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James McIntyre | Oliver Goldsmith. | Goldsmith wrote of deserted village,
Now again reduced to tillage,
Once happiest village of the plain,
The place you look for it in vain,
There but one man he doth make rich,
While hundreds struggle in the ditch,
His honest vicar of Wakefield,
Forever he will pleasure yield. | Goldsmith wrote of deserted village,
Now again reduced to tillage, | Once happiest village of the plain,
The place you look for it in vain,
There but one man he doth make rich,
While hundreds struggle in the ditch,
His honest vicar of Wakefield,
Forever he will pleasure yield. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Song. | Summer for thee grant I may be
When summer days are flown!
Thy music still when whippoorwill
And oriole are done!
For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And sow my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me, Anemone,
Thy flower forevermore! | Summer for thee grant I may be
When summer days are flown! | Thy music still when whippoorwill
And oriole are done!
For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And sow my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me, Anemone,
Thy flower forevermore! | octave |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets XXXIII - Full many a glorious morning have I seen | Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west w... | Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; | Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out! alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd hi... | sonnet |
James Whitcomb Riley | Elmer Brown | Awf'lest boy in this-here town
Er anywheres is Elmer Brown!
He'll mock you - yes, an' strangers, too,
An' make a face an' yell at you, -
"Here's the way you look!"
Yes, an' wunst in School one day,
An' Teacher's lookin' wite that way,
He helt his slate, an' hide his head,
An' maked a face at her, an' said, -
"Here's ... | Awf'lest boy in this-here town
Er anywheres is Elmer Brown!
He'll mock you - yes, an' strangers, too,
An' make a face an' yell at you, -
"Here's the way you look!"
Yes, an' wunst in School one day,
An' Teacher's lookin' wite that way,
He helt his slate, an' hide his head,
An' maked a face at her, an' said, -
"Here's ... | An' sir! when Rosie Wheeler smile
One morning at him 'crosst the aisle,
He twist his face all up, an' black
His nose wiv ink, an' whisper back, -
"Here's the way you look!"
Wunst when his Aunt's all dressed to call,
An' kiss him good-bye in the hall,
An' latch the gate an' start away,
He holler out to her an' say, -
... | free_verse |
William Cowper | On Receiving Heyne's Virgil From Mr. Hayley. | I should have deem'd it once an effort vain
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,
But from that error now behold me free,
Since I received him as a gift from thee. | I should have deem'd it once an effort vain | To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,
But from that error now behold me free,
Since I received him as a gift from thee. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | They Won't Frown Always, -- Some Sweet Day" | They won't frown always, -- some sweet day
When I forget to tease,
They'll recollect how cold I looked,
And how I just said 'please.'
Then they will hasten to the door
To call the little child,
Who cannot thank them, for the ice
That on her lisping piled. | They won't frown always, -- some sweet day
When I forget to tease, | They'll recollect how cold I looked,
And how I just said 'please.'
Then they will hasten to the door
To call the little child,
Who cannot thank them, for the ice
That on her lisping piled. | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Melancholy. A Quatrain. | With shadowy immortelles of memory
About her brow, she sits with eyes that look
Upon the stream of Lethe wearily,
In hesitant hands Death's partly-opened book. | With shadowy immortelles of memory | About her brow, she sits with eyes that look
Upon the stream of Lethe wearily,
In hesitant hands Death's partly-opened book. | quatrain |
Arthur Macy | Dinner Favors, To A. R. C. | Of all the joys on earth that be
There is no sweeter one to me
Than sitting with a merry lass
From consomm' to demi-tasse.
And yet a golden hour I'd steal,
Reverse the order of the meal,
And countermarching, backward stray
From demi-tasse to consomm'. | Of all the joys on earth that be
There is no sweeter one to me | Than sitting with a merry lass
From consomm' to demi-tasse.
And yet a golden hour I'd steal,
Reverse the order of the meal,
And countermarching, backward stray
From demi-tasse to consomm'. | octave |
Richard Le Gallienne | To Ralph Waldo Emerson | Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower,
Still at your art we wonder as we read,
The art dynamic charging each word with power.
Seeds of the silver flower of Emerson:
One, on the winds to Scotland brought, did sink
In Carlyle's heart; and one was lately blown
To Belgium... | Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower, | Still at your art we wonder as we read,
The art dynamic charging each word with power.
Seeds of the silver flower of Emerson:
One, on the winds to Scotland brought, did sink
In Carlyle's heart; and one was lately blown
To Belgium, and flowered in - Maeterlinck. | octave |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets CI - O truant Muse what shall be thy amends | O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never... | O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified. | Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd'?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb
And to be prais'd of ... | sonnet |
Toru Dutt | Sonnet.--Baugmaree. | A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red,--red, and startlin... | A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound | Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red,--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
I... | sonnet |
William Morris | The Forest. | Pear-tree.
By woodman's edge I faint and fail;
By craftsman's edge I tell the tale.
Chestnut-tree.
High in the wood, high o'er the hall,
Aloft I rise when low I fall.
Oak-tree.
Unmoved I stand what wind may blow.
Swift, swift before the wind I go. | Pear-tree.
By woodman's edge I faint and fail;
By craftsman's edge I tell the tale. | Chestnut-tree.
High in the wood, high o'er the hall,
Aloft I rise when low I fall.
Oak-tree.
Unmoved I stand what wind may blow.
Swift, swift before the wind I go. | free_verse |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Nahant | All day the waves assailed the rock,
I heard no church-bell chime,
The sea-beat scorns the minster clock
And breaks the glass of Time. | All day the waves assailed the rock, | I heard no church-bell chime,
The sea-beat scorns the minster clock
And breaks the glass of Time. | quatrain |
Michael Drayton | Sonnets: Idea LXI | Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part,
Nay I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former lov... | Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part,
Nay I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free; | Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | I Noticed People Disappeared, | I noticed people disappeared,
When but a little child, --
Supposed they visited remote,
Or settled regions wild.
Now know I they both visited
And settled regions wild,
But did because they died, -- a fact
Withheld the little child! | I noticed people disappeared,
When but a little child, -- | Supposed they visited remote,
Or settled regions wild.
Now know I they both visited
And settled regions wild,
But did because they died, -- a fact
Withheld the little child! | octave |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | On A Clean Book - To F. N. | Like sea-washed sand upon the shore,
So fine and clean the tale,
So clear and bright I almost see,
The flashing of a sail.
The tang of salt is in its veins,
The freshness of the spray
God give you love and lore and strength,
To give us such alway. | Like sea-washed sand upon the shore,
So fine and clean the tale, | So clear and bright I almost see,
The flashing of a sail.
The tang of salt is in its veins,
The freshness of the spray
God give you love and lore and strength,
To give us such alway. | octave |
John Clare | The Vixen | Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
The old fox plays and dances round her young.
She snuffs and barks if any passes bye
And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly.
The horseman hurries bye, she bolts to see,
And turns agen, from danger never free.
If any stands she runs among the poles
And barks and snaps and driv... | Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
The old fox plays and dances round her young.
She snuffs and barks if any passes bye
And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly. | The horseman hurries bye, she bolts to see,
And turns agen, from danger never free.
If any stands she runs among the poles
And barks and snaps and drives them in the holes.
The shepherd sees them and the boy goes bye
And gets a stick and progs the hole to try.
They get all still and lie in safety sure
And out again whe... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon The Loss Of His Finger. | One of the five straight branches of my hand
Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall, which soon will be;
First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree. | One of the five straight branches of my hand | Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall, which soon will be;
First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree. | quatrain |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Love | Love on his errand bound to go
Can swim the flood and wade through snow,
Where way is none, 't will creep and wind
And eat through Alps its home to find. | Love on his errand bound to go | Can swim the flood and wade through snow,
Where way is none, 't will creep and wind
And eat through Alps its home to find. | quatrain |
Edwin C. Ranck | Life. | The list is long, the stories read the same;
Strong mortal man is but a flesh-hued toy;
Some have their ending in a life of shame;
Others drink deeply from the glass of joy;
Some see the cup dashed dripping from their lip
Or drinking, find the wine has turned to gall,
While others taste the sweets they fain would sip
A... | The list is long, the stories read the same;
Strong mortal man is but a flesh-hued toy; | Some have their ending in a life of shame;
Others drink deeply from the glass of joy;
Some see the cup dashed dripping from their lip
Or drinking, find the wine has turned to gall,
While others taste the sweets they fain would sip
And then Death comes--the sequel to it all. | octave |
Arthur Macy | The Book Of Life | Whoso his book of life doth con
From title-leaf to colophon
May read, if he but wrongly look,
Some sorry pages in his book.
But if he read aright each line,
Interpreting the scheme divine,
'Twill be most fair to look upon
From title-leaf to colophon.
| Whoso his book of life doth con
From title-leaf to colophon | May read, if he but wrongly look,
Some sorry pages in his book.
But if he read aright each line,
Interpreting the scheme divine,
'Twill be most fair to look upon
From title-leaf to colophon. | octave |
Sidney Lanier | The Ship of Earth. | "Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold,
I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!
"The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky,
But all the deck is wet wit... | "Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold, | I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!
"The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky,
But all the deck is wet with blood and stains the crystal red.
A pilot, GOD, a pilot! for the helm is left awry,
And the best sailors in the ship... | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Dust-Sealed. | I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see some thing that calls for praise.
I say, "Behold those lovely eyes -
Th... | I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see some thing that calls for praise. | I say, "Behold those lovely eyes -
That tinted cheek of flower-like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
"We thought it such a common face."
I say, "Was ever scene more fair?
I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer with a pitying air,
"The weeds are choking out the flowers."
I know not wherefore, but God lent... | free_verse |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets From The Portuguese XV | Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
On me thou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,
And to spread wing and... | Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair. | On me thou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,
And to spread wing and fly in the outer air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee, on thee,
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond m... | sonnet |
Edward Shanks | Sonnets on Separation III. | Is there no prophylactic against love?
Can I with drugs not dull the ache one night?
The rain is heavy and the low clouds move
Over the empty home of our delight
And find me in it weeping. You are far
And you are now asleep. The night's so thick,
Not even one stooping and compassionate star
Shines on us both disp... | Is there no prophylactic against love?
Can I with drugs not dull the ache one night?
The rain is heavy and the low clouds move
Over the empty home of our delight | And find me in it weeping. You are far
And you are now asleep. The night's so thick,
Not even one stooping and compassionate star
Shines on us both disparted. O be quick,
Torturing days and heavy, turn your hours
To minutes, melt yourselves into one day!
... The cold rain falls in swift assailing showers,
Dark... | sonnet |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Ode To Beauty | Who gave thee, O Beauty,
The keys of this breast,--
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Say, when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old?
Or what was the service
For which I was sold?
When first my eyes saw thee,
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of t... | Who gave thee, O Beauty,
The keys of this breast,--
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Say, when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old?
Or what was the service
For which I was sold?
When first my eyes saw thee,
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of t... | To hide or to shun
Whom the Infinite One
Hath granted his throne?
The heaven high over
Is the deep's lover;
The sun and sea,
Informed by thee,
Before me run
And draw me on,
Yet fly me still,
As Fate refuses
To me the heart Fate for me chooses.
Is it that my opulent soul
Was mingled from the generous whole;
Sea-valleys ... | free_verse |
Henry Kendall | Alfred Tennyson | The silvery dimness of a happy dream
I've known of late. Methought where Byron moans,
Like some wild gulf in melancholy zones,
I passed tear-blinded. Once a lurid gleam
Of stormy sunset loitered on the sea,
While, travelling troubled like a straitened stream,
The voice of Shelley died away from me.
Still sore at heart,... | The silvery dimness of a happy dream
I've known of late. Methought where Byron moans,
Like some wild gulf in melancholy zones,
I passed tear-blinded. Once a lurid gleam | Of stormy sunset loitered on the sea,
While, travelling troubled like a straitened stream,
The voice of Shelley died away from me.
Still sore at heart, I reached a lake-lit lea.
And then the green-mossed glades with many a grove,
Where lies the calm which Wordsworth used to love,
And, lastly, Locksley Hall, from whence... | sonnet |
William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham) | Burden-Bearers | Burden-bearers are we all,
Great and small.
Burden-sharers be ye all,
Great and small!
Where another shares the load,
Two draw nearer God.
Yet there are burdens we can share with none,
Save God;
And paths remote where we must walk alone,
With God;
For lonely burden and for path apart--
Thank God!
If these but serve to ... | Burden-bearers are we all,
Great and small.
Burden-sharers be ye all,
Great and small! | Where another shares the load,
Two draw nearer God.
Yet there are burdens we can share with none,
Save God;
And paths remote where we must walk alone,
With God;
For lonely burden and for path apart--
Thank God!
If these but serve to bring the burdened heart
To God. | sonnet |
George William Russell | Recall | What call may draw thee back again,
Lost dove, what art, what charm may please?
The tender touch, the kiss, are vain,
For thou wert lured away by these.
Oh, must we use the iron hand,
And mask with hate the holy breath,
With alien voice give love's command,
As they through love the call of death? | What call may draw thee back again,
Lost dove, what art, what charm may please? | The tender touch, the kiss, are vain,
For thou wert lured away by these.
Oh, must we use the iron hand,
And mask with hate the holy breath,
With alien voice give love's command,
As they through love the call of death? | octave |
Robert William Service | The Red Retreat | Tramp, tramp, the grim road, the road from Mons to Wipers
(I've 'ammered out this ditty with me bruised and bleedin' feet);
Tramp, tramp, the dim road - we didn't 'ave no pipers,
And bellies that was 'oller was the drums we 'ad to beat.
Tramp, tramp, the bad road, the bits o' kiddies cryin' there,
The fell birds a-flyi... | Tramp, tramp, the grim road, the road from Mons to Wipers
(I've 'ammered out this ditty with me bruised and bleedin' feet);
Tramp, tramp, the dim road - we didn't 'ave no pipers,
And bellies that was 'oller was the drums we 'ad to beat.
Tramp, tramp, the bad road, the bits o' kiddies cryin' there,
The fell birds a-flyi... | The dust was gummin' up our ears, and 'ow the sweat was pourin';
The road was long, the sun was like a brazier in the sky.
We wondered where the 'Uns was - we wasn't long a-wonderin',
For down a scruff of 'ill-side they rushes like a flood;
Then oh! 'twas music 'eavenly, our batteries a-thunderin',
And arms and legs we... | free_verse |
William Morris | Summer Dawn | Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,
That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
Waits to fl... | Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars, | That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
Waits to float through them along with the sun.
Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;
They pray the long gloom through for daylight new... | sonnet |
John Carr (Sir) | Lines To A Laurel-Leaf, Sent To The Author By Miss ---- . | Tho' unknown is the hand that bestow'd thee on me,
Sweet leaf! ev'ry fibre I'll warm with a kiss:
With the fame of her beauty thou well dost agree,
Whose presence shews conquest, whose triumph is bliss! | Tho' unknown is the hand that bestow'd thee on me, | Sweet leaf! ev'ry fibre I'll warm with a kiss:
With the fame of her beauty thou well dost agree,
Whose presence shews conquest, whose triumph is bliss! | quatrain |
John Wilmot | God Bless Our Good And Gracious King | God bless our good and gracious kind,
Whose promise none relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one. | God bless our good and gracious kind, | Whose promise none relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one. | quatrain |
Joseph Horatio Chant | The End We Sought | The end we sought is not attained,
But wisdom has been won,
And thus a higher goal is gained.
That like the moon has sadly waned,
While this shines as the sun.
A shorter route to India's strand
Columbus failed to find.
That was an object truly grand,
But in the wealth of this fair land
Grandeur and good combine. | The end we sought is not attained,
But wisdom has been won,
And thus a higher goal is gained. | That like the moon has sadly waned,
While this shines as the sun.
A shorter route to India's strand
Columbus failed to find.
That was an object truly grand,
But in the wealth of this fair land
Grandeur and good combine. | free_verse |
Dora Sigerson Shorter | When You Are On The Sea | How can I laugh or dance as others do,
Or ply my rock or reel?
My heart will still return to dreams of you
Beside my spinning-wheel.
My little dog he cried out in the dark,
He would not whisht for me:
I took him to my side-why did he bark
When you were on the sea?
I fear the red cock-if he crow to-night-
I keep him clo... | How can I laugh or dance as others do,
Or ply my rock or reel?
My heart will still return to dreams of you
Beside my spinning-wheel.
My little dog he cried out in the dark,
He would not whisht for me:
I took him to my side-why did he bark
When you were on the sea? | I fear the red cock-if he crow to-night-
I keep him close and warm,
'Twere ill with me, if he should wake in fright
And you out in the storm.
I dare not smile for fear my laugh would ring
Across your dying ears;
O, if you, drifting, drowned, should hear me sing
And think I had not tears.
I never thought the sea could w... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Maid That Died The Day She Was Married. | That morn which saw me made a bride,
The evening witness'd that I died.
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashful bride,
Serv'd but as tapers for to burn
And light my relics to their urn.
This epitaph, which here you see,
Supplied the epithalamy. | That morn which saw me made a bride,
The evening witness'd that I died. | Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashful bride,
Serv'd but as tapers for to burn
And light my relics to their urn.
This epitaph, which here you see,
Supplied the epithalamy. | octave |
George MacDonald | Evil Influence | 'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring
The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom,
Although to these full oft the yawning tomb
Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting,
A more immortal agony will cling
To the half fashioned sin which would assume
Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom
With quiet seeds of... | 'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring
The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom,
Although to these full oft the yawning tomb
Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, | A more immortal agony will cling
To the half fashioned sin which would assume
Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom
With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring
What time the sun of passion burning fierce
Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance;
The bitter word, and the unkindly glance,
The crust an... | sonnet |
John Greenleaf Whittier | Hymn | SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C.
O none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
We're free on Carolina's shore,
We're all at home and free.
Thou Friend and Helper of the poor,
Who suffered for our sake,
To open every prison door,
And every yoke to break!
Bend low Thy pitying face an... | SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C.
O none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
We're free on Carolina's shore,
We're all at home and free.
Thou Friend and Helper of the poor,
Who suffered for our sake,
To open every prison door,
And every yoke to break! | Bend low Thy pitying face and mild,
And help us sing and pray;
The hand that blessed the little child,
Upon our foreheads lay.
We hear no more the driver's horn,
No more the whip we fear,
This holy day that saw Thee born
Was never half so dear.
The very oaks are greener clad,
The waters brighter smile;
Oh, never shone ... | free_verse |
Oliver Herford | Dante | If you should ask me, whether Dante
Drank Benedictine or Chianti,
I should reply, "I cannot say,
But I can draw him either way." | If you should ask me, whether Dante | Drank Benedictine or Chianti,
I should reply, "I cannot say,
But I can draw him either way." | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To His Book. (Another.) | To read my book the virgin shy
May blush while Brutus standeth by,
But when he's gone, read through what's writ,
And never stain a cheek for it. | To read my book the virgin shy | May blush while Brutus standeth by,
But when he's gone, read through what's writ,
And never stain a cheek for it. | quatrain |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Calm At Sea. | Silence deep rules o'er the waters,
Calmly slumb'ring lies the main,
While the sailor views with trouble
Nought but one vast level plain.
Not a zephyr is in motion!
Silence fearful as the grave!
In the mighty waste of ocean
Sunk to rest is ev'ry wave. | Silence deep rules o'er the waters,
Calmly slumb'ring lies the main, | While the sailor views with trouble
Nought but one vast level plain.
Not a zephyr is in motion!
Silence fearful as the grave!
In the mighty waste of ocean
Sunk to rest is ev'ry wave. | octave |
John Clare | Little Trotty Wagtail | Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain,
And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again,
He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly,
And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry.
Little trotty wagtail, he waddled in the mud,
And left his little footmarks, trample where he would.
He wad... | Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain,
And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again,
He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly,
And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry. | Little trotty wagtail, he waddled in the mud,
And left his little footmarks, trample where he would.
He waddled in the water-pudge, and waggle went his tail,
And chirrupt up his wings to dry upon the garden rail.
Little trotty wagtail, you nimble all about,
And in the dimpling water-pudge you waddle in and out;
Your ho... | free_verse |
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 |
Robert Fuller Murray | Sorrow's Treachery | I made a truce last night with Sorrow,
The queen of tears, the foe of sleep,
To keep her tents until the morrow,
Nor send such dreams to make me weep.
Before the lusty day was springing,
Before the tired moon was set,
I dreamed I heard my dead love singing,
And when I woke my eyes were wet. | I made a truce last night with Sorrow,
The queen of tears, the foe of sleep, | To keep her tents until the morrow,
Nor send such dreams to make me weep.
Before the lusty day was springing,
Before the tired moon was set,
I dreamed I heard my dead love singing,
And when I woke my eyes were wet. | octave |
Alfred Edward Housman | Poems From "A Shropshire Lad" - XL | Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again. | Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows: | What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Upon Lupes. | Lupes for the outside of his suit has paid;
But for his heart, he cannot have it made;
The reason is, his credit cannot get
The inward garbage for his clothes as yet. | Lupes for the outside of his suit has paid; | But for his heart, he cannot have it made;
The reason is, his credit cannot get
The inward garbage for his clothes as yet. | quatrain |
Friedrich Schiller | The Sower. | Sure of the spring that warms them into birth,
The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth;
And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime,
For deeds the seeds which wisdom sows in time. | Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, | The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth;
And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime,
For deeds the seeds which wisdom sows in time. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Persecutions Purify. | God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent,
To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure. | God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent, | To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | On A Perfumed Lady | You say you're sweet: how should we know
Whether that you be sweet or no?
From powders and perfumes keep free;
Then we shall smell how sweet you be! | You say you're sweet: how should we know | Whether that you be sweet or no?
From powders and perfumes keep free;
Then we shall smell how sweet you be! | quatrain |
Herman Melville | The Apparition | The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the approach to Athens.
Abrupt the supernatural Cross,
Vivid in startled air,
Smote the Emperor Constantine
And turned his soul's allegiance there.
With other power appealing down,
Trophy of Adam's best!
If cynic minds you scarce convert,
You try them, sh... | The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the approach to Athens.
Abrupt the supernatural Cross,
Vivid in startled air,
Smote the Emperor Constantine | And turned his soul's allegiance there.
With other power appealing down,
Trophy of Adam's best!
If cynic minds you scarce convert,
You try them, shake them, or molest.
Diogenes, that honest heart,
Lived ere your date began;
Thee had he seen, he might have swerved
In mood nor barked so much at Man. | free_verse |
Victor James Daley | Camilla | Camilla calls me heartless: hence you see
Logic in love has little part.
How can I otherwise than heartless be
Seeing Camilla has my heart? | Camilla calls me heartless: hence you see | Logic in love has little part.
How can I otherwise than heartless be
Seeing Camilla has my heart? | quatrain |
Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell | Sonnet - The Neophyte | Who knows what days I answer for to-day:
Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow
This yet unfaded and a faded brow;
Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray.
Thoughts yet unripe in me I bend one way,
Give one repose to pain I know not now,
One leaven to joy that comes, I guess not how.
I dedicate my fields when Spr... | Who knows what days I answer for to-day:
Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow
This yet unfaded and a faded brow;
Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray. | Thoughts yet unripe in me I bend one way,
Give one repose to pain I know not now,
One leaven to joy that comes, I guess not how.
I dedicate my fields when Spring is grey.
Oh, rash! (I smile) to pledge my hidden wheat.
I fold to-day at altars far apart
Hands trembling with what toils? In their retreat
I seal my love to-... | sonnet |
Heinrich Hoffmann | The Story Of The Man That Went Out Shooting | This is the man that shoots the hares;
This is the coat he always wears:
With game-bag, powder-horn, and gun
He's going out to have some fun.
He finds it hard, without a pair
Of spectacles, to shoot the hare.
The hare sits snug in leaves and grass,
And laughs to see the green man pass.
Now, as the sun grew very hot,
An... | This is the man that shoots the hares;
This is the coat he always wears:
With game-bag, powder-horn, and gun
He's going out to have some fun.
He finds it hard, without a pair
Of spectacles, to shoot the hare.
The hare sits snug in leaves and grass,
And laughs to see the green man pass.
Now, as the sun grew very hot,
An... | And, while he slept like any top,
The little hare came, hop, hop, hop,
Took gun and spectacles, and then
On her hind legs went off again.
The green man wakes and sees her place
The spectacles upon her face;
And now she's trying all she can
To shoot the sleepy, green-coat man.
He cries and screams and runs away;
The har... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | The Word Of God | Where the bud has never blown
Who for scent is debtor?
Where the spirit rests unknown
Fatal is the letter.
In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,
All things we inherit,
For thou art the very Word
And the very Spirit! | Where the bud has never blown
Who for scent is debtor? | Where the spirit rests unknown
Fatal is the letter.
In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,
All things we inherit,
For thou art the very Word
And the very Spirit! | octave |
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (Joyce) | Apology | (For Eleanor Rogers Cox)
For blows on the fort of evil
That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races
To a goal no foot can reach,
For reckless leaps into darkness
With hands outstretched to a star,
There is jubilation in Heaven
Where the great dead poets are.
There is joy over disappointment
And delight in ho... | (For Eleanor Rogers Cox)
For blows on the fort of evil
That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races
To a goal no foot can reach,
For reckless leaps into darkness
With hands outstretched to a star,
There is jubilation in Heaven
Where the great dead poets are.
There is joy over disappointment
And delight in ho... | For nothing keeps a poet
In his high singing mood
Like unappeasable hunger
For unattainable food.
So fools are glad of the folly
That made them weep and sing,
And Keats is thankful for Fanny Brawne
And Drummond for his king.
They know that on flinty sorrow
And failure and desire
The steel of their souls was hammered
To... | free_verse |
Alfred Edward Housman | The fairies break their dances | The fairies break their dances
And leave the printed lawn,
And up from India glances
The silver sail of dawn.
The candles burn their sockets,
The blinds let through the day,
The young man feels his pockets
And wonders what's to pay. | The fairies break their dances
And leave the printed lawn, | And up from India glances
The silver sail of dawn.
The candles burn their sockets,
The blinds let through the day,
The young man feels his pockets
And wonders what's to pay. | octave |
Jonathan Swift | On Time | Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Till I eat the world at last. | Ever eating, never cloying, | All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Till I eat the world at last. | quatrain |
Robert William Service | The Cow-Juice Cure | The clover was in blossom, an' the year was at the June,
When Flap-jack Billy hit the town, likewise O'Flynn's saloon.
The frost was on the fodder an' the wind was growin' keen,
When Billy got to seein' snakes in Sullivan's shebeen.
Then in meandered Deep-hole Dan, once comrade of the cup:
"Oh Billy, for the love of Mi... | The clover was in blossom, an' the year was at the June,
When Flap-jack Billy hit the town, likewise O'Flynn's saloon.
The frost was on the fodder an' the wind was growin' keen,
When Billy got to seein' snakes in Sullivan's shebeen.
Then in meandered Deep-hole Dan, once comrade of the cup:
"Oh Billy, for the love of Mi... | They shanghaied little Tim O'Shane, they cached him safe away,
An' though he objurgated some, they "cured" him night an' day;
An' pretty soon there came the change amazin' to explain:
"I'll never take another drink," sez Timothy O'Shane.
They tried it out on Spike Muldoon, that toper of renown;
They put it over Grouch ... | free_verse |
George William Russell | The Great Breath | Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose,
Withers once more the old blue flower of day:
There where the ether like a diamond glows
Its petals fade away.
A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air;
Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows;
The great deep thrills for through it everywhere
The breath of beauty blows.
I saw h... | Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose,
Withers once more the old blue flower of day:
There where the ether like a diamond glows
Its petals fade away. | A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air;
Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows;
The great deep thrills for through it everywhere
The breath of beauty blows.
I saw how all the trembling ages past,
Moulded to her by deep and deeper breath,
Neared to the hour when Beauty breathes her last
And knows herself in death. | free_verse |
William Allingham | To The Author Of 'Hesperides | Hayrick some do spell thy name,
And thy verse approves the same;
For 'tis like fresh-scented hay,
With country lasses in't at play. | Hayrick some do spell thy name, | And thy verse approves the same;
For 'tis like fresh-scented hay,
With country lasses in't at play. | quatrain |
Alfred Edward Housman | The half-moon westers low, my love, | The half-moon westers low, my love,
And the wind brings up the rain;
And wide apart lie we, my love,
And seas between the twain.
I know not if it rains, my love,
In the land where you do lie;
And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,
You know no more than I. | The half-moon westers low, my love,
And the wind brings up the rain; | And wide apart lie we, my love,
And seas between the twain.
I know not if it rains, my love,
In the land where you do lie;
And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,
You know no more than I. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Content. A Quatrain. | Among the meadows of Life's sad unease
In labor still renewing her soul's youth
With trust, for patience, and with love, for peace,
Singing she goes with the calm face of Ruth. | Among the meadows of Life's sad unease | In labor still renewing her soul's youth
With trust, for patience, and with love, for peace,
Singing she goes with the calm face of Ruth. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | The Tables Turned | Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:... | Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:... | How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Cheerfulness In Charity; Or, The Sweet Sacrifice. | 'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs
Can please those heav'nly deities,
If the vower don't express
In his offering cheerfulness. | 'Tis not a thousand bullocks' thighs | Can please those heav'nly deities,
If the vower don't express
In his offering cheerfulness. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Forbidden Fruit. II. | Heaven is what I cannot reach!
The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
That 'heaven' is, to me.
The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
There Paradise is found! | Heaven is what I cannot reach!
The apple on the tree, | Provided it do hopeless hang,
That 'heaven' is, to me.
The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
There Paradise is found! | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Rendezvous | A lonely barn, lost in a field of weeds;
A fallen fence, where partly hangs a gate:
The skies are darkening and the hour is late;
The Indian dusk comes, red in rainy beads.
Along a path, which from a woodland leads,
Horsemen come riding who dismount and wait:
Here Anarchy conspires with Crime and Hate,
And Madness mask... | A lonely barn, lost in a field of weeds;
A fallen fence, where partly hangs a gate:
The skies are darkening and the hour is late;
The Indian dusk comes, red in rainy beads. | Along a path, which from a woodland leads,
Horsemen come riding who dismount and wait:
Here Anarchy conspires with Crime and Hate,
And Madness masks and on its business speeds.
Another Kuklux in another war
Of blacker outrage down the night they ride,
Brandishing a torch and gun before each farm.
Is Law asleep then? Do... | sonnet |
William Cullen Bryant | A Dream. | I had a dream, a strange, wild dream,
Said a dear voice at early light;
And even yet its shadows seem
To linger in my waking sight.
Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew,
And bright with morn, before me stood;
And airs just wakened softly blew
On the young blossoms of the wood.
Birds sang within the sprouting sh... | I had a dream, a strange, wild dream,
Said a dear voice at early light;
And even yet its shadows seem
To linger in my waking sight.
Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew,
And bright with morn, before me stood;
And airs just wakened softly blew
On the young blossoms of the wood.
Birds sang within the sprouting sh... | Woods darkening in the flush of day,
And that bright rivulet spread and swelled,
A mighty stream, with creek and bay.
And here was love, and there was strife,
And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries,
And strong men, struggling as for life,
With knotted limbs and angry eyes.
Now stooped the sun, the shades grew thin;
Th... | free_verse |
Thomas Hardy | An Old Likeness | Recalling R. T.
Who would have thought
That, not having missed her
Talks, tears, laughter
In absence, or sought
To recall for so long
Her gamut of song;
Or ever to waft her
Signal of aught
That she, fancy-fanned,
Would well understand,
I should have kissed her
Picture when scanned
Yawning years after!
Yet, seeing her p... | Recalling R. T.
Who would have thought
That, not having missed her
Talks, tears, laughter
In absence, or sought
To recall for so long
Her gamut of song;
Or ever to waft her
Signal of aught
That she, fancy-fanned,
Would well understand,
I should have kissed her | Picture when scanned
Yawning years after!
Yet, seeing her poor
Dim-outlined form
Chancewise at night-time,
Some old allure
Came on me, warm,
Fresh, pleadful, pure,
As in that bright time
At a far season
Of love and unreason,
And took me by storm
Here in this blight-time!
And thus it arose
That, yawning years after
Our ... | free_verse |
Walter De La Mare | The Fairies Dancing | I heard along the early hills,
Ere yet the lark was risen up,
Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills
The night-dew of the bramble-cup, -
I heard the fairies in a ring
Sing as they tripped a lilting round
Soft as the moon on wavering wing.
The starlight shook as if with sound,
As if with echoing, and the stars
Prankt th... | I heard along the early hills,
Ere yet the lark was risen up,
Ere yet the dawn with firelight fills
The night-dew of the bramble-cup, -
I heard the fairies in a ring
Sing as they tripped a lilting round
Soft as the moon on wavering wing.
The starlight shook as if with sound, | As if with echoing, and the stars
Prankt their bright eyes with trembling gleams
While red with war the gusty Mars
Rained upon earth his ruddy beams.
He shone alone, low down the West,
While I, behind a hawthorn-bush,
Watched on the fairies flaxen-tressed
The fires of the morning flush.
Till, as a mist, their beauty di... | free_verse |
William Butler Yeats | Conjunctions | If Jupiter and Saturn meet,
What a cop of mummy wheat!
The sword's a cross; thereon He died:
On breast of Mars the goddess sighed. | If Jupiter and Saturn meet, | What a cop of mummy wheat!
The sword's a cross; thereon He died:
On breast of Mars the goddess sighed. | quatrain |
Thomas Oldham | Epitaph On Howard | Ye! who this hallow'd ground with reverence tread,
Where sleep in honour'd urns the illustrious dead,
To trace the achievements of the Sons of Fame,
And pay just worship to each godlike name;
(If, blest with hearts that melt at human wo,
And feel philanthropy's celestial glow,)
Midst all the monuments that court your v... | Ye! who this hallow'd ground with reverence tread,
Where sleep in honour'd urns the illustrious dead,
To trace the achievements of the Sons of Fame,
And pay just worship to each godlike name; | (If, blest with hearts that melt at human wo,
And feel philanthropy's celestial glow,)
Midst all the monuments that court your view,
And claim the debt to buried merit due,
Mark chiefly this; on this with tearful eyes
More fondly gaze; beneath it Howard lies!
O'er other urns mere mortals only mourn;
Celestial Beings ho... | sonnet |
Bliss Carman (William) | Accident In Art. | That painter has not with a careless smutch
Accomplished his despair?--one touch revealing
All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling,
Into the canvas that without that touch
Showed of his love and labor just so much
Raw pigment, scarce a scrap of soul concealing!
What poet has not found his spirit kneeling
A sudd... | That painter has not with a careless smutch
Accomplished his despair?--one touch revealing
All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling,
Into the canvas that without that touch | Showed of his love and labor just so much
Raw pigment, scarce a scrap of soul concealing!
What poet has not found his spirit kneeling
A sudden at the sound of such or such
Strange verses staring from his manuscript,
Written he knows not how, but which will sound
Like trumpets down the years? So Accident
Itself unmasks ... | sonnet |
Henry Kendall | Sonnets - Elizabeth Barrett Browning | A lofty Type of all her sex, I ween,
My English brothers, though your wayward race
Now slight the Soul that never wore a screen,
And loved too well to keep her noble place!
Ah, bravest Woman that our World hath seen
(A light in spaces wild and tempest-tost),
In every verse of thine, behold, we trace
The full reflection... | A lofty Type of all her sex, I ween,
My English brothers, though your wayward race
Now slight the Soul that never wore a screen,
And loved too well to keep her noble place! | Ah, bravest Woman that our World hath seen
(A light in spaces wild and tempest-tost),
In every verse of thine, behold, we trace
The full reflection of an earnest face
And hear the scrawling of an eager pen!
O sisters! knowing what you've loved and lost,
I ask where shall we find its like, and when?
That dear heart with... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Pain And Pleasure. | God suffers not His saints and servants dear
To have continual pain or pleasure here;
But look how night succeeds the day, so He
Gives them by turns their grief and jollity. | God suffers not His saints and servants dear | To have continual pain or pleasure here;
But look how night succeeds the day, so He
Gives them by turns their grief and jollity. | quatrain |
Nathaniel Parker Willis | The Table Of Emerald. | Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of Alchemy that gives gold at will. Epicurean.
That 'Emerald Green of the Pyramid' -
Were I where it is laid,
I'd ask no king for his heavy crown,
As its hid... | Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of Alchemy that gives gold at will. Epicurean.
That 'Emerald Green of the Pyramid' -
Were I where it is laid,
I'd ask no king for his heavy crown,
As its hid... | I would bind no wreath to my forehead free
In whose shadow a thought would die,
Nor drink from the cup of revelry,
The ruin my gold would buy.
But I'd break the fetters of care worn things,
And be spirit and fancy free,
My mind should go up where it longs to go,
And the limitless wind outflee.
I'd climb to the eyries o... | free_verse |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Song Of Khan Zada | As one may sip a Stranger's Bowl
You gave yourself but not your soul.
I wonder, now that time has passed,
Where you will come to rest at last.
You gave your beauty for an hour,
I held it gently as a flower.
You wished to leave me, told me so, -
I kissed your feet and let you go. | As one may sip a Stranger's Bowl
You gave yourself but not your soul. | I wonder, now that time has passed,
Where you will come to rest at last.
You gave your beauty for an hour,
I held it gently as a flower.
You wished to leave me, told me so, -
I kissed your feet and let you go. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCXVIII. Riddles. | Pease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold,
Pease-porridge in the pot, nine days old.
Spell me that without a P,
And a clever scholar you will be. | Pease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold, | Pease-porridge in the pot, nine days old.
Spell me that without a P,
And a clever scholar you will be. | quatrain |
Paul Cameron Brown | Man | In the old air
by his rocker,
a silent trapeze of thought
suspends an aging man.
Each movement as of the katydid
droning -
a monologue with the past;
a buzz escaping across
still, warm air.
Elsewhere, cicadas whittle about the octogenarian heat.
Nestled quietly, a supine stare erodes both time & place
unto bearded grey... | In the old air
by his rocker,
a silent trapeze of thought
suspends an aging man. | Each movement as of the katydid
droning -
a monologue with the past;
a buzz escaping across
still, warm air.
Elsewhere, cicadas whittle about the octogenarian heat.
Nestled quietly, a supine stare erodes both time & place
unto bearded grey -
nuances clasped
in a breathless chat with death. | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Ah! Where Is Palafox? Nor Tongue Nor Pen | Ah! where is Palafox? Nor tongue no pen
Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave!
Does yet the unheard of vessel ride the wave?
Or is she swallowed up, remote from ken
Of pitying human nature? Once again
Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave,
Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave,
And through all Europe ch... | Ah! where is Palafox? Nor tongue no pen
Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave!
Does yet the unheard of vessel ride the wave?
Or is she swallowed up, remote from ken | Of pitying human nature? Once again
Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave,
Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave,
And through all Europe cheer desponding men
With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might
Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right.
Hark, how thy Country trium... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Poet Hath Lost His Pipe. | I cannot pipe as I was wont to do,
Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too;
My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,
And give it to the sylvan deity. | I cannot pipe as I was wont to do, | Broke is my reed, hoarse is my singing, too;
My wearied oat I'll hang upon the tree,
And give it to the sylvan deity. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Patience: Or, Comforts In Crosses. | Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience. | Abundant plagues I late have had, | Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Setting Sail. | Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea, --
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity!
Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land? | Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea, -- | Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity!
Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land? | octave |
Hilaire Belloc | The Catholic Sun | Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There's always laughter and good red wine.
At least I've always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino! | Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine, | There's always laughter and good red wine.
At least I've always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino! | quatrain |
William Henry Drummond | Doth Then The World Go Thus? | Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move?
Is this the justice which on earth we find?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, Powers above?
Those souls, which vice's moody mists most blind,
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;
And they who thee, poor idol Virtue!... | Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move?
Is this the justice which on earth we find?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, Powers above? | Those souls, which vice's moody mists most blind,
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;
And they who thee, poor idol Virtue! love,
Ply like a feather tossed by storm and wind.
Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all,
Why should best minds groan under most distress?
Or why should pride humility make thral... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Dilly Dally | I.
There is a little girl I know
Who takes her time to come and go.
If you should ask her please to hurry,
She tries her best then to be slow:
She gives her parents lots of worry;
But she, she never worries no.
Her name is Dilly Dally;
But some folks call her"Gallie."
From head to feet
She's never neat,
But always shil... | I.
There is a little girl I know
Who takes her time to come and go.
If you should ask her please to hurry,
She tries her best then to be slow:
She gives her parents lots of worry;
But she, she never worries no.
Her name is Dilly Dally;
But some folks call her"Gallie."
From head to feet
She's never neat,
But always shil... | II.
When it is time for her to rise,
She won't get up, but lies and lies,
Her head beneath the cover:
Then down she comes with sleepy eyes,
When breakfast-time is over;
Uncombed, with shoes she never ties.
Her name is Dilly Dally;
But some folks call her"Gallie."
From head to feet
She's never neat,
But always shilly sh... | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Dawn. | When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair
And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour. | When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near | That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair
And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour. | octave |
Matthew Prior | To A Poet Of Quality. Praising The Lady Hinchinbroke | Of thy judicious Muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks henceforth upon as dowdies.
Yet she to one must still submit,
To dear Mamma must pay her duty;
She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit,
Thou shouldst forget his daughter's beauty. | Of thy judicious Muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is, | That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks henceforth upon as dowdies.
Yet she to one must still submit,
To dear Mamma must pay her duty;
She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit,
Thou shouldst forget his daughter's beauty. | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Regret And Remorse | Regret with streaming eyes doth seem alway
A maiden widowed on her wedding day.
While dark Remorse, with eyes too sad for tears,
A crushed, desponding Magdalene appears.
One, with a hungering heart unsatisfied,
Mourns for imagined joys that were denied.
The other, pierced by recollected sin,
Broods o'er the scars of pl... | Regret with streaming eyes doth seem alway
A maiden widowed on her wedding day. | While dark Remorse, with eyes too sad for tears,
A crushed, desponding Magdalene appears.
One, with a hungering heart unsatisfied,
Mourns for imagined joys that were denied.
The other, pierced by recollected sin,
Broods o'er the scars of pleasures that have been. | octave |
William Cowper | On Flaxman's Penelope. | The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse,
Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fall,
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.
| The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, | Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fall,
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | Her Eyes Are Bluebells Now | Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird,
And the long sighing grass her elegy;
She who a woman was is now a star
In the high heaven shining down on me. | Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird, | And the long sighing grass her elegy;
She who a woman was is now a star
In the high heaven shining down on me. | quatrain |
John Clare | Pleasure's Past. | Spring's sweets they are not fled, though Summer's blossom
Has met its blight of sadness, drooping low;
Still flowers gone by find beds in memory's bosom,
Life's nursling buds among the weeds of woe.
Each pleasing token of Spring's early morning
Warms with the pleasures which we once did know;
Each little stem the leaf... | Spring's sweets they are not fled, though Summer's blossom
Has met its blight of sadness, drooping low;
Still flowers gone by find beds in memory's bosom,
Life's nursling buds among the weeds of woe. | Each pleasing token of Spring's early morning
Warms with the pleasures which we once did know;
Each little stem the leafy bank adorning,
Reminds of joys from infancy that flow.
Spring's early heralds on the winter smiling,
That often on their errands meet their doom,
Primrose and daisy, dreary hours beguiling,
Smile o'... | sonnet |
James Elroy Flecker | We That Were Friends | We that were friends to-night have found
A sudden fear, a secret flame:
I am on fire with that soft sound
You make, in uttering my name.
Forgive a young and boastful man
Whom dreams delight and passions please,
And love me as great women can
Who have no children at their knees. | We that were friends to-night have found
A sudden fear, a secret flame: | I am on fire with that soft sound
You make, in uttering my name.
Forgive a young and boastful man
Whom dreams delight and passions please,
And love me as great women can
Who have no children at their knees. | octave |
Alexander Pope | Epitaph XV. For One Who Would Not Be Buried In Westminster Abbey. | Heroes and kings! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too. | Heroes and kings! your distance keep: | In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too. | quatrain |
Edward Lear | More Nonsense Limerick 61 | There was an old person of Sark,
Who made an unpleasant remark;
But they said, "Don't you see
What a brute you must be,
You obnoxious old person of Sark!"
| There was an old person of Sark, | Who made an unpleasant remark;
But they said, "Don't you see
What a brute you must be,
You obnoxious old person of Sark!" | free_verse |
Ellis Parker Butler | Mary Had A Little Frog | Mary had a little frog
And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked! | Mary had a little frog | And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked! | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Time's Lesson. | Mine enemy is growing old, --
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge, --
Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
'T is starving makes it fat. | Mine enemy is growing old, --
I have at last revenge. | The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge, --
Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
'T is starving makes it fat. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Love Me Little, Love Me Long. | You say, to me-wards your affection's strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire,
Grown violent, does either die or tire. | You say, to me-wards your affection's strong; | Pray love me little, so you love me long.
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire,
Grown violent, does either die or tire. | quatrain |
Bliss Carman (William) | In A Garden. | Thought is a garden wide and old
For airy creatures to explore,
Where grow the great fantastic flowers
With truth for honey at the core.
There like a wild marauding bee
Made desperate by hungry fears,
From gorgeous If to dark Perhaps
I blunder down the dusk of years. | Thought is a garden wide and old
For airy creatures to explore, | Where grow the great fantastic flowers
With truth for honey at the core.
There like a wild marauding bee
Made desperate by hungry fears,
From gorgeous If to dark Perhaps
I blunder down the dusk of years. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Gray Skies | It is not well
For me to dwell
On what upon that day befell,
On that dark day of fall befell;
When through the landscape, bowed and bent,
With Love and Death I slowly went,
And wild rain swept the firmament.
Ah, Love that sighed!
Ah, Joy that died!
And Heart that humbled all its pride;
In vain that humbled all its prid... | It is not well
For me to dwell
On what upon that day befell,
On that dark day of fall befell; | When through the landscape, bowed and bent,
With Love and Death I slowly went,
And wild rain swept the firmament.
Ah, Love that sighed!
Ah, Joy that died!
And Heart that humbled all its pride;
In vain that humbled all its pride!
The roses ruin and rot away
Upon your grave where grasses sway,
And all is dim, and all is ... | sonnet |
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop | Morning Song. | Turn thy face to me, my love,
I come from out the morning;
Give thy hand to me, my love,
I'm dewy from the dawning.
Touch my lips with thine, my love,
I've tasted air at daybreak;
Gaze into my eyes, my love,
At the sky's waking they wake. | Turn thy face to me, my love,
I come from out the morning; | Give thy hand to me, my love,
I'm dewy from the dawning.
Touch my lips with thine, my love,
I've tasted air at daybreak;
Gaze into my eyes, my love,
At the sky's waking they wake. | octave |
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