And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows,
Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows
Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,
The very image framing of a Tomb,
In which some ancient C... | Mark the concentred hazels that enclose
Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray
Of noontide suns: and even the beams that play
And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, | Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows
Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom,
The very image framing of a Tomb,
In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose
Among the lonely mountains. Live, ye trees!
And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep
Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep:
For more than Fancy to ... | sonnet |
Robert William Service | Young Fellow My Lad | "Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren't obliged to go."
"I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know."
. . . . .
"So you're off to Franc... | "Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren't obliged to go."
"I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know."
. . . . .
"So you're off to Franc... | . . . . .
"Why don't you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
I watch for the post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night."
. . . . .
"What is th... | free_verse |
William Butler Yeats | To A Poet | You say, as I have often given tongue
In praise of what another's said or sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these;
But have you known a dog to praise his fleas? | You say, as I have often given tongue | In praise of what another's said or sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these;
But have you known a dog to praise his fleas? | quatrain |
Henry Lawson | The Prime Of Life | Oh, the strength of the toil of those twenty years, with father, and master, and men!
And the clearer brain of the business man, who has held his own for ten:
Oh, the glorious freedom from business fears, and the rest from domestic strife!
The past is dead, and the future assured, and I'm in the prime of life!
She bore... | Oh, the strength of the toil of those twenty years, with father, and master, and men!
And the clearer brain of the business man, who has held his own for ten:
Oh, the glorious freedom from business fears, and the rest from domestic strife!
The past is dead, and the future assured, and I'm in the prime of life!
She bore... | My brothers they went to the world away, and they left the home in strife.
They sowed wild oats in the pride of youth, and they pawned the prime of life.
They sowed too fast, and they sowed too far; and they came back one by one,
You couldn't tell which is the eldest son and which is the youngest son.
Oh, I longed for ... | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | Roman Antiquities - From The Roman Station At Old Penrith | How profitless the relics that we cull,
Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome,
Unless they chasten fancies that presume
Too high, or idle agitations lull!
Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full,
To have no seat for thought were better doom,
Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull
Of him who gloried in i... | How profitless the relics that we cull,
Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome,
Unless they chasten fancies that presume
Too high, or idle agitations lull! | Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full,
To have no seat for thought were better doom,
Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull
Of him who gloried in its nodding plume.
Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they?
Our fond regrets tenacious in their grasp?
The Sage's theory? the Poet's lay?
Mere Fibulae witho... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Of Love. | 1. Instruct me now what love will do.
2. 'Twill make a tongueless man to woo.
1. Inform me next, what love will do.
2. 'Twill strangely make a one of two.
1. Teach me besides, what love will do.
2. 'Twill quickly mar, and make ye too.
1. Tell me now last, what love will do.
2. 'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierc'd throu... | 1. Instruct me now what love will do.
2. 'Twill make a tongueless man to woo. | 1. Inform me next, what love will do.
2. 'Twill strangely make a one of two.
1. Teach me besides, what love will do.
2. 'Twill quickly mar, and make ye too.
1. Tell me now last, what love will do.
2. 'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierc'd through. | octave |
Wilfrid Wilson Gibson | Rupert Brooke | Your face was lifted to the golden sky
Ablaze beyond the black roofs of the square,
As flame on flame leapt, flourishing in air
Its tumult of red stars exultantly,
To the cold constellations dim and high;
And as we neared, the roaring ruddy flare
Kindled to gold your throat and brow and hair
Until you burned, a flame o... | Your face was lifted to the golden sky
Ablaze beyond the black roofs of the square,
As flame on flame leapt, flourishing in air
Its tumult of red stars exultantly, | To the cold constellations dim and high;
And as we neared, the roaring ruddy flare
Kindled to gold your throat and brow and hair
Until you burned, a flame of ecstasy.
The golden head goes down into the night
Quenched in cold gloom - and yet again you stand
Beside me now with lifted face alight,
As, flame to flame, and ... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Influence Of Natural Objects | In Calling Forth and Strengthening the Imagination
in Boyhood and Early Youth
Wisdom and Spirit of the Universe!
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!
And giv'st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for ... | In Calling Forth and Strengthening the Imagination
in Boyhood and Early Youth
Wisdom and Spirit of the Universe!
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!
And giv'st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for ... | When, by the margin of the trembling Lake,
Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went
In solitude, such intercourse was mine:
'Twas mine among the fields both day and night,
And by the waters, all the summer long.
And in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,
The cottage windows through t... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | True Brotherhood | God, what a world, if men in street and mart
Felt that same kinship of the human heart
Which makes them, in the face of flame and flood,
Rise to the meaning of true Brotherhood! | God, what a world, if men in street and mart | Felt that same kinship of the human heart
Which makes them, in the face of flame and flood,
Rise to the meaning of true Brotherhood! | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | Shadows | Shadows! the only shadows that I know
Are happy shadows of the light of you,
The radiance immortal shining through
Your sea-deep eyes up from the soul below;
Your shadow, like a rose's, on the grass
Where your feet pass.
The shadow of the dimple in your chin,
The shadow of the lashes of your eyes,
As on your cheek, sof... | Shadows! the only shadows that I know
Are happy shadows of the light of you,
The radiance immortal shining through
Your sea-deep eyes up from the soul below;
Your shadow, like a rose's, on the grass
Where your feet pass. | The shadow of the dimple in your chin,
The shadow of the lashes of your eyes,
As on your cheek, soft as a moth, it lies;
And, as a church, I softly enter in
The solemn twilight of your mighty hair,
Down falling there.
These are Love's shadows, Love knows none but these:
Shadows that are the very soul of light,
As morni... | free_verse |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets LVII - Being your slave what should I do but tend | Being your slave what should I do but tend,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid y... | Being your slave what should I do but tend,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do, till you require. | Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, ... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Sorrow. A Quatrain. | Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste
Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice
Of lost Love's tears, and, famishing, can but taste
The dead-sea fruit of Life's remembered joys. | Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste | Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice
Of lost Love's tears, and, famishing, can but taste
The dead-sea fruit of Life's remembered joys. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To God. | God, who me gives a will for to repent,
Will add a power to keep me innocent;
That I shall ne'er that trespass recommit
When I have done true penance here for it. | God, who me gives a will for to repent, | Will add a power to keep me innocent;
That I shall ne'er that trespass recommit
When I have done true penance here for it. | quatrain |
Lennox Amott | On Plucking A Hedgerow Rose. | I saw on a hedge that was flourishing by
A rose that was stirred by the breath of the morn,
So smiling and fragrant it looked there, that I
Was tempted to seize it, forgetting the thorn.
I eagerly plucked it but found to my pain
'Twas scentless and in it an insect was curled,
So I flung it away to the hedgerow again
An... | I saw on a hedge that was flourishing by
A rose that was stirred by the breath of the morn, | So smiling and fragrant it looked there, that I
Was tempted to seize it, forgetting the thorn.
I eagerly plucked it but found to my pain
'Twas scentless and in it an insect was curled,
So I flung it away to the hedgerow again
And I thought of the joys of this troublesome world. | octave |
George MacDonald | That Holy Thing. | They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes, and lift them high:
Thou cam'st a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.
O son of man, to right my lot
Nought but thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea thy sail!
My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed?
Thou com'st down thine own... | They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes, and lift them high:
Thou cam'st a little baby thing
That made a woman cry. | O son of man, to right my lot
Nought but thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea thy sail!
My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed?
Thou com'st down thine own secret stair:
Com'st down to answer all my need,
Yea, every bygone prayer! | free_verse |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Harvest Moon | It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the las... | It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes | Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leav... | sonnet |
Walter De La Mare | Some One | Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I'm sure - sure - sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
W... | Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I'm sure - sure - sure;
I listened, I opened, | I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all. | free_verse |
Victor James Daley | A King in Exile | O the Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
Sure, it is a wondrous country
Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
You could almost stroke her face.
And the dwellers in that country
Hold in such esteem their King,
They bel... | O the Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
Sure, it is a wondrous country
Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
You could almost stroke her face.
And the dwellers in that country | Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
He can do'just anything!
And, although his regal stature
May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
Noblest, wisest, best of men.
Ah, how fondly I remember
The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
Was a reignin... | free_verse |
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde | Vita Nuova | I stood by the unvintageable sea
Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray;
The long red fires of the dying day
Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily;
And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:
'Alas!' I cried, 'my life is full of pain,
And who can garner fruit or golden grain
From these waste field... | I stood by the unvintageable sea
Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray;
The long red fires of the dying day
Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily; | And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:
'Alas!' I cried, 'my life is full of pain,
And who can garner fruit or golden grain
From these waste fields which travail ceaselessly!'
My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw,
Nathless I threw them as my final cast
Into the sea, and waited for the end.
When lo! a sud... | sonnet |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | The World's Need | So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind,
Is all the sad world needs. | So many gods, so many creeds, | So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind,
Is all the sad world needs. | quatrain |
Charles Baudelaire | The Eyes Of Beauty | You are a sky of autumn, pale and rose;
But all the sea of sadness in my blood
Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose,
Salt with the memory of the bitter flood.
In vain your hand glides my faint bosom o'er,
That which you seek, beloved, is desecrate
By woman's tooth and talon; ah, no more
Seek in me for a heart whic... | You are a sky of autumn, pale and rose;
But all the sea of sadness in my blood
Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose,
Salt with the memory of the bitter flood. | In vain your hand glides my faint bosom o'er,
That which you seek, beloved, is desecrate
By woman's tooth and talon; ah, no more
Seek in me for a heart which those dogs ate.
It is a ruin where the jackals rest,
And rend and tear and glut themselves and slay
A perfume swims about your naked breast!
Beauty, hard scourge ... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Spanish Guerillas | They seek, are sought; to daily battle led,
Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their Foes,
For they have learnt to open and to close
The ridges of grim war; and at their head
Are captains such as erst their country bred
Or fostered, self-supported chiefs, like those
Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose;
Whose despe... | They seek, are sought; to daily battle led,
Shrink not, though far outnumbered by their Foes,
For they have learnt to open and to close
The ridges of grim war; and at their head | Are captains such as erst their country bred
Or fostered, self-supported chiefs, like those
Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose;
Whose desperate shock the Carthaginian fled.
In One who lived unknown a shepherd's life
Redoubted Viriatus breathes again;
And Mina, nourished in the studious shade,
With that great Leader ... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXCIV. Love And Matrimony. | Curly locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine;
But sit on a cushion and sow a fine seam,
And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream! | Curly locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine? | Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine;
But sit on a cushion and sow a fine seam,
And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream! | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | Love's Tenderness | Deem not my love is only for the bloom,
The honey and the marble, that is You;
Tis so, Belov'd, common loves consume
Their treasury, and vanish like the dew.
Nay, but my love's a thing that's far more true;
For little loves a little hour hath room,
But not for us their brief and trivial doom,
In a far richer soil our l... | Deem not my love is only for the bloom,
The honey and the marble, that is You;
Tis so, Belov'd, common loves consume
Their treasury, and vanish like the dew. | Nay, but my love's a thing that's far more true;
For little loves a little hour hath room,
But not for us their brief and trivial doom,
In a far richer soil our loving grew,
From deeper wells of being it upsprings;
Nor shall the wildest kiss that makes one mouth,
Draining all nectar from the flowered world,
Slake its d... | sonnet |
Emma Lazarus | Gifts. | "O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried.
His prayer was granted. High as heaven, behold
Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide
Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.
Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet,
World-circling traffic roared through mart and street,
His priests were gods, his spice-balm... | "O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried.
His prayer was granted. High as heaven, behold
Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide
Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.
Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet,
World-circling traffic roared through mart and street,
His priests were gods, his spice-balm... | Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame,
Peopled the world with imaged grace and light.
The lyre was his, and his the breathing might
Of the immortal marble, his the play
Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue.
Go seek the sun-shine race, ye find to-day
A broken column and a lute unstrung.
"O World-G... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXI. | With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
And while I wake them all for thee,
Thou, O maiden, wild and young,
Disportest in airy levity.
The nursling fawn, that in some shade
Its antlered mother leaves behind,
Is not more wantonly afraid,
More timid of the rustling wind! | With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
And while I wake them all for thee, | Thou, O maiden, wild and young,
Disportest in airy levity.
The nursling fawn, that in some shade
Its antlered mother leaves behind,
Is not more wantonly afraid,
More timid of the rustling wind! | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | An Old Song | It's Oh, for the hills, where the wind's some one
With a vagabond foot that follows!
And a cheer-up hand that he claps upon
Your arm with the hearty words, "Come on!
We'll soon be out of the hollows,
My heart!
We'll soon be out of the hollows!"
It's Oh, for the songs, where the hope's some one
With a renegade foot that... | It's Oh, for the hills, where the wind's some one
With a vagabond foot that follows!
And a cheer-up hand that he claps upon
Your arm with the hearty words, "Come on! | We'll soon be out of the hollows,
My heart!
We'll soon be out of the hollows!"
It's Oh, for the songs, where the hope's some one
With a renegade foot that doubles!
And a kindly look that he turns upon
Your face with the friendly laugh, "Come on!
We'll soon be out of the troubles,
My heart!
We'll soon be out of the trou... | sonnet |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | L'Envoi. | Oh, awful Power whose works repel
The marvel of the earth's designs,--
I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell,
Arcadia has trolley lines. | Oh, awful Power whose works repel | The marvel of the earth's designs,--
I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell,
Arcadia has trolley lines. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCIII. Lullabies. | Rock well my cradle,
And "bee baa," my son;
You shall have a new gown,
When ye lord comes home.
Oh! still my child, Orange,
Still him with a bell;
I can't still him, ladie,
Till you come down yoursell! | Rock well my cradle,
And "bee baa," my son; | You shall have a new gown,
When ye lord comes home.
Oh! still my child, Orange,
Still him with a bell;
I can't still him, ladie,
Till you come down yoursell! | octave |
Edwin C. Ranck | A Pun From The Deep. | A funny thing once happened to a German from Berlin,
For once he got too gay and seized a swordfish by the fin,
This made the big fish angry, and he sawed the German's chin.
"Just Tell Them That I Saw You" said the swordfish with a grin. | A funny thing once happened to a German from Berlin, | For once he got too gay and seized a swordfish by the fin,
This made the big fish angry, and he sawed the German's chin.
"Just Tell Them That I Saw You" said the swordfish with a grin. | quatrain |
James Whitcomb Riley | At Last | A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot
The firmament; and where the moon has been
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot.
The weird wind - furious at its demon game -
Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.
A care-worn face peers out into the dark,
And childish fac... | A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot
The firmament; and where the moon has been
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot.
The weird wind - furious at its demon game -
Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.
A care-worn face peers out into the dark,
And childish fac... | The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain
Flits o'er his face: "Amanda, child! I said
A moment since - I see I must AGAIN -
Go take your little sisters off to bed!
There, Effie, Rose, and CLARA MUSTN'T CRY!"
"I tan't he'p it - I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!"
What are his feelings, when this man alone
Sits in the silen... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Child | Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her. | Here a pretty baby lies | Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her. | quatrain |
Walter Scott (Sir) | To A Lady - With Flowers From A Roman Wall | Take these flowers which, purple waving,
On the ruin'd rampart grew,
Where, the sons of freedom braving,
Rome's imperial standards flew.
Warriors from the breach of danger
Pluck no longer laurels there;
They but yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths the Beauty's hair. | Take these flowers which, purple waving,
On the ruin'd rampart grew, | Where, the sons of freedom braving,
Rome's imperial standards flew.
Warriors from the breach of danger
Pluck no longer laurels there;
They but yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths the Beauty's hair. | octave |
Vachel Lindsay | Once More - To Gloriana | Girl with the burning golden eyes,
And red-bird song, and snowy throat:
I bring you gold and silver moons
And diamond stars, and mists that float.
I bring you moons and snowy clouds,
I bring you prairie skies to-night
To feebly praise your golden eyes
And red-bird song, and throat so white. | Girl with the burning golden eyes,
And red-bird song, and snowy throat: | I bring you gold and silver moons
And diamond stars, and mists that float.
I bring you moons and snowy clouds,
I bring you prairie skies to-night
To feebly praise your golden eyes
And red-bird song, and throat so white. | octave |
William Ernest Henley | In Hospital - VIII - Staff-Nurse: Old Style | The greater masters of the commonplace,
REMBRANDT and good SIR WALTER - only these
Could paint her all to you: experienced ease
And antique liveliness and ponderous grace;
The sweet old roses of her sunken face;
The depth and malice of her sly, grey eyes;
The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds, defies;
The thi... | The greater masters of the commonplace,
REMBRANDT and good SIR WALTER - only these
Could paint her all to you: experienced ease
And antique liveliness and ponderous grace; | The sweet old roses of her sunken face;
The depth and malice of her sly, grey eyes;
The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds, defies;
The thick Scots wit that fells you like a mace.
These thirty years has she been nursing here,
Some of them under SYME , her hero still.
Much is she worth, and even more is made of he... | sonnet |
Arthur Macy | On A Library Wall | When faltering fingers bid me cease to write,
And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night,
May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,
With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat.
And should Belshazzar's spirit hither stray,
And linger o'er the lines I write to-day,
May he, who wept for Babylonia's fall,
Look kindly at... | When faltering fingers bid me cease to write,
And, laying down the pen, I seek the Night, | May those, to whom the Daylight still is sweet,
With loving lips my name ofttimes repeat.
And should Belshazzar's spirit hither stray,
And linger o'er the lines I write to-day,
May he, who wept for Babylonia's fall,
Look kindly at this "writing on the wall"! | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | I Breathed Enough To Learn The Trick, | I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels! | I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air, | I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels! | octave |
Robert Browning | Song | I.
Nay but you, who do not love her,
Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
Holds earth aught, speak truth, above her?
Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
And this last fairest tress of all,
So fair, see, ere I let it fall?
II.
Because, you spend your lives in praising;
To praise, you search the wide world over;
Th... | I.
Nay but you, who do not love her,
Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
Holds earth aught, speak truth, above her? | Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
And this last fairest tress of all,
So fair, see, ere I let it fall?
II.
Because, you spend your lives in praising;
To praise, you search the wide world over;
Then why not witness, calmly gazing,
If earth holds aught, speak truth, above her?
Above this tress, and this, I touc... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Julia's Voice | When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink-in notes and numbers, such
As blessed souls can't hear too much
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranced, and lost confusedly;
And by thy music strucken mute,
Die, and be turn'd into a Lute. | When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear, | To drink-in notes and numbers, such
As blessed souls can't hear too much
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranced, and lost confusedly;
And by thy music strucken mute,
Die, and be turn'd into a Lute. | octave |
Oliver Herford | To The Publisher | To The Publisher! - Drink!
Let his virtue be shown
In the Good Works of others
If not in his own. | To The Publisher! - Drink! | Let his virtue be shown
In the Good Works of others
If not in his own. | quatrain |
Unknown | Drunkards | Sing a song of sick gents,
Pockets full of rye,
Four and twenty highballs,
We wish that we might die.
| Sing a song of sick gents, | Pockets full of rye,
Four and twenty highballs,
We wish that we might die. | quatrain |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | The Festival of Beatrice | Dante, sole standing on the heavenward height,
Beheld and heard one saying, "Behold me well:
I am, I am Beatrice." Heaven and hell
Kept silence, and the illimitable light
Of all the stars was darkness in his sight
Whose eyes beheld her eyes again, and fell
Shame-stricken. Since her soul took flight to dwell
In heaven, ... | Dante, sole standing on the heavenward height,
Beheld and heard one saying, "Behold me well:
I am, I am Beatrice." Heaven and hell
Kept silence, and the illimitable light | Of all the stars was darkness in his sight
Whose eyes beheld her eyes again, and fell
Shame-stricken. Since her soul took flight to dwell
In heaven, six hundred years have taken flight.
And now that heavenliest part of earth whereon
Shines yet their shadow as once their presence shone
To her bears witness for his sake,... | sonnet |
William Morris | The Orchard. | Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
The world without is waste and worn,
But here within our orchard-close,
The guerdon of its labour shows.
O valiant Earth, O happy year
That mocks the threat of winter near,
And hangs aloft from tree to tree
The banners of the Spring to be. | Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
The world without is waste and worn, | But here within our orchard-close,
The guerdon of its labour shows.
O valiant Earth, O happy year
That mocks the threat of winter near,
And hangs aloft from tree to tree
The banners of the Spring to be. | octave |
Edward Lear | Book Of Nonsense Limerick 48. | There was an Old Person of Mold,
Who shrank from sensations of cold;
So he purchased some muffs,
Some furs and some fluffs,
And wrapped himself from the cold. | There was an Old Person of Mold, | Who shrank from sensations of cold;
So he purchased some muffs,
Some furs and some fluffs,
And wrapped himself from the cold. | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CXCI. Riddles. | Ten and ten and twice eleven,
Take out six and put in seven;
Go to the green and fetch eighteen,
And drop one a coming. | Ten and ten and twice eleven, | Take out six and put in seven;
Go to the green and fetch eighteen,
And drop one a coming. | quatrain |
Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow | The Great Physician. | "And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.
"That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life."
St. John, 3:14, 15.
What means that cry of anguish,
That strikes the distant ear;
The loud and piercing wailing,
In desert wilds we hear?
From Israe... | "And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.
"That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life."
St. John, 3:14, 15.
What means that cry of anguish,
That strikes the distant ear;
The loud and piercing wailing,
In desert wilds we hear?
From Israe... | For stranger's curious eye.
See on that couch reclining,
A young and lovely girl,
With brow and neck half shaded.
By many a clustering curl.
She was an only daughter,
Nurtured with tenderest care;
The idol of her parents,
And fairest of the fair.
In bloom of youth and beauty,
But yesterday she shone;
And her fond paren... | free_verse |
Rupert Brooke | Sonnet: "I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True" | I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true.
Such long swift tides stir not a land-locked sea.
On gods or fools the high risk falls, on you,
The clean clear bitter-sweet that's not for me.
Love soars from earth to ecstasies unwist.
Love is flung Lucifer-like from Heaven to Hell.
But, there are wanderers in the middle ... | I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true.
Such long swift tides stir not a land-locked sea.
On gods or fools the high risk falls, on you,
The clean clear bitter-sweet that's not for me. | Love soars from earth to ecstasies unwist.
Love is flung Lucifer-like from Heaven to Hell.
But, there are wanderers in the middle mist,
Who cry for shadows, clutch, and cannot tell
Whether they love at all, or, loving, whom:
An old song's lady, a fool in fancy dress,
Or phantoms, or their own face on the gloom;
For lov... | sonnet |
Vachel Lindsay | The Cornfields | The cornfields rise above mankind,
Lifting white torches to the blue,
Each season not ashamed to be
Magnificently decked for you.
What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn
Without some radiant penance wrought,
Some beautiful, devout return? | The cornfields rise above mankind,
Lifting white torches to the blue, | Each season not ashamed to be
Magnificently decked for you.
What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn
Without some radiant penance wrought,
Some beautiful, devout return? | octave |
Oliver Herford | Anticipation | When I grow up I mean to be
A Lion large and fierce to see.
I'll mew so loud that Cook in fright
Will give me all the cream in sight.
And anyone who dares to say
"Poor Puss" to me will rue the day.
Then having swallowed him I'll creep
Into the Guest Room Bed to sleep. | When I grow up I mean to be
A Lion large and fierce to see. | I'll mew so loud that Cook in fright
Will give me all the cream in sight.
And anyone who dares to say
"Poor Puss" to me will rue the day.
Then having swallowed him I'll creep
Into the Guest Room Bed to sleep. | octave |
James McIntyre | Power Of Love. | Love it is the precious loom,
Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread,
And works flowers of exquisite bloom,
Shedding their perfume where we tread. | Love it is the precious loom, | Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread,
And works flowers of exquisite bloom,
Shedding their perfume where we tread. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | Up In The Tree | What would you see, if I took you up
My little aerie-stair?
You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
Turned upside down in the air.
What would you do, up my aerie-stair
In my little nest on the tree?
With cry upon cry you would ripple the air
To get at what you would see.
And what would you reach in the top of the t... | What would you see, if I took you up
My little aerie-stair?
You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
Turned upside down in the air.
What would you do, up my aerie-stair | In my little nest on the tree?
With cry upon cry you would ripple the air
To get at what you would see.
And what would you reach in the top of the tree
To still your grasping grief?
Not a star would you clutch of all you would see,
You would gather just one green leaf.
But when you had lost your greedy grief,
Content t... | free_verse |
Eric Mackay | Death. | Death.
It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
And not a serpent with a look of guile,
But one who greets us with a seraph's smile, -
An angel - guest to tend us after strife,
And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
And sceptic though... | Death.
It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
And not a serpent with a look of guile, | But one who greets us with a seraph's smile, -
An angel - guest to tend us after strife,
And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.
He walks the world as one empower'd to fill
The fields of space for Father and for Son.
He is our friend, though morbidly we shun
His tender... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLV. Love And Matrimony. | "John, come sell thy fiddle,
And buy thy wife a gown."
"No, I'll not sell my fiddle,
For ne'er a wife in town." | "John, come sell thy fiddle, | And buy thy wife a gown."
"No, I'll not sell my fiddle,
For ne'er a wife in town." | quatrain |
Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson | Love Song (From A Happy Boy) | Have you love for me,
Yours my love shall be,
While the days of life are flowing.
Short was summer's stay,
Grass now pales away,
With our play will come regrowing.
What you said last year
Sounds yet in my ear, -
Birdlike at the window sitting,
Tapping, trilling there,
Singing, in would bear
Joy the warmth of sun befit... | Have you love for me,
Yours my love shall be,
While the days of life are flowing.
Short was summer's stay,
Grass now pales away,
With our play will come regrowing.
What you said last year
Sounds yet in my ear, -
Birdlike at the window sitting,
Tapping, trilling there,
Singing, in would bear
Joy the warmth of sun befit... | Litli-litli-lu,
Do you hear me too,
Youth behind the birch-trees biding?
Now the words I send,
Darkness will attend,
May be you can give them guiding.
Take it not amiss!
Sang I of a kiss?
No, I surely never planned it.
Did you hear it, you?
Give no heed thereto,
Haste I make to countermand it.
Oh, good-night, good-nigh... | free_verse |
James Robinson Planche | Song | Three score and ten by common calculation
The years of man amount to; but we'll say
He turns four-score, yet, in my estimation,
In all those years he has not lived a day.
Out of the eighty you must first remember
The hours of night you pass asleep in bed;
And, counting from December to December,
Just half your life you... | Three score and ten by common calculation
The years of man amount to; but we'll say
He turns four-score, yet, in my estimation,
In all those years he has not lived a day.
Out of the eighty you must first remember
The hours of night you pass asleep in bed;
And, counting from December to December,
Just half your life you... | We come; and sure, the first five from your birth,
While cutting teeth and living upon suction,
You're not alive to what this life is worth.
From thirty-five next take for education
Fifteen at least at college and at school;
When, notwithstanding all your application,
The chances are you may turn out a fool.
Still twen... | free_verse |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Precedent | The poor man went to the rich man's doors,
"I come as Lazarus came," he said.
The rich man turned with humble head,--
"I will send my dogs to lick your sores!" | The poor man went to the rich man's doors, | "I come as Lazarus came," he said.
The rich man turned with humble head,--
"I will send my dogs to lick your sores!" | quatrain |
Bliss Carman (William) | Speech And Silence. | The words that pass from lip to lip
For souls still out of reach!
A friend for that companionship
That's deeper than all speech! | The words that pass from lip to lip | For souls still out of reach!
A friend for that companionship
That's deeper than all speech! | quatrain |
Robert Bloomfield | The Broken Crutch. - A Tale. | "I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind
A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd,
Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way
Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay,
"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove
Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love.
From honest poverty our lineage sprung,
Your mother was a... | "I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind
A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd,
Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way
Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay,
"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove
Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love.
From honest poverty our lineage sprung,
Your mother was a... | I've watch'd your steps and learn'd your history;
You love your poor lame father, let that be
A happy presage of your love for me.
Come then, I'll stroll these meadows by your side,
I've seen enough to wish you for my bride,
And plainly tell you so. - Nay, let me hold
This guiltless hand, I prize it more than gold;
Of ... | free_verse |
John Carr (Sir) | Song. | Ah! if my voice is heard in vain,
This fond, this falling, tear
May yet thy dire intent restrain,
May yet dissolve my fear.
Th' unsparing wound that lays thee low
Will bend thy Julia too:
Could she survive the fatal blow
Who only lives in you? | Ah! if my voice is heard in vain,
This fond, this falling, tear | May yet thy dire intent restrain,
May yet dissolve my fear.
Th' unsparing wound that lays thee low
Will bend thy Julia too:
Could she survive the fatal blow
Who only lives in you? | free_verse |
James Whitcomb Riley | The Rose. | It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
And the sun, like a bashful swain,
Beamed on it through the waving frees
With a passion all in vain, -
For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The honey-bee came there to sing
His love through the languid hours,
And vaunt of his hives, as a ... | It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
And the sun, like a bashful swain,
Beamed on it through the waving frees
With a passion all in vain, -
For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The honey-bee came there to sing
His love through the languid hours,
And vaunt of his hives, as a ... | And twanged his wings through the roundelay
Of love the whole day long:
Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The firefly came in the twilight dim
My red, red rose to woo -
Till quenched was the flame of love in him,
And the light of his lantern too,
As my rose wept with dew-drop... | free_verse |
Jacob Bigelow | Thom' Quadrijug'. | Tom's coach and six, whither in such haste going?
But a short journey, to his own undoing.
Quadrijugis Thomas quo nunc se proripit ille?
Abiit in celerem--brevis est via, nota--ruinam. | Tom's coach and six, whither in such haste going? | But a short journey, to his own undoing.
Quadrijugis Thomas quo nunc se proripit ille?
Abiit in celerem--brevis est via, nota--ruinam. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Satan. | When we 'gainst Satan stoutly fight, the more
He tears and tugs us than he did before;
Neglecting once to cast a frown on those
Whom ease makes his without the help of blows. | When we 'gainst Satan stoutly fight, the more | He tears and tugs us than he did before;
Neglecting once to cast a frown on those
Whom ease makes his without the help of blows. | quatrain |
Rupert Brooke | There's Wisdom In Women | "Oh love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said,
"But love goes lightly over." I bowed her foolish head,
And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she;
So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly.
But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known,
And thoughts go blowing ... | "Oh love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said,
"But love goes lightly over." I bowed her foolish head, | And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she;
So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly.
But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known,
And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own,
Or how should my dear one, being ignorant and young,
Have cried on love so ... | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Christmas Tree | Christmas is just one week off,
And Old Santa's in the house;
In the attic heard a cough
Th' other day when not a mouse
Nor a rat, I know, was there.
Mother said, "You'd better be
Good, or else, I do declare!
There won't be a Christmas-tree."
Christmas is next week. And I'm
So excited! In the night
Hardly ever sleep. O... | Christmas is just one week off,
And Old Santa's in the house;
In the attic heard a cough
Th' other day when not a mouse
Nor a rat, I know, was there.
Mother said, "You'd better be
Good, or else, I do declare!
There won't be a Christmas-tree."
Christmas is next week. And I'm
So excited! In the night
Hardly ever sleep. O... | Low, half smothered by a hand,
In the parlor where the door
'S always locked and, my! my hair
Fairly crept. And suddenly
Heard a hoarse voice say, "Take care!
Or you'll get no Christmas-tree."
Mother was a-lying down;
'T was n't she. And then the cook
And my nurse had gone in town.
Father, he was at a book.
Must have b... | free_verse |
Samuel Rogers | Captivity. | Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake
When the hern screams along the distant lake,
Her little heart oft flutters to be free,
Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key.
In vain! the nurse that rusted relic wears,
Nor mov'd by gold--nor to be mov'd by tears;
And terraced walls their black reflection throw
On the gr... | Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake
When the hern screams along the distant lake, | Her little heart oft flutters to be free,
Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key.
In vain! the nurse that rusted relic wears,
Nor mov'd by gold--nor to be mov'd by tears;
And terraced walls their black reflection throw
On the green-mantled moat that sleeps below. | octave |
Muriel Stuart | Words. | Is it not brave to be a king, Techelles! -
Usumcasane and Theridamas,
Is it not passing brave to be a king,
And ride in triumph through Persepolis? - MARLOWE.
Bring the great words that scourge the thundering line
With lust and slaughter - words that reek of doom
And the lost battle and the ruined shrine; -
Words dire ... | Is it not brave to be a king, Techelles! -
Usumcasane and Theridamas,
Is it not passing brave to be a king,
And ride in triumph through Persepolis? - MARLOWE.
Bring the great words that scourge the thundering line
With lust and slaughter - words that reek of doom
And the lost battle and the ruined shrine; -
Words dire ... | Where the thrilled fountain pipes to woodland words.
Bring passionate words from noontide's slumber roused,
To slake the amorous lips of love with fruit,
Dripping with honey, and with syrups drowsed
To draw bee-murmurs from the dreaming lute -
Words gold and mad and headlong in pursuit
Of laughter; words that are too s... | free_verse |
George Gordon Byron | To A. ------ | 1.
Oh! did those eyes instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
2.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
3.
When nature sta... | 1.
Oh! did those eyes instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
2.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
3. | When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd, that too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.
4.
Therefore to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.
5.
These might the ... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | To .... .... On Seeing Her With A White Veil And A Rich Girdle. | Put off the vestal Veil, nor, oh!
Let weeping angels View it;
Your cheeks belie its virgin snow.
And blush repenting through it.
Put off the fatal zone you wear;
The shining pearls around it
Are tears, that fell from Virtue there,
The hour when Love unbound it. | Put off the vestal Veil, nor, oh!
Let weeping angels View it; | Your cheeks belie its virgin snow.
And blush repenting through it.
Put off the fatal zone you wear;
The shining pearls around it
Are tears, that fell from Virtue there,
The hour when Love unbound it. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To Mistress Mary Willand. | One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here. | One more by thee, love, and desert have sent, | T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here. | quatrain |
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni | Love And Art. | S' come nella penna.
As pen and ink alike serve him who sings
In high or low or intermediate style;
As the same stone hath shapes both rich and vile
To match the fancies that each master brings;
So, my loved lord, within thy bosom springs
Pride mixed with meekness and kind thoughts that smile:
Whence I draw nought, my ... | S' come nella penna.
As pen and ink alike serve him who sings
In high or low or intermediate style;
As the same stone hath shapes both rich and vile
To match the fancies that each master brings; | So, my loved lord, within thy bosom springs
Pride mixed with meekness and kind thoughts that smile:
Whence I draw nought, my sad self to beguile,
But what my face shows--dark imaginings.
He who for seed sows sorrow, tears, and sighs,
(The dews that fall from heaven, though pure and clear,
From different germs take dive... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXVI. | Hither, gentle Muse of mine,
Come and teach thy votary old
Many a golden hymn divine,
For the nymph with vest of gold.
Pretty nymph, of tender age,
Fair thy silky looks unfold;
Listen to a hoary sage,
Sweetest maid with vest of gold! | Hither, gentle Muse of mine,
Come and teach thy votary old | Many a golden hymn divine,
For the nymph with vest of gold.
Pretty nymph, of tender age,
Fair thy silky looks unfold;
Listen to a hoary sage,
Sweetest maid with vest of gold! | octave |
Robert Herrick | Haste Hurtful. | Haste is unhappy; what we rashly do
Is both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.
Where war with rashness is attempted, there
The soldiers leave the field with equal fear. | Haste is unhappy; what we rashly do | Is both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.
Where war with rashness is attempted, there
The soldiers leave the field with equal fear. | quatrain |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | On The Wing. - Sonnet. | Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you)
We stood together in an open field;
Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled,
Sporting at ease and courting full in view.
When loftier still a broadening darkness flew,
Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed;
Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield;
So far... | Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you)
We stood together in an open field;
Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled,
Sporting at ease and courting full in view. | When loftier still a broadening darkness flew,
Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed;
Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield;
So farewell life and love and pleasures new.
Then, as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground,
Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops,
I wept, and thought I turned ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Revenge. | Man's disposition is for to requite
An injury, before a benefit:
Thanksgiving is a burden and a pain;
Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gain. | Man's disposition is for to requite | An injury, before a benefit:
Thanksgiving is a burden and a pain;
Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gain. | quatrain |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.