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Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet XCVIII | Ah, bed! the field where Ioyes peace some do see,
The field where all my thoughts to warre be train'd,
How is thy grace by my strange fortune strain'd!
How thy lee-shores by my sighes stormed be!
With sweete soft shades thou oft inuitest me
To steale some rest; but, wretch, I am constrain'd,
Spurd with Loues spur, thou... | Ah, bed! the field where Ioyes peace some do see,
The field where all my thoughts to warre be train'd,
How is thy grace by my strange fortune strain'd!
How thy lee-shores by my sighes stormed be! | With sweete soft shades thou oft inuitest me
To steale some rest; but, wretch, I am constrain'd,
Spurd with Loues spur, though gald, and shortly rain'd
With Cares hard hand to turne and tosse in thee,
While the blacke horrors of the silent night
Paint Woes blacke face so liuely to my sight
That tedious leasure markes e... | sonnet |
Robert William Service | The Twins | There were two brothers, John and James,
And when the town went up in flames,
To save the house of James dashed John,
Then turned, and lo! his own was gone.
And when the great World War began,
To volunteer John promptly ran;
And while he learned live bombs to lob,
James stayed at home and - sneaked his job.
John came h... | There were two brothers, John and James,
And when the town went up in flames,
To save the house of James dashed John,
Then turned, and lo! his own was gone.
And when the great World War began, | To volunteer John promptly ran;
And while he learned live bombs to lob,
James stayed at home and - sneaked his job.
John came home with a missing limb;
That didn't seem to worry him;
But oh, it set his brain awhirl
To find that James had - sneaked his girl!
Time passed. John tried his grief to drown;
To-day James owns ... | free_verse |
Helen Hunt Jackson | A Calendar Of Sonnets - April | No days such honored days as these! When yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers S... | No days such honored days as these! When yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set | In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of ki... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | The Waesome Carl | There cam a man to oor toon-en',
And a waesome carl was he,
Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd,
And gleyt o' a blinterin ee.
Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak,
But the owercome o' his sang,
Whatever it said, was aye the same:--
There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang!
Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang:
T... | There cam a man to oor toon-en',
And a waesome carl was he,
Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd,
And gleyt o' a blinterin ee.
Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak,
But the owercome o' his sang,
Whatever it said, was aye the same:--
There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang!
Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang:
T... | The puir precentor couldna sing,
He gruntit like a swine;
The verra elders couldna pass
The ladles til his min'.
And for the rulin' elder's grace
It wasna worth a horn;
He didna half uncurse the meat,
Nor pray for mair the morn!
He was a' wrang, &c.
And aye he gied his nose a thraw,
And aye he crook't his mou;
And aye ... | free_verse |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Fragment: Love The Universe To-Day. | And who feels discord now or sorrow?
Love is the universe to-day -
These are the slaves of dim to-morrow,
Darkening Life's labyrinthine way. | And who feels discord now or sorrow? | Love is the universe to-day -
These are the slaves of dim to-morrow,
Darkening Life's labyrinthine way. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | Minions Of The Moon | I.
Through leafy windows of the trees
The full moon shows a wrinkled face,
And, trailing dim her draperies
Of mist from place to place,
The Twilight leads the breeze.
And now, far-off, beside a pool,
Dusk blows a reed, a guttural note;
Then sows the air around her full
Of twinkling disc and mote,
And moth-shapes soft a... | I.
Through leafy windows of the trees
The full moon shows a wrinkled face,
And, trailing dim her draperies
Of mist from place to place,
The Twilight leads the breeze.
And now, far-off, beside a pool,
Dusk blows a reed, a guttural note;
Then sows the air around her full
Of twinkling disc and mote,
And moth-shapes soft a... | To light him on his way.
The grasshopper its violin
Tunes up, the katydid its fife;
The beetle drums; the grig makes din,
Informing Elfin life
Night's revels now begin.
And from each side along the way
Old Witchcraft waves a batlike hand,
And summons forth the toadstool gray
To point the path to Faeryland,
Where all ma... | free_verse |
Siegfried Loraine Sassoon | The Tombstone-Maker | He primmed his loose red mouth, and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angel's breast, and said:
"You'd think so much bereavement would have made
Unusual big demands upon my trade.
The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk -
Unless the fighting stops I'll soon be broke."
He eyed the Cemetery across the road -
"Ther... | He primmed his loose red mouth, and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angel's breast, and said:
"You'd think so much bereavement would have made
Unusual big demands upon my trade. | The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk -
Unless the fighting stops I'll soon be broke."
He eyed the Cemetery across the road -
"There's scores of bodies out abroad, this while,
That should be here by rights; they little know'd
How they'd get buried in such wretched style."
I told him, with a sympathetic grin,
Tha... | sonnet |
William Blake | Ah Sunflower | Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!
| Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun; | Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go! | octave |
Francis William Lauderdale Adams | Axiom. | Let him who toils, enjoy
Fruit of his toiling.
Let him whom sweats annoy,
No more be spoiling.
For we would have it be
That, weak or stronger,
Not he who works, but he
Who works not, hunger! | Let him who toils, enjoy
Fruit of his toiling. | Let him whom sweats annoy,
No more be spoiling.
For we would have it be
That, weak or stronger,
Not he who works, but he
Who works not, hunger! | octave |
Robert Herrick | Virtue Is Sensible Of Suffering. | Though a wise man all pressures can sustain,
His virtue still is sensible of pain:
Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear,
He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where. | Though a wise man all pressures can sustain, | His virtue still is sensible of pain:
Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear,
He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where. | quatrain |
Margaret Steele Anderson | Conscience. | Wisdom am I when thou art but a fool;
My part the man, when thou hast played the clod;
Hast lost thy garden? When the eve is cool,
Harken!, 'tis I who walk there with thy God! | Wisdom am I when thou art but a fool; | My part the man, when thou hast played the clod;
Hast lost thy garden? When the eve is cool,
Harken!, 'tis I who walk there with thy God! | quatrain |
A. R. Ammons | After Yesterday | After yesterday
afternoon's blue
clouds and white rain
the mockingbird
in the backyard
untied the drops from
leaves and twigs
with a long singing. | After yesterday
afternoon's blue | clouds and white rain
the mockingbird
in the backyard
untied the drops from
leaves and twigs
with a long singing. | octave |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | A Dirge. | Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, -
Wail, for the world's wrong! | Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song; | Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, -
Wail, for the world's wrong! | octave |
Arthur Conan Doyle | The Song Of The Bow | What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew-wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew-tree
And the land where the yew-tree grows.
What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;
And so we will sing
Of the hempen strin... | What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew-wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew-tree
And the land where the yew-tree grows.
What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love; | And so we will sing
Of the hempen string
And the land where the cord was wove.
What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the grey goose-feather
And the land where the grey goose flew.
What of the mark?
Ah, seek it not in Engla... | free_verse |
Henry Kendall | The Maid of Gerringong | Rolling through the gloomy gorges, comes the roaring southern blast,
With a sound of torrents flying, like a routed army, past,
And, beneath the shaggy forelands, strange fantastic forms of surf
Fly, like wild hounds, at the darkness, crouching over sea and earth;
Swooping round the sunken caverns, with an aggravated r... | Rolling through the gloomy gorges, comes the roaring southern blast,
With a sound of torrents flying, like a routed army, past,
And, beneath the shaggy forelands, strange fantastic forms of surf
Fly, like wild hounds, at the darkness, crouching over sea and earth;
Swooping round the sunken caverns, with an aggravated r... | Ay, she passed away and left me! Rising through the dusk of tears,
Came a vision of that parting every day for many years!
Every day, though she had told me not to court the strange sweet pain,
Something whispered something led me to our olden haunts again:
And I used to wander nightly, by the surges and the ships,
Har... | free_verse |
Thomas Bailey Aldrich | Threnody | I
Upon your hearse this flower I lay.
Brief be your sleep! You shall be known
When lesser men have had their day:
Fame blossoms where true seed is sown,
Or soon or late, let Time wrong what it may.
II
Unvext by any dream of fame,
You smiled, and bade the world pass by:
But I--I turned, and saw a name
Shaping itself ... | I
Upon your hearse this flower I lay.
Brief be your sleep! You shall be known
When lesser men have had their day:
Fame blossoms where true seed is sown,
Or soon or late, let Time wrong what it may. | II
Unvext by any dream of fame,
You smiled, and bade the world pass by:
But I--I turned, and saw a name
Shaping itself against the sky--
White star that rose amid the battle's flame!
III
Brief be your sleep, for I would see
Your laurels--ah, how trivial now
To him must earthly laurel be
Who wears the amaranth on his br... | free_verse |
John Keats | Sonnet IV: How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time! | How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy, I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime... | How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy, I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: | And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds the whispering of the leaves
The voice of waters the great bell that heaves
With solemn sou... | sonnet |
Hanford Lennox Gordon | Charity | Bear and forbear, I counsel thee,
Forgive and be forgiven,
For Charity is the golden key
That opens the gate of heaven. | Bear and forbear, I counsel thee, | Forgive and be forgiven,
For Charity is the golden key
That opens the gate of heaven. | quatrain |
John Greenleaf Whittier | To E. C. S. | Poet and friend of poets, if thy glass
Detects no flower in winter's tuft of grass,
Let this slight token of the debt I owe
Outlive for thee December's frozen day,
And, like the arbutus budding under snow,
Take bloom and fragrance from some morn of May
When he who gives it shall have gone the way
Where faith shall see ... | Poet and friend of poets, if thy glass
Detects no flower in winter's tuft of grass, | Let this slight token of the debt I owe
Outlive for thee December's frozen day,
And, like the arbutus budding under snow,
Take bloom and fragrance from some morn of May
When he who gives it shall have gone the way
Where faith shall see and reverent trust shall know. | octave |
Matthew Arnold | Men Of Genius | Silent, the Lord of the world
Eyes from the heavenly height,
Girt by his far-shining train,
Us, who with banners unfurl'd
Fight life's many-chanc'd fight
Madly below, in the plain.
Then saith the Lord to his own:
'See ye the battle below?
Turmoil of death and of birth!
Too long let we them groan.
Haste, arise ye, and g... | Silent, the Lord of the world
Eyes from the heavenly height,
Girt by his far-shining train,
Us, who with banners unfurl'd
Fight life's many-chanc'd fight
Madly below, in the plain.
Then saith the Lord to his own:
'See ye the battle below?
Turmoil of death and of birth!
Too long let we them groan. | Haste, arise ye, and go;
Carry my peace upon earth.'
Gladly they rise at his call;
Gladly they take his command;
Gladly descend to the plain.
Alas! How few of them all,
Those willing servants, shall stand
In their Master's presence again!
Some in the tumult are lost
Baffled, bewilder'd, they stray.
Some as prisoners dr... | free_verse |
Alexander Pope | Epigram From The French. | Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool:
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet. | Sir, I admit your general rule, | That every poet is a fool:
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet. | quatrain |
Robert Lee Frost | Devotion | The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean,
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition. | The heart can think of no devotion | Greater than being shore to the ocean,
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition. | quatrain |
Edward Shanks | A New Song about the Sea. | From Amberley to Storrington,
From Storrington to Amberley,
From Amberley to Washington
You cannot see or smell the sea.
But why the devil should you wish
To see the home of silly fish?
Since I prefer the earth and air,
The fish may wallow in the sea
And live the life that they prefer,
If they will leave the land to me... | From Amberley to Storrington,
From Storrington to Amberley,
From Amberley to Washington
You cannot see or smell the sea. | But why the devil should you wish
To see the home of silly fish?
Since I prefer the earth and air,
The fish may wallow in the sea
And live the life that they prefer,
If they will leave the land to me,
So wish for each what he may wish,
The earth for me, the sea for fish. | free_verse |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | The Cicalas: An Idyll | Scene: AN ENGLISH GARDEN BY STARLIGHT
Persons: A LADY AND A POET
THE POET
Dimly I see your face: I hear your breath
Sigh faintly, as a flower might sigh in death
And when you whisper, you but stir the air
With a soft hush like summer's own despair.
THE LADY (aloud)
O Night divine, O Darkness ever blest,
Give to our old... | Scene: AN ENGLISH GARDEN BY STARLIGHT
Persons: A LADY AND A POET
THE POET
Dimly I see your face: I hear your breath
Sigh faintly, as a flower might sigh in death
And when you whisper, you but stir the air
With a soft hush like summer's own despair.
THE LADY (aloud)
O Night divine, O Darkness ever blest,
Give to our old... | But what belated race, in what far clime,
Keeps even a legend of Arcadian time?
THE POET
Not ours perhaps: a nation still so young,
So late in Rome's deserted orchard sprung,
Bears not as yet, but strikes a hopeful root
Till the soil yield its old Hesperian fruit.
THE LADY
Is not the hour gone by? The mystic strain,... | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | Aerial Rock - Whose Solitary Brow | Aerial Rock, whose solitary brow
From this low threshold daily meets my sight;
When I step forth to hail the morning light;
Or quit the stars with a lingering farewell, how
Shall Fancy pay to thee a grateful vow?
How, with the Muse's aid, her love attest?
By planting on thy naked head the crest
Of an imperial Castle, w... | Aerial Rock, whose solitary brow
From this low threshold daily meets my sight;
When I step forth to hail the morning light;
Or quit the stars with a lingering farewell, how | Shall Fancy pay to thee a grateful vow?
How, with the Muse's aid, her love attest?
By planting on thy naked head the crest
Of an imperial Castle, which the plough
Of ruin shall not touch. Innocent scheme!
That doth presume no more than to supply
A grace the sinuous vale and roaring stream
Want, through neglect of hoar ... | sonnet |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | All Roads That Lead To God Are Good | All roads that lead to God are good.
What matters it, your faith, or mine?
Both centre at the goal divine
Of love's eternal Brotherhood.
The kindly life in house or street -
The life of prayer and mystic rite -
The student's search for truth and light -
These paths at one great Junction meet.
Before the oldest book ... | All roads that lead to God are good.
What matters it, your faith, or mine?
Both centre at the goal divine
Of love's eternal Brotherhood.
The kindly life in house or street -
The life of prayer and mystic rite -
The student's search for truth and light -
These paths at one great Junction meet.
Before the oldest book ... | Full many a prehistoric soul
Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless Love, that leads to it.
What matters that one found his Christ
In rising sun, or burning fire?
If faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the Truth sufficed.
Before our modern hell was brought
To edify the modern world,
Full many a ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | An End Decreed. | Let's be jocund while we may,
All things have an ending day;
And when once the work is done,
Fates revolve no flax they've spun. | Let's be jocund while we may, | All things have an ending day;
And when once the work is done,
Fates revolve no flax they've spun. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Upon Paul. Epig. | Paul's hands do give; what give they, bread or meat,
Or money? no, but only dew and sweat.
As stones and salt gloves use to give, even so
Paul's hands do give, nought else for ought we know. | Paul's hands do give; what give they, bread or meat, | Or money? no, but only dew and sweat.
As stones and salt gloves use to give, even so
Paul's hands do give, nought else for ought we know. | quatrain |
Alfred Castner King | Shall Love, as the Bridal Wreath, Whither and Die? | Shall love as the bridal wreath, wither and die?
Or remain ever constant and sure,
As the years of the future pass rapidly by,
And the waves of adversity's tempest roll high,
Ever changeless and fervent endure?
Mistake not the fancy, that lasts but a day,
For the love which eternally thrives;
That sentiment false, is a... | Shall love as the bridal wreath, wither and die?
Or remain ever constant and sure,
As the years of the future pass rapidly by, | And the waves of adversity's tempest roll high,
Ever changeless and fervent endure?
Mistake not the fancy, that lasts but a day,
For the love which eternally thrives;
That sentiment false, is as prone to decay
As the wreath is to fade and to wither away;
And like it, it never revives. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Sinners. | Sinners confounded are a twofold way,
Either as when, the learned schoolmen say,
Men's sins destroyed are when they repent,
Or when, for sins, men suffer punishment. | Sinners confounded are a twofold way, | Either as when, the learned schoolmen say,
Men's sins destroyed are when they repent,
Or when, for sins, men suffer punishment. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - XXII - Continued | Methinks that to some vacant hermitage
'My' feet would rather turn to some dry nook
Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook
Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage,
Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
Thence creeping under sylvan arches cool,
Fit haunt o... | Methinks that to some vacant hermitage
'My' feet would rather turn to some dry nook
Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook
Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage, | Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
Thence creeping under sylvan arches cool,
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage
Would elevate my dreams. A beechen bowl,
A maple dish, my furniture should be;
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl
My night-watch: nor s... | sonnet |
Clark Ashton Smith | The Balance | The world upheld their pillars for awhile -
Now, where imperial On and Memphis stood,
The hot wind sifts across the solitude
The sand that once was wall and peristyle,
Or furrows like the main each desert mile,
Where ocean-deep above its ancient food
Of cities fame-forgot, the waste is nude,
Traceless as billows of eac... | The world upheld their pillars for awhile -
Now, where imperial On and Memphis stood,
The hot wind sifts across the solitude
The sand that once was wall and peristyle, | Or furrows like the main each desert mile,
Where ocean-deep above its ancient food
Of cities fame-forgot, the waste is nude,
Traceless as billows of each sunken pile.
Lo! for that wrong shall vengeance come at last,
When the devouring earth, in ruin one
With royal walls and palaces undone,
And sunk within the desolated... | sonnet |
Eugene Field | To Leucon'e I | What end the gods may have ordained for me,
And what for thee,
Seek not to learn, Leucon'e; we may not know.
Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest.
'T is for the best
To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe.
If for more winters our poor lot is cast,
Or this the last,
Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etr... | What end the gods may have ordained for me,
And what for thee,
Seek not to learn, Leucon'e; we may not know.
Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest. | 'T is for the best
To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe.
If for more winters our poor lot is cast,
Or this the last,
Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas,
Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best.
Take hope with zest,
And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To-day for ease! | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Rouge Et Noir. | Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.
Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul. | Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard | Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.
Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul. | octave |
Thomas Moore | Dick * * * *, A Character. | Of various scraps and fragments built,
Borrowed alike from fools and wits,
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt,
Made up of new, old, motley bits--
Where, if the Co. called in their shares,
If petticoats their quota got
And gowns were all refunded theirs,
The quilt would look but shy, God wot.
And thus he still, new ... | Of various scraps and fragments built,
Borrowed alike from fools and wits,
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt,
Made up of new, old, motley bits--
Where, if the Co. called in their shares,
If petticoats their quota got
And gowns were all refunded theirs,
The quilt would look but shy, God wot. | And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking,
Reversed ventriloquism's trick,
For, 'stead of Dick thro' others speaking,
'Twas others we heard speak thro' Dick.
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding,
Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats;
One day with Malthus, foe to breeding,
The next with Sadler, all for brats.
Poor Dick!--an... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXVIII. Relics. | Hannah Bantry in the pantry,
Eating a mutton bone;
How she gnawed it, how she clawed it,
When she found she was alone! | Hannah Bantry in the pantry, | Eating a mutton bone;
How she gnawed it, how she clawed it,
When she found she was alone! | quatrain |
Robert Fuller Murray | Cyclamen | I had a plant which would not thrive,
Although I watered it with care,
I could not save the blossoms fair,
Nor even keep the leaves alive.
I strove till it was vain to strive.
I gave it light, I gave it air,
I sought from skill and counsel rare
The means to make it yet survive.
A lady sent it me, to prove
She held my f... | I had a plant which would not thrive,
Although I watered it with care,
I could not save the blossoms fair,
Nor even keep the leaves alive. | I strove till it was vain to strive.
I gave it light, I gave it air,
I sought from skill and counsel rare
The means to make it yet survive.
A lady sent it me, to prove
She held my friendship in esteem;
I would not have it as she said,
I wanted it to be for love;
And now not even friends we seem,
And now the cyclamen is... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | March. | We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his B... | We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry; | Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky. | free_verse |
John Milton | Another on "On the Gunpowder Plot." | Quem modo Roma suis devoverat impia diris,
Et Styge damnarat Taenarioque sinu,
Hunc vice mutata jam tollere gestit ad astra,
Et cupit ad superos evehere usque Deos. | Quem modo Roma suis devoverat impia diris, | Et Styge damnarat Taenarioque sinu,
Hunc vice mutata jam tollere gestit ad astra,
Et cupit ad superos evehere usque Deos. | quatrain |
Henry Kendall | Sonnets on the Discovery of Botany Bay by Captain Cook - IV - Sutherland's Grave | 'Tis holy ground! The silent silver lights
And darks undreamed of, falling year by year
Upon his sleep, in soft Australian nights,
Are joys enough for him who lieth here
So sanctified with Rest. We need not rear
The storied monument o'er such a spot!
That soul, the first for whom the Christian tear
Was shed on Austral ... | 'Tis holy ground! The silent silver lights
And darks undreamed of, falling year by year
Upon his sleep, in soft Australian nights,
Are joys enough for him who lieth here | So sanctified with Rest. We need not rear
The storied monument o'er such a spot!
That soul, the first for whom the Christian tear
Was shed on Austral soil, hath heritage
Most ample! Let the ages wane with age,
The grass which clothes this grave shall wither not.
See yonder quiet lily! Have the blights
Of many winters l... | sonnet |
William Cullen Bryant | Sonnet To ----. | Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine
Too brightly to shine long; another Spring
Shall deck her for men's eyes, but not for thine,
Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening.
The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf,
And the vexed ore no mineral of power;
And they who love thee wait in anxious grief
Till the s... | Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine
Too brightly to shine long; another Spring
Shall deck her for men's eyes, but not for thine,
Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. | The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf,
And the vexed ore no mineral of power;
And they who love thee wait in anxious grief
Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour.
Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come
Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee,
As light winds wandering through groves of bloom
Det... | sonnet |
Walter Savage Landor | Ianthe's Troubles | Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down and up again as blithe as ever;
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples in a sunny river. | Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass, | Cut down and up again as blithe as ever;
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples in a sunny river. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To Perenna. | How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart. | How long, Perenna, wilt thou see | Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart. | quatrain |
Jean Blewett | Her Little Way. | 'Tis woman rules the whole world still,
Though faults the critics say she has;
She smiles her smile and works her will -
'Tis just a little way she has. | 'Tis woman rules the whole world still, | Though faults the critics say she has;
She smiles her smile and works her will -
'Tis just a little way she has. | quatrain |
William Butler Yeats | To A Squirrel At Kyle-na-gno | Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I'd a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go. | Come play with me;
Why should you run | Through the shaking tree
As though I'd a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go. | octave |
Thomas Hardy | In The Seventies | "Qui deridetur ab amico suo sicut ego." - JOB.
In the seventies I was bearing in my breast,
Penned tight,
Certain starry thoughts that threw a magic light
On the worktimes and the soundless hours of rest
In the seventies; aye, I bore them in my breast
Penned tight.
In the seventies when my neighbours - even my friend -... | "Qui deridetur ab amico suo sicut ego." - JOB.
In the seventies I was bearing in my breast,
Penned tight,
Certain starry thoughts that threw a magic light
On the worktimes and the soundless hours of rest
In the seventies; aye, I bore them in my breast
Penned tight.
In the seventies when my neighbours - even my friend - | Saw me pass,
Heads were shaken, and I heard the words, "Alas,
For his onward years and name unless he mend!"
In the seventies, when my neighbours and my friend
Saw me pass.
In the seventies those who met me did not know
Of the vision
That immuned me from the chillings of mis-prision
And the damps that choked my goings ... | free_verse |
Maurice Henry Hewlett | Eye-Service | Meseems thine eyes are two still-folded lakes
Wherein deep water reflects the guardian sky,
Searching wherein I see how Heaven is nigh
And our broad Earth at peace. So my Love takes
My soul's thin hands and, chafing them, she makes
My life's blood lusty and my life's hope high
For the strong lips and eyes of Poesy,
To ... | Meseems thine eyes are two still-folded lakes
Wherein deep water reflects the guardian sky,
Searching wherein I see how Heaven is nigh
And our broad Earth at peace. So my Love takes | My soul's thin hands and, chafing them, she makes
My life's blood lusty and my life's hope high
For the strong lips and eyes of Poesy,
To hold the world well squandered for their sakes.
I looked thee full this day: thine unveiled eyes
Rayed their swift-searching magic forth; and then
I felt all strength that love can p... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Compensation. | For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears. | For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay | In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears. | free_verse |
George MacDonald | To The Life Eternal | Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune,
The search for thee my growth's first conscious date;
For nought, for everything, I thee importune;
Thou art my all, my origin and fate! | Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, | The search for thee my growth's first conscious date;
For nought, for everything, I thee importune;
Thou art my all, my origin and fate! | quatrain |
Ellis Parker Butler | Immortality | I bowed my head in anguish sore
When Life made Death his bride;
'Soul, we are lost forever more!'
Unto my soul I cried.
'Nay, waste in wailing not thy breath,'
My soul replied to me,
'Behold! The child of Life and Death
Is Immortality!'
| I bowed my head in anguish sore
When Life made Death his bride; | 'Soul, we are lost forever more!'
Unto my soul I cried.
'Nay, waste in wailing not thy breath,'
My soul replied to me,
'Behold! The child of Life and Death
Is Immortality!' | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | A Last Word. | Not for thyself, but for the sake of Song,
Strive to succeed as others have, who gave
Their lives unto her; shaping sure and strong
Her lovely limbs that made them god and slave.
Not for thyself, but for the sake of Art,
Strive to advance beyond the others' best;
Winning a deeper secret from her heart
To hang it moonli... | Not for thyself, but for the sake of Song,
Strive to succeed as others have, who gave | Their lives unto her; shaping sure and strong
Her lovely limbs that made them god and slave.
Not for thyself, but for the sake of Art,
Strive to advance beyond the others' best;
Winning a deeper secret from her heart
To hang it moonlike 'mid the starry rest. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Locust Blossom. A Quatrain. | The spirit Spring, in rainy raiment, met
The spirit Summer for a moonlit hour:
Sweet from their greeting kisses, warm and wet,
Earth shaped the fragrant purity of this flower. | The spirit Spring, in rainy raiment, met | The spirit Summer for a moonlit hour:
Sweet from their greeting kisses, warm and wet,
Earth shaped the fragrant purity of this flower. | quatrain |
Maurice Henry Hewlett | Snowy Night | The snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch;
I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch,
Shows me her eyes--O frozen stars, they shine
Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine. | The snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch; | I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch,
Shows me her eyes--O frozen stars, they shine
Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | A Baby-Sermon | The lightning and thunder
They go and they come:
But the stars and the stillness
Are always at home. | The lightning and thunder | They go and they come:
But the stars and the stillness
Are always at home. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XXII - Catechising | From Little down to Least, in due degree,
Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest,
Each with a vernal posy at his breast,
We stood, a trembling, earnest Company!
With low soft murmur, like a distant bee,
Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed;
And some a bold unerring answer made:
How fluttered then thy a... | From Little down to Least, in due degree,
Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest,
Each with a vernal posy at his breast,
We stood, a trembling, earnest Company! | With low soft murmur, like a distant bee,
Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed;
And some a bold unerring answer made:
How fluttered then thy anxious heart for me,
Beloved Mother! Thou whose happy hand
Had bound the flowers I wore, with faithful tie:
Sweet flowers! at whose inaudible command
Her countenance,... | sonnet |
Victor James Daley | The Serpent's Legacy. | An apple caused man's fall, as some believe;
But that old Snake, malevolently wise,
A deadlier snare set when he left to Eve
His tongue of honey and mesmeric eyes. | An apple caused man's fall, as some believe; | But that old Snake, malevolently wise,
A deadlier snare set when he left to Eve
His tongue of honey and mesmeric eyes. | quatrain |
James Whitcomb Riley | To Annie | When the lids of dusk are falling
O'er the dreamy eyes of day,
And the whippoorwills are calling,
And the lesson laid away, -
May Mem'ry soft and tender
As the prelude of the night,
Bend over you and render
As tranquil a delight. | When the lids of dusk are falling
O'er the dreamy eyes of day, | And the whippoorwills are calling,
And the lesson laid away, -
May Mem'ry soft and tender
As the prelude of the night,
Bend over you and render
As tranquil a delight. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Sabbaths. | Sabbaths are threefold, as St. Austin says:
The first of time, or Sabbath here of days;
The second is a conscience trespass-free;
The last the Sabbath of Eternity. | Sabbaths are threefold, as St. Austin says: | The first of time, or Sabbath here of days;
The second is a conscience trespass-free;
The last the Sabbath of Eternity. | quatrain |
John Hartley | Tom Grit. | He'd a breet ruddy face an a laffin e'e,
An his shoolders wer brooad as brooad need be;
For each one he met he'd a sally o' wit,
For a jovjal soul wor this same Tom Grit.
He climb'd up to his waggon's heigh seeat wi' pride,
For he'd bowt a new horse 'at he'd nivver tried;
But he had noa fear, for he knew he could drive... | He'd a breet ruddy face an a laffin e'e,
An his shoolders wer brooad as brooad need be;
For each one he met he'd a sally o' wit,
For a jovjal soul wor this same Tom Grit.
He climb'd up to his waggon's heigh seeat wi' pride,
For he'd bowt a new horse 'at he'd nivver tried;
But he had noa fear, for he knew he could drive... | An he sooin browt it daan to a nice steady gait,
But it tax'd all his skill to mak it run straight.
Two miles o' gooid rooad to the next taan led on,
An ov things like to scare it he knew ther wor none;
Soa he slackened his reins just to give it a spin, -
Then he faand 'at he couldn't for th' world hold it in.
It had ... | free_verse |
Siegfried Loraine Sassoon | Banishment | I am banished from the patient men who fight.
They smote my heart to pity, built my pride.
Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,
They trudged away from life's broad wealds of light.
Their wrongs were mine; and ever in my sight
They went arrayed in honour. But they died, -
Not one by one: and mutinous I cried
To t... | I am banished from the patient men who fight.
They smote my heart to pity, built my pride.
Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,
They trudged away from life's broad wealds of light. | Their wrongs were mine; and ever in my sight
They went arrayed in honour. But they died, -
Not one by one: and mutinous I cried
To those who sent them out into the night.
The darkness tells how vainly I have striven
To free them from the pit where they must dwell
In outcast gloom convulsed and jagged and riven
By grap... | sonnet |
John Le Gay Brereton | The Clay | When I cast my slough of clay
Put it quietly away.
Let no bloom untimely fade
Where my empty heart is laid.
Ask no folk to crowd around
With an air of woe profound.
Those who love me know that I
Cannot in a coffin lie.
Let them go where'er they will,
Dreaming of me living still.
Let no formal words be said
Customary fo... | When I cast my slough of clay
Put it quietly away.
Let no bloom untimely fade
Where my empty heart is laid. | Ask no folk to crowd around
With an air of woe profound.
Those who love me know that I
Cannot in a coffin lie.
Let them go where'er they will,
Dreaming of me living still.
Let no formal words be said
Customary for the dead.
Plant no stone above the pit:
Let the grass run over it. | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Music | God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled,
With awful symphonies of flood and fire,
God's name on rocking Chaos world by world
Flamed as the universe rolled from her lyre. | God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled, | With awful symphonies of flood and fire,
God's name on rocking Chaos world by world
Flamed as the universe rolled from her lyre. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Though The Bold Wings Of Poesy Affect | Though the bold wings of Poesy affect
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt
Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect
The lingering dew there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round h... | Though the bold wings of Poesy affect
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt | Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect
The lingering dew there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round her hops,
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect.
Her functions are they therefore less divine,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent
Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be... | sonnet |
Walter Savage Landor | On His Eightieth Birthday | To my ninth decade I have tottered on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready. | To my ninth decade I have tottered on, | And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready. | quatrain |
Walter De La Mare | The Tailor | Few footsteps stray when dusk droops o'er
The tailor's old stone-lintelled door:
There sits he stitching half asleep,
Beside his smoky tallow dip.
'Click, click,' his needle hastes, and shrill
Cries back the cricket 'neath the sill.
Sometimes he stays, and o'er his thread
Leans sidelong his old tousled head;
Or stoops ... | Few footsteps stray when dusk droops o'er
The tailor's old stone-lintelled door:
There sits he stitching half asleep,
Beside his smoky tallow dip.
'Click, click,' his needle hastes, and shrill
Cries back the cricket 'neath the sill. | Sometimes he stays, and o'er his thread
Leans sidelong his old tousled head;
Or stoops to peer with half-shut eye
When some strange footfall echoes by;
Till clearer gleams his candle's spark
Into the dusty summer dark.
Then from his crosslegs he gets down,
To find how dark the evening's grown;
And hunched-up in his doo... | free_verse |
Robert Burns | To Dr. Maxwell, On Jessie Staig's Recovery. | Maxwell, if merit here you crave
That merit I deny,
You save fair Jessie from the grave,
An angel could not die. | Maxwell, if merit here you crave | That merit I deny,
You save fair Jessie from the grave,
An angel could not die. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | The Staff And Rod. | Two instruments belong unto our God:
The one a staff is and the next a rod;
That if the twig should chance too much to smart,
The staff might come to play the friendly part. | Two instruments belong unto our God: | The one a staff is and the next a rod;
That if the twig should chance too much to smart,
The staff might come to play the friendly part. | quatrain |
Rupert Brooke | The Dead (II) | These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder;... | These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth. | These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, s... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Mnemosyne | In classic beauty, cold, immaculate,
A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands,
Upon her brow deep-chiselled love and hate,
That sorrow o'er dead roses in her hands. | In classic beauty, cold, immaculate, | A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands,
Upon her brow deep-chiselled love and hate,
That sorrow o'er dead roses in her hands. | quatrain |
Robert William Service | Carry On! | It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong,
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little s... | It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong,
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little s... | And so in the strife of the battle of life
It's easy to fight when you're winning;
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who ... | free_verse |
Gilbert Keith Chesterton | The Two Women | Lo! very fair is she who knows the ways
Of joy: in pleasure's mocking wisdom old,
The eyes that might be cold to flattery, kind;
The hair that might be grey with knowledge, gold.
But thou art more than these things, O my queen,
For thou art clad in ancient wars and tears.
And looking forth, framed in the crown of thorn... | Lo! very fair is she who knows the ways
Of joy: in pleasure's mocking wisdom old, | The eyes that might be cold to flattery, kind;
The hair that might be grey with knowledge, gold.
But thou art more than these things, O my queen,
For thou art clad in ancient wars and tears.
And looking forth, framed in the crown of thorns,
I saw the youngest face in all the spheres. | octave |
Walter Savage Landor | Defiance | Catch her and hold her if you can,
See, she defies you with her fan,
Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread
In threatening guise over your head.
Ah! why did you not start before
She reached the porch and closed the door?
Simpleton! Will you never learn
That girls and time will not return;
Of each you should have made t... | Catch her and hold her if you can,
See, she defies you with her fan,
Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread
In threatening guise over your head. | Ah! why did you not start before
She reached the porch and closed the door?
Simpleton! Will you never learn
That girls and time will not return;
Of each you should have made the most;
Once gone, they are forever lost.
In vain your knuckles knock your brow,
In vain will you remember how
Like a slim brook the gamesome ma... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Funeral. | That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
'T is almost consequence,
Is the eclat of death.
Oh, thou unknown renown
That not a beggar would accept,
Had he the power to spurn! | That short, potential stir
That each can make but once, | That bustle so illustrious
'T is almost consequence,
Is the eclat of death.
Oh, thou unknown renown
That not a beggar would accept,
Had he the power to spurn! | octave |
Matthew Prior | A Song. In Vain You Tell Your Parting Lover | In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over
Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted vows and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose,
That thrown a... | In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over
Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love? | Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted vows and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose,
That thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain,
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted v... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - XI. - On Approaching The Staub-Bach, Lauterbrunnen | Uttered by whom, or how inspired designed
For what strange service, does this concert reach
Our ears, and near the dwellings of mankind!
'Mid fields familiarized to human speech?
No Mermaid's warble to allay the wind
Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach,
More thrilling melodies; Witch answering Witch,
To chant... | Uttered by whom, or how inspired designed
For what strange service, does this concert reach
Our ears, and near the dwellings of mankind!
'Mid fields familiarized to human speech? | No Mermaid's warble to allay the wind
Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach,
More thrilling melodies; Witch answering Witch,
To chant a love-spell, never intertwined
Notes shrill and wild with art more musical:
Alas! that from the lips of abject Want
Or Idleness in tatters mendicant
The strain should flow, free ... | sonnet |
Ellis Parker Butler | Bird Nesting | O wonderful! In sport we climbed the tree,
Eager and laughing, as in all our play,
To see the eggs where, in the nest, they lay,
But silent fell before the mystery.
For, one brief moment there, we understood
By sudden sympathy too fine for words
That we were sisters to the brooding birds
And part, with them, in God's g... | O wonderful! In sport we climbed the tree,
Eager and laughing, as in all our play, | To see the eggs where, in the nest, they lay,
But silent fell before the mystery.
For, one brief moment there, we understood
By sudden sympathy too fine for words
That we were sisters to the brooding birds
And part, with them, in God's great motherhood. | octave |
Washington Irving | London Antiques - Prose | I do walk
Methinks like Guide Vaux, with my dark lanthorn,
Stealing to set the town o' fire; i' th' country
I should be taken for William o' the Wisp,
Or Robin Goodfellow.
- FLETCHER.
I am somewhat of an antiquity-hunter, and am fond of exploring London in quest of the relics of old times. These are principally to be f... | I do walk
Methinks like Guide Vaux, with my dark lanthorn,
Stealing to set the town o' fire; i' th' country
I should be taken for William o' the Wisp,
Or Robin Goodfellow.
- FLETCHER.
I am somewhat of an antiquity-hunter, and am fond of exploring London in quest of the relics of old times. These are principally to be f... | I was, in fact, in the chapel of the Knights Templars, strangely situated in the very centre of sordid traffic; and I do not know a more impressive lesson for the many of the world than thus suddenly to turn aside from the highway of busy money-seeking life, and sit down among these shadowy sepulchres, where all is twi... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCLI. Relics. | Around the green gravel the grass grows green,
And all the pretty maids are plain to be seen;
Wash them with milk, and clothe them with silk,
And write their names with a pen and ink. | Around the green gravel the grass grows green, | And all the pretty maids are plain to be seen;
Wash them with milk, and clothe them with silk,
And write their names with a pen and ink. | quatrain |
Eugene Field | Envoy | So, come! though favors I bestow
Cannot be called extensive,
Who better than my friend should know
That they're at least expensive? | So, come! though favors I bestow | Cannot be called extensive,
Who better than my friend should know
That they're at least expensive? | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To His Worthy Friend, M. John Hall, Student Of Gray's Inn. | Tell me, young man, or did the Muses bring
Thee less to taste than to drink up their spring,
That none hereafter should be thought, or be
A poet, or a poet-like but thee?
What was thy birth, thy star that makes thee known,
At twice ten years, a prime and public one?
Tell us thy nation, kindred, or the whence
Thou had's... | Tell me, young man, or did the Muses bring
Thee less to taste than to drink up their spring,
That none hereafter should be thought, or be
A poet, or a poet-like but thee? | What was thy birth, thy star that makes thee known,
At twice ten years, a prime and public one?
Tell us thy nation, kindred, or the whence
Thou had'st and hast thy mighty influence,
That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd,
And no less prais'd than of the maids admired.
Put on thy laurel then; and in that trim
Be ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | To Vulcan. | Thy sooty godhead I desire
Still to be ready with thy fire;
That should my book despised be,
Acceptance it might find of thee. | Thy sooty godhead I desire | Still to be ready with thy fire;
That should my book despised be,
Acceptance it might find of thee. | quatrain |
Unknown | Degrees | A young theologian named Fiddle
Refused to accept his degree;
"For," said he, "'tis enough to be Fiddle,
Without being Fiddle D.D." | A young theologian named Fiddle | Refused to accept his degree;
"For," said he, "'tis enough to be Fiddle,
Without being Fiddle D.D." | quatrain |
Vachel Lindsay | The Prairie Battlements | (To Edgar Lee Masters, with great respect.)
Here upon the prairie
Is our ancestral hall.
Agate is the dome,
Cornelian the wall.
Ghouls are in the cellar,
But fays upon the stairs.
And here lived old King Silver Dreams,
Always at his prayers.
Here lived grey Queen Silver Dreams,
Always singing psalms,
And haughty Grandm... | (To Edgar Lee Masters, with great respect.)
Here upon the prairie
Is our ancestral hall.
Agate is the dome,
Cornelian the wall.
Ghouls are in the cellar,
But fays upon the stairs.
And here lived old King Silver Dreams,
Always at his prayers. | Here lived grey Queen Silver Dreams,
Always singing psalms,
And haughty Grandma Silver Dreams,
Throned with folded palms.
Here played cousin Alice.
Her soul was best of all.
And every fairy loved her,
In our ancestral hall.
Alice has a prairie grave.
The King and Queen lie low,
And aged Grandma Silver Dreams,
Four tomb... | free_verse |
Walter De La Mare | A-Tishoo | "Sneeze, Pretty, sneeze, Dainty,
Else the Elves will have you sure,
Sneeze, Light-of-Seven-Bright-Candles,
See they're tippeting at the door;
Their wee feet in measure falling,
All their little voices calling,
Calling, calling, calling, calling -
Sneeze, or never come no more!"
"A-tishoo!" | "Sneeze, Pretty, sneeze, Dainty,
Else the Elves will have you sure,
Sneeze, Light-of-Seven-Bright-Candles, | See they're tippeting at the door;
Their wee feet in measure falling,
All their little voices calling,
Calling, calling, calling, calling -
Sneeze, or never come no more!"
"A-tishoo!" | free_verse |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | From Iphigenia In Tauris. | ACT IV. SCENE 5.
SONG OF THE FATES.
Ye children of mortals
The deities dread!
The mastery hold they
In hands all-eternal,
And use them, unquestioned,
What manner they like.
Let him fear them doubly,
Whom they have uplifted!
On cliffs and on clouds, oh,
Round tables all-golden,
he seats are made ready.
When rises conten... | ACT IV. SCENE 5.
SONG OF THE FATES.
Ye children of mortals
The deities dread!
The mastery hold they
In hands all-eternal,
And use them, unquestioned,
What manner they like.
Let him fear them doubly,
Whom they have uplifted!
On cliffs and on clouds, oh,
Round tables all-golden,
he seats are made ready.
When rises conten... | The guests are humid downwards
With shame and dishonor
To deep depths of midnight,
And vainly await they,
Bound fast in the darkness,
A just condemnation.
But they remain ever
In firmness unshaken
Round tables all-golden.
On stride they from mountain
To mountain far distant:
From out the abysses'
Dark jaws, the breath ... | free_verse |
Matthew Prior | To The Lady Elizabeth Harley, Since Marchioness Of Carmarthen, On A Column Of Her Drawing | When future ages shall with wonder view
These glorious lines which Harley's daughter drew,
They shall confess that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the father's praise. | When future ages shall with wonder view | These glorious lines which Harley's daughter drew,
They shall confess that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the father's praise. | quatrain |
Ben Jonson | For A Girl In A Book | Kim, composite of all my loves,
less real than most, more real than all;
of my making, all the good and
some of the bad, yet of yourself;
sole, unique, strong, alone,
whole, independent, one: yet mine
in that you cannot be unfaithful. | Kim, composite of all my loves,
less real than most, more real than all; | of my making, all the good and
some of the bad, yet of yourself;
sole, unique, strong, alone,
whole, independent, one: yet mine
in that you cannot be unfaithful. | free_verse |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Fiordispina. | The season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity
Never to be developed. Joy to thee,
Fiordispina and thy Cosimo,
For thou the wonders of the depth ca... | The season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity
Never to be developed. Joy to thee,
Fiordispina and thy Cosimo,
For thou the wonders of the depth ca... | Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May
Had not brought forth this morn - your wedding-day.
...
'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew,
Ye faint-eyed children of the ... Hours,'
Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers
Which she had from the breathing -
...
A table near of polished porphyry.
They seemed to wear a bea... | free_verse |
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) | Sonnet XCIV. | Se 'l sasso ond' ' pi' chiusa questa valle.
COULD HE BUT SEE THE HOUSE OF LAURA, HIS SIGHS MIGHT REACH HER MORE QUICKLY.
If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by disdainful nature rased, and thrown
Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a be... | Se 'l sasso ond' ' pi' chiusa questa valle.
COULD HE BUT SEE THE HOUSE OF LAURA, HIS SIGHS MIGHT REACH HER MORE QUICKLY.
If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by disdainful nature rased, and thrown | Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a better pathway known
To where their hope is yet in life and grace:
They now go singly, yet my voice all own;
And, where I send, not one but finds its place.
There too, as I perceive, such welcome sweet
They ever find, that none returns again,
But still delight... | free_verse |
Jean Ingelow | Above The Clouds. | And can this be my own world?
'Tis all gold and snow,
Save where scarlet waves are hurled
Down yon gulf below.
'Tis thy world, 'tis my world,
City, mead, and shore,
For he that hath his own world
Hath many worlds more. | And can this be my own world?
'Tis all gold and snow, | Save where scarlet waves are hurled
Down yon gulf below.
'Tis thy world, 'tis my world,
City, mead, and shore,
For he that hath his own world
Hath many worlds more. | octave |
George MacDonald | Sonnet. To A.M.D. | Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low,
Silent and dark within thy earthy bed;
Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead,
Resting, with thy long arms, from work or blow;
And the night-robe, around thy tall form, flow
Down from the kingly face, and from the head,
Save by its thick dark curls, uncovered--
My brother, d... | Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low,
Silent and dark within thy earthy bed;
Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead,
Resting, with thy long arms, from work or blow; | And the night-robe, around thy tall form, flow
Down from the kingly face, and from the head,
Save by its thick dark curls, uncovered--
My brother, dear from childhood, lying so!
Not often since thou went'st, I think of thee,
(With inward cares and questionings oppressed);
And yet, ere long, I seek thee in thy rest,
And... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | I Many Times Thought Peace Had Come, | I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie. | I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away; | As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie. | octave |
Walter Savage Landor | The Appeal | Remain, ah not in youth alone,
Though youth, where you are, long will stay,
But when my summer days are gone,
And my autumnal haste away.
"Can I be always by your side?"
No; but the hours you can, you must,
Nor rise at Death's approaching stride,
Nor go when dust is gone to dust. | Remain, ah not in youth alone,
Though youth, where you are, long will stay, | But when my summer days are gone,
And my autumnal haste away.
"Can I be always by your side?"
No; but the hours you can, you must,
Nor rise at Death's approaching stride,
Nor go when dust is gone to dust. | octave |
Robert Burns | The Invitation. | The King's most humble servant I,
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I am yours at dinner-time,
Or else the devil's in it. | The King's most humble servant I, | Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I am yours at dinner-time,
Or else the devil's in it. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Rag-Picker | A pond of filth a sewer flows into,
Around whose edge the evil ragweeds crowd,
Poison in every breath; and, cloud on cloud,
Insects that sing and sting, the pool's fierce spew:
All hideousness, from every street and stew,
And every stench weaves for the place a shroud;
And in its midst a figure, bent and bowed,
A woman... | A pond of filth a sewer flows into,
Around whose edge the evil ragweeds crowd,
Poison in every breath; and, cloud on cloud,
Insects that sing and sting, the pool's fierce spew: | All hideousness, from every street and stew,
And every stench weaves for the place a shroud;
And in its midst a figure, bent and bowed,
A woman who no girlhood ever knew.
Some offal of humanity she seems;
One with the rags she picks and scrapes among;
More soiled, in soul: the veriest rag
Of womankind, whose squalor lo... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Ass. | God did forbid the Israelites to bring
An ass unto Him for an offering,
Only, by this dull creature, to express
His detestation to all slothfulness. | God did forbid the Israelites to bring | An ass unto Him for an offering,
Only, by this dull creature, to express
His detestation to all slothfulness. | quatrain |
Charles Sangster | Sonnet: - I. | My soul goes out to meet her, and my heart
Flings wide the portals of its love, and yearns
To have her enter its serene retreat.
A poor stray lamb, not wand'ring from the fold,
But all unstudied in the worldling's art,
Turning life's mintage into seeming gold,
Wherewith to purchase love and love's returns;
Unknowing th... | My soul goes out to meet her, and my heart
Flings wide the portals of its love, and yearns
To have her enter its serene retreat.
A poor stray lamb, not wand'ring from the fold, | But all unstudied in the worldling's art,
Turning life's mintage into seeming gold,
Wherewith to purchase love and love's returns;
Unknowing that love's waters, though so sweet,
Lead to some bitter Marah. So my soul
Goes out to meet her, and it clasps her home,
And seeks to bear her upward to the goal
At which the r... | sonnet |
Margaret Steele Anderson | Imagination. | With the old gods thou walkest, 'mid the leaf
And bloom of ancient morning and of light;
Thou die'st with Christ, and with the nailed thief
That dies upon his left hand and his right.
Yea, thou descendest into hell, and then
To the last heaven dost take thy road sublime;
Thine hostelries the secret souls of men,
Thy se... | With the old gods thou walkest, 'mid the leaf
And bloom of ancient morning and of light; | Thou die'st with Christ, and with the nailed thief
That dies upon his left hand and his right.
Yea, thou descendest into hell, and then
To the last heaven dost take thy road sublime;
Thine hostelries the secret souls of men,
Thy servants all the fleeting things of time! | octave |
Robert Burns | The Selkirk Grace. | Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thanket. | Some hae meat and canna eat, | And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thanket. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Upon The Same Event | When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn
The tidings past of servitude repealed,
And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field,
The rough Aetolians smiled with bitter scorn.
"'Tis known," cried they, "that he, who would adorn
His envied temples with the Isthmian crown,
Must either win, through effort of his own,... | When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn
The tidings past of servitude repealed,
And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field,
The rough Aetolians smiled with bitter scorn. | "'Tis known," cried they, "that he, who would adorn
His envied temples with the Isthmian crown,
Must either win, through effort of his own,
The prize, or be content to see it worn
By more deserving brows. Yet so ye prop,
Sons of the brave who fought at Marathon,
Your feeble spirits! Greece her head hath bowed,
As if th... | sonnet |
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