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Matthew Arnold | To Marguerite, In Returning A Volume Of The Letters Of Ortis | 'Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know.
But when the moon their hollows lights,
And they are swept by balms of spring,
And in their glens, on... | 'Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know.
But when the moon their hollows lights,
And they are swept by balms of spring, | And in their glens, on starry nights,
The nightingales divinely sing;
And lovely notes, from shore to shore,
Across the sounds and channels pour
Oh! then a longing like despair
Is to their farthest caverns sent;
For surely once, they feel, we were
Parts of a single continent!
Now round us spreads the watery plain
Oh mi... | free_verse |
Alexander Pope | Inscription On A Grotto, The Work Of Nine Ladies. | Here, shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;
The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces art;
But Fate disposed them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what wo... | Here, shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise; | The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces art;
But Fate disposed them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a Court. | octave |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets From The Portuguese XII | Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine ear... | Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost, | This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and wea... | sonnet |
Walter Crane | Zwei Hasen | Zwischen Berg und tiefen, tiefen Thal,
Sassen einst zwei Hasen,
Frassen ab das gr'ne, gr'ne Gras,
Frassen ab das gr'ne, gr'ne Gras
Bis auf den Rasen,
Bis auf den Rasen.
Als sie satt gefressen, 'fressen war'n
Setzten sie sich nieder,
Bis nun dann der J'ger, J'ger kam,
Und schoss sie nieder, und schoss sie nieder,
Als si... | Zwischen Berg und tiefen, tiefen Thal,
Sassen einst zwei Hasen,
Frassen ab das gr'ne, gr'ne Gras,
Frassen ab das gr'ne, gr'ne Gras | Bis auf den Rasen,
Bis auf den Rasen.
Als sie satt gefressen, 'fressen war'n
Setzten sie sich nieder,
Bis nun dann der J'ger, J'ger kam,
Und schoss sie nieder, und schoss sie nieder,
Als sie sich nun angesammelt hatt'n
Und sich besannen,
Dass sie noch Leben, Leben hatt'n
Liefen sie von dannen. | sonnet |
Thomas Carew | An Elegy Upon The Death Of The Dean Of St. Paul's, Dr. John | Can we not force from widow'd poetry,
Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy
To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,
Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,
Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower
Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay
U... | Can we not force from widow'd poetry,
Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy
To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,
Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,
Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower
Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay
U... | Or Pindar's, not their own; the subtle cheat
Of sly exchanges, and the juggling feat
Of two-edg'd words, or whatsoever wrong
By ours was done the Greek or Latin tongue,
Thou hast redeem'd, and open'd us a mine
Of rich and pregnant fancy; drawn a line
Of masculine expression, which had good
Old Orpheus seen, or all the ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Virgin. | Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours
Selecting here both herbs and flowers;
Of which make garlands here and there
To dress thy silent sepulchre.
Nor do thou fear the want of these
In everlasting properties,
Since we fresh strewings will bring hither,
Far faster than the first can wither. | Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours
Selecting here both herbs and flowers; | Of which make garlands here and there
To dress thy silent sepulchre.
Nor do thou fear the want of these
In everlasting properties,
Since we fresh strewings will bring hither,
Far faster than the first can wither. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Sweet Hours Have Perished Here; | Sweet hours have perished here;
This is a mighty room;
Within its precincts hopes have played, --
Now shadows in the tomb. | Sweet hours have perished here; | This is a mighty room;
Within its precincts hopes have played, --
Now shadows in the tomb. | quatrain |
Sara Teasdale | On The Dunes | If there is any life when death is over,
These tawny beaches will know much of me,
I shall come back, as constant and as changeful
As the unchanging, many-colored sea.
If life was small, if it has made me scornful,
Forgive me; I shall straighten like a flame
In the great calm of death, and if you want me
Stand on the s... | If there is any life when death is over,
These tawny beaches will know much of me, | I shall come back, as constant and as changeful
As the unchanging, many-colored sea.
If life was small, if it has made me scornful,
Forgive me; I shall straighten like a flame
In the great calm of death, and if you want me
Stand on the sea-ward dunes and call my name. | octave |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - VIII. - In A Carriage, Upon The Banks Of The Rhine | Amid this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels:
Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly r... | Amid this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels: | Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine?
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze
Such sweet wayfaring of l... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | No Lock Against Letchery. | Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door,
To keep out the letcher, and keep in the whore;
Yet quickly you'll see by the turn of a pin,
The whore to come out, or the letcher come in. | Bar close as you can, and bolt fast too your door, | To keep out the letcher, and keep in the whore;
Yet quickly you'll see by the turn of a pin,
The whore to come out, or the letcher come in. | quatrain |
Louisa May Alcott | Little Drops Of Water | "Little drops of water,
Little drains of sand,
Mate a might okum (ocean),
And a peasant land.
"Little words of kindness,
Pokin evvy day,
Make a home a hebbin,
And hep us on a way." | "Little drops of water,
Little drains of sand, | Mate a might okum (ocean),
And a peasant land.
"Little words of kindness,
Pokin evvy day,
Make a home a hebbin,
And hep us on a way." | octave |
Archibald Lampman | Comfort. | Comfort the sorrowful with watchful eyes
In silence, for the tongue cannot avail.
Vex not his wounds with rhetoric, nor the stale
Worn truths, that are but maddening mockeries
To him whose grief outmasters all replies.
Only watch near him gently; do but bring
The piteous help of silent ministering,
Watchful and tender.... | Comfort the sorrowful with watchful eyes
In silence, for the tongue cannot avail.
Vex not his wounds with rhetoric, nor the stale
Worn truths, that are but maddening mockeries | To him whose grief outmasters all replies.
Only watch near him gently; do but bring
The piteous help of silent ministering,
Watchful and tender. This alone is wise.
So shall thy presence and thine every motion,
The grateful knowledge of thy sad devotion
Melt out the passionate hardness of his grief,
And break the flood... | sonnet |
John Keats | Lines To Fanny | What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,
Not keep me there:
When, howe'er p... | What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,
Not keep me there:
When, howe'er p... | Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more
Above, above
The reach of fluttering Love,
And make him cower lowly while I soar?
Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism,
A heresy and schism,
Foisted into the canon law of love;
No, wine is only sweet to happy men;
More dismal cares
Seize on me unawares,
Where shall I l... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCLXXV. Gaffers And Gammers. | A little old man of Derby,
How do you think he served me?
He took away my bread and cheese,
And that is how he served me. | A little old man of Derby, | How do you think he served me?
He took away my bread and cheese,
And that is how he served me. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXIX - Translation Of The Bible | But, to outweigh all harm, the sacred Book,
In dusty sequestration wrapt too long,
Assumes the accents of our native tongue;
And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook,
With understanding spirit now may look
Upon her records, listen to her song,
And sift her laws, much wondering that the wrong,
Which Faith has s... | But, to outweigh all harm, the sacred Book,
In dusty sequestration wrapt too long,
Assumes the accents of our native tongue;
And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook, | With understanding spirit now may look
Upon her records, listen to her song,
And sift her laws, much wondering that the wrong,
Which Faith has suffered, Heaven could calmly brook.
Transcendent boon! noblest that earthly King
Ever bestowed to equalize and bless
Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!
But passions sprea... | sonnet |
Arthur Macy | The Hatband | My hatband goes around my hat,
And while there's nothing strange in that,
It seems just like a lazy man
Who leaves off where he first began.
But then this fact is always true,
The band does what it ought to do,
And is more useful than the man,
Because it does the best it can. | My hatband goes around my hat,
And while there's nothing strange in that, | It seems just like a lazy man
Who leaves off where he first began.
But then this fact is always true,
The band does what it ought to do,
And is more useful than the man,
Because it does the best it can. | octave |
Michael Earls | Attainment | Let me go back again. There is the road,
O memory! The humble garden lane
So young with me. Let me rebuild again
The start of faith and hope by that abode;
Amend with morning freshness all the code
Of youth's desire; remap my chart's demesne
With tuneful joy, and plan a far campaign
For better marches in ambition's mod... | Let me go back again. There is the road,
O memory! The humble garden lane
So young with me. Let me rebuild again
The start of faith and hope by that abode; | Amend with morning freshness all the code
Of youth's desire; remap my chart's demesne
With tuneful joy, and plan a far campaign
For better marches in ambition's mode.
Ah, no, my heart! More certain now the skies
For joy abide: the cage of tree and sod,
Horizons firm that faith and hope attain,
Far realms of innocence i... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon His Eyesight Failing Him. | I begin to wane in sight;
Shortly I shall bid good-night:
Then no gazing more about,
When the tapers once are out. | I begin to wane in sight; | Shortly I shall bid good-night:
Then no gazing more about,
When the tapers once are out. | quatrain |
Gerard Manley Hopkins | Fragment | The sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
'I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:
Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,
And she shall child them on the New-world strand.' | The sea took pity: it interposed with doom: | 'I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:
Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,
And she shall child them on the New-world strand.' | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXLI. Relics. | Parson Darby wore a black gown,
And every button cost half-a-crown;
From port to port, and toe to toe,
Turn the ship and away we go! | Parson Darby wore a black gown, | And every button cost half-a-crown;
From port to port, and toe to toe,
Turn the ship and away we go! | quatrain |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | When Love is Over - Song of Khan Zada | Only in August my heart was aflame,
Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair,
Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep
Through the night, I should hardly care.
Only last August I drank that water
Because it had chanced to cool your hands;
When love is over, how little of love
Even the lover understands! | Only in August my heart was aflame,
Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair, | Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep
Through the night, I should hardly care.
Only last August I drank that water
Because it had chanced to cool your hands;
When love is over, how little of love
Even the lover understands! | octave |
Gilbert Keith Chesterton | A Chord Of Colour | My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,
Like mead... | My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,
Like mead... | Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.
My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him th... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon A Maid. | Hence a blessed soul is fled,
Leaving here the body dead;
Which since here they can't combine,
For the saint we'll keep the shrine. | Hence a blessed soul is fled, | Leaving here the body dead;
Which since here they can't combine,
For the saint we'll keep the shrine. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | I Wonder If The Sepulchre | I wonder if the sepulchre
Is not a lonesome way,
When men and boys, and larks and June
Go down the fields to hay! | I wonder if the sepulchre | Is not a lonesome way,
When men and boys, and larks and June
Go down the fields to hay! | quatrain |
Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton) | The City Of Dreadful Thirst | The stranger came from Narromine and made his little joke--
"They say we folks in Narromine are narrow-minded folk.
But all the smartest men down here are puzzled to define
A kind of new phenomenon that came to Narromine.
"Last summer up in Narromine 'twas gettin' rather warm,
Two hundred in the water bag, and lookin' ... | The stranger came from Narromine and made his little joke--
"They say we folks in Narromine are narrow-minded folk.
But all the smartest men down here are puzzled to define
A kind of new phenomenon that came to Narromine.
"Last summer up in Narromine 'twas gettin' rather warm,
Two hundred in the water bag, and lookin' ... | "It wasn't like a common cloud, 'twas more a sort of haze;
It settled down about the streets, and stopped for days and days,
And now a drop of dew could fall and not a sunbeam shine
To pierce that dismal sort of mist that hung on Narromine.
"Oh, Lord! we had a dreadful time beneath that cloud of thirst!
We all chucked ... | free_verse |
John Milton | Sonnets. VII | How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer !
My hasting dayes flie on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th,
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,
And inward ripenes doth much less appear,
That som mor... | How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer !
My hasting dayes flie on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th, | Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,
And inward ripenes doth much less appear,
That som more timely-happy spirits indu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow.
It shall be still in strictest measure eev'n,
To that same lot, however mean, or high,
Toward which Time lead... | sonnet |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Love's Humility | As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth,
Looks up to radiant planets, ranging far,
So I, whose soul doth know thy wondrous worth
Look longing up to thee as to a star. | As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth, | Looks up to radiant planets, ranging far,
So I, whose soul doth know thy wondrous worth
Look longing up to thee as to a star. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Anthea's Retractation | Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess
Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness
She with a dainty blush rebuked her face,
And call'd each line back to his rule and space. | Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess | Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness
She with a dainty blush rebuked her face,
And call'd each line back to his rule and space. | quatrain |
Gerard Manley Hopkins | No worst | No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing -
Then lull, then... | No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? | My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing -
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'.
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who n... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | Much And More | When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,
And eternal bliss looks nearer,
Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,
Is the gift or giver dearer?
Love, love on; love higher, deeper;
Let love's ocean close above her;
Only, love thou more love's keeper,
More, the love-creating lover. | When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,
And eternal bliss looks nearer, | Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,
Is the gift or giver dearer?
Love, love on; love higher, deeper;
Let love's ocean close above her;
Only, love thou more love's keeper,
More, the love-creating lover. | octave |
Heinrich Hoffmann | Shock-headed Peter | Just look at him! there he stands,
With his nasty hair and hands.
See! his nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see Shock-headed Peter. | Just look at him! there he stands,
With his nasty hair and hands. | See! his nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see Shock-headed Peter. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCXX. Relics. | Little girl, little girl, where have you been?
Gathering roses to give to the queen.
Little girl, little girl, what gave she you?
She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe. | Little girl, little girl, where have you been? | Gathering roses to give to the queen.
Little girl, little girl, what gave she you?
She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe. | quatrain |
Robert Fuller Murray | Ichabod | Gone is the glory from the hills,
The autumn sunshine from the mere,
Which mourns for the declining year
In all her tributary rills.
A sense of change obscurely chills
The misty twilight atmosphere,
In which familiar things appear
Like alien ghosts, foreboding ills.
The twilight hour a month ago
Was full of pleasant wa... | Gone is the glory from the hills,
The autumn sunshine from the mere,
Which mourns for the declining year
In all her tributary rills. | A sense of change obscurely chills
The misty twilight atmosphere,
In which familiar things appear
Like alien ghosts, foreboding ills.
The twilight hour a month ago
Was full of pleasant warmth and ease,
The pearl of all the twenty-four.
Erelong the winter gales shall blow,
Erelong the winter frosts shall freeze--
And oh... | sonnet |
William Henry Drummond | Phil-O-Rum's Canoe | O Ma ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow?
Don 't I work hard enough on de paddle, an' still you don 't seem to go,
No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current she don 't be strong,
Den w'y are you lak lazy feller, too sleepy for move along?
"I 'member de tam w'en you jomp de sam' as deer wit... | O Ma ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow?
Don 't I work hard enough on de paddle, an' still you don 't seem to go,
No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current she don 't be strong,
Den w'y are you lak lazy feller, too sleepy for move along?
"I 'member de tam w'en you jomp de sam' as deer wit... | How offen you drown on de reever if I 'm not lookin' out for you
W'en you 're takin' too moche on de w'isky some night comin' down de Soo.
"De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau no feller can beat us den,
For you 're purty strong man wit' de paddle, but dat 's long ago ma frien',
An' win' she can blow off de mountain, an'... | free_verse |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | To The Poets Who Only Read And Listen | When evening's shadowy fingers fold
The flowers of every hue,
Some shy, half-opened bud will hold
Its drop of morning's dew.
Sweeter with every sunlit hour
The trembling sphere has grown,
Till all the fragrance of the flower
Becomes at last its own.
We that have sung perchance may find
Our little meed of praise,
And ro... | When evening's shadowy fingers fold
The flowers of every hue,
Some shy, half-opened bud will hold
Its drop of morning's dew.
Sweeter with every sunlit hour
The trembling sphere has grown, | Till all the fragrance of the flower
Becomes at last its own.
We that have sung perchance may find
Our little meed of praise,
And round our pallid temples bind
The wreath of fading bays.
Ah, Poet, who hast never spent
Thy breath in idle strains,
For thee the dewdrop morning lent
Still in thy heart remains;
Unwasted, in... | free_verse |
William Blake | The Shepherd | How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he stays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watching while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. | How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he stays; | He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watching while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. | octave |
Michael Earls | The Columbine | Gray lonely rocks about thee stand,
Ignored of sun and dew,
Yet is thy breath upon the land,
To thy vocation true.
So come they character to me
That works in sunless ways,
And I shall learn to give with thee
Dark hills a constant praise. | Gray lonely rocks about thee stand,
Ignored of sun and dew, | Yet is thy breath upon the land,
To thy vocation true.
So come they character to me
That works in sunless ways,
And I shall learn to give with thee
Dark hills a constant praise. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | Dreams | They mock the present and they haunt the past,
And in the future there is naught agleam
With hope, the soul desires, that at last
The heart pursuing does not find a dream. | They mock the present and they haunt the past, | And in the future there is naught agleam
With hope, the soul desires, that at last
The heart pursuing does not find a dream. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXV. Natural History. | All of a row,
Bend the bow,
Shot at a pigeon,
And killed a crow. | All of a row, | Bend the bow,
Shot at a pigeon,
And killed a crow. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | To a Critic | Song hath a catalogue of lovely things
Thy kind hath oft defiled, whose spite misleads
The world too often! where the poet reads,
As in a fable, of old envyings,
Crows, such as thou, which hush the bird that sings,
Or kill it with their cawings; thorns and weeds,
Such as thyself, 'midst which the wind sows seeds
Of flo... | Song hath a catalogue of lovely things
Thy kind hath oft defiled, whose spite misleads
The world too often! where the poet reads,
As in a fable, of old envyings, | Crows, such as thou, which hush the bird that sings,
Or kill it with their cawings; thorns and weeds,
Such as thyself, 'midst which the wind sows seeds
Of flow'rs, these crush before one blossom swings.
But here and there the wisdom of a School
Unknown to these hath often written down
"Fame" in white ink the future hat... | sonnet |
Archibald Lampman | The Martyrs. | Oh ye, who found in men's brief ways no sign
Of strength or help, so cast them forth, and threw
Your whole souls up to one ye deemed most true,
Nor failed nor doubted but held fast your line,
Seeing before you that divine face shine;
Shall we not mourn, when yours are now so few,
Those sterner days, when all men yearne... | Oh ye, who found in men's brief ways no sign
Of strength or help, so cast them forth, and threw
Your whole souls up to one ye deemed most true,
Nor failed nor doubted but held fast your line, | Seeing before you that divine face shine;
Shall we not mourn, when yours are now so few,
Those sterner days, when all men yearned to you,
White souls whose beauty made their world divine:
Yet still across life's tangled storms we see,
Following the cross, your pale procession led,
One hope, one end, all others sacrific... | sonnet |
John Milton | Sonnets. VI | Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante
Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono
Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante
L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,
De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono;
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,
S 'arma di se, e d' intero diamante,
Tanto... | Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante
Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono
Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante | L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,
De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono;
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,
S 'arma di se, e d' intero diamante,
Tanto del forse, e d' invidia sicuro,
Di timori, e speranze al popol use
Quanto d'ingegno, e d' alto valor vago,
E di cetra sonora, e delle muse:
Sol troveret... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Delight In Disorder | A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A carele... | A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction; | An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility;--
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part. | sonnet |
Vachel Lindsay | How Samson Bore Away the Gates of Gaza | (A Negro Sermon.)
Once, in a night as black as ink,
She drove him out when he would not drink.
Round the house there were men in wait
Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate.
But the Holy Spirit was in this man.
Like a gentle wind he crept and ran.
("It is midnight," said the big town clock.)
He lifted the gates up, post and l... | (A Negro Sermon.)
Once, in a night as black as ink,
She drove him out when he would not drink.
Round the house there were men in wait
Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate.
But the Holy Spirit was in this man.
Like a gentle wind he crept and ran.
("It is midnight," said the big town clock.)
He lifted the gates up, post and l... | Oh sorrow!
Sorrow!
I cannot hide.
Oh Lord look down from your chariot side.
You made me Judge, and I am not wise.
I am weak as a sheep for all my size."
Let Samson
Be coming
Into your mind.
The moon shone out, the stars were gay.
He saw the foxes run and play.
He rent his garments, he rolled around
In deep repentance o... | free_verse |
John McCrae | Equality | I saw a King, who spent his life to weave
Into a nation all his great heart thought,
Unsatisfied until he should achieve
The grand ideal that his manhood sought;
Yet as he saw the end within his reach,
Death took the sceptre from his failing hand,
And all men said, "He gave his life to teach
The task of honour to a sor... | I saw a King, who spent his life to weave
Into a nation all his great heart thought,
Unsatisfied until he should achieve
The grand ideal that his manhood sought; | Yet as he saw the end within his reach,
Death took the sceptre from his failing hand,
And all men said, "He gave his life to teach
The task of honour to a sordid land!"
Within his gates I saw, through all those years,
One at his humble toil with cheery face,
Whom (being dead) the children, half in tears,
Remembered oft... | sonnet |
William Henry Drummond | To His Lute | My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,
Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above... | My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. | Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,
Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above,
What art thou but a harbinger of woe?
Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more,
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear;
Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a t... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | The Queen Of Fairy Land | "I have a thousand men," said he,
"To wait upon my will;
And towers nine upon the Tyne,
And three upon the Till."
"And what care I for your men? " said she,
"Or towers from Tyne to Till?
Sith you must go with me," said she,
"To wait upon my will.
And you may lead a thousand men
Nor ever draw the rein,
But before you le... | "I have a thousand men," said he,
"To wait upon my will;
And towers nine upon the Tyne,
And three upon the Till."
"And what care I for your men? " said she, | "Or towers from Tyne to Till?
Sith you must go with me," said she,
"To wait upon my will.
And you may lead a thousand men
Nor ever draw the rein,
But before you lead the Fairy Queen
'Twill burst your heart in twain."
He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar,
The bridle from his hand,
And he is bound by hand and foo... | free_verse |
Toru Dutt | Sonnet.--The Lotus. | Love came to Flora asking for a flower
That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
The lily and the rose, long, long had been
Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power
Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower
Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"--
"But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between
Flower-factions rang... | Love came to Flora asking for a flower
That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
The lily and the rose, long, long had been
Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power | Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower
Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"--
"But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between
Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.
"Give me a flower delicious as the rose
And stately as the lily in her pride"--
"But of what colour?"--"Rose-red," Love first chose,
Then ... | sonnet |
Anna Seward | Sonnet XXVII. | See wither'd WINTER, bending low his head;
His ragged locks stiff with the hoary dew;
His eyes, like frozen lakes, of livid hue;
His train, a sable cloud, with murky red
Streak'd. - Ah! behold his nitrous breathings shed
Petrific death! - Lean, wailful Birds pursue,
On as he sweeps o'er the dun lonely moor,
Amid the ba... | See wither'd WINTER, bending low his head;
His ragged locks stiff with the hoary dew;
His eyes, like frozen lakes, of livid hue;
His train, a sable cloud, with murky red | Streak'd. - Ah! behold his nitrous breathings shed
Petrific death! - Lean, wailful Birds pursue,
On as he sweeps o'er the dun lonely moor,
Amid the battling blast of all the Winds,
That, while their sleet the climbing Sailor blinds,
Lash the white surges to the sounding shore.
So com'st thou, WINTER, finally to doom
Th... | sonnet |
James McIntyre | Coleridge, Southey And Wordsworth. | England had triplets at a birth,
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth,
And these three are widely famed,
And the "Lake Poets" they were named.
With joy they did pursue their themes,
'Mong England's lakes and hills and streams,
From there with gladness they could view
The distant Scottish mountains blue. | England had triplets at a birth,
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth, | And these three are widely famed,
And the "Lake Poets" they were named.
With joy they did pursue their themes,
'Mong England's lakes and hills and streams,
From there with gladness they could view
The distant Scottish mountains blue. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Bustle In A House | The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity. | The bustle in a house
The morning after death | Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity. | octave |
Ben Jonson | A Hymn On The Nativity Of My Savior | I sing the birth was born tonight,
The Author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it,
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.
The Son of God, the eternal King,
That did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the... | I sing the birth was born tonight,
The Author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it,
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.
The Son of God, the eternal King,
That did us all salvation bring, | And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, which heaven and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.
The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no 'No,'
Both wills were in one stature;
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made Flesh indeed,
And took on... | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Lilith | Yea, there are some who always seek
The love that lasts an hour;
And some who in love's language speak,
Yet never know his power.
Of such was I, who knew not what
Sweet mysteries may rise
Within the heart when 't is its lot
To love and realize.
Of such was I, ah me! till, lo,
Your face on mine did gleam,
And changed th... | Yea, there are some who always seek
The love that lasts an hour;
And some who in love's language speak,
Yet never know his power.
Of such was I, who knew not what
Sweet mysteries may rise
Within the heart when 't is its lot
To love and realize.
Of such was I, ah me! till, lo,
Your face on mine did gleam,
And changed th... | Above, below, on every part
A crimson shadow lay,
As if the red sun streamed athwart
And sunset was alway.
I know not how, I know not when,
I only know that there
She met me in the haunted glen,
A poppy in her hair.
Her face seemed fair as Mary's is,
That knows no sin or wrong;
Her presence filled the silences
As music... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | Eine Kleine Predigt | Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute,
Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen;
Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute,
Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. | Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, | Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen;
Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute,
Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. | quatrain |
Paul Cameron Brown | The Draper's Cloth | I imagine stars at the dragon's tail,
eyelids ringing with butter.
I want to brush palms as
lightly as two sparks.
take the wand of your waist
in two plush hands
with the pitiless gesture
of a sparrow
We part the leaves in breath,
arouse trees in envy.
I sense colours more vivid
than your tongue
after wine,
explosions ... | I imagine stars at the dragon's tail,
eyelids ringing with butter.
I want to brush palms as
lightly as two sparks.
take the wand of your waist
in two plush hands | with the pitiless gesture
of a sparrow
We part the leaves in breath,
arouse trees in envy.
I sense colours more vivid
than your tongue
after wine,
explosions to cap the wind.
To enter you in argument -
a bough creeking in underbrush,
svelte panthers hiding.
And afterwards, sheets are open galleys,
oarsmen ploughing br... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCVII. Jingles. | Hey ding a ding, what shall I sing?
How many holes in a skimmer?
Four and twenty, - my stomach is empty;
Pray, mamma, give me some dinner. | Hey ding a ding, what shall I sing? | How many holes in a skimmer?
Four and twenty, - my stomach is empty;
Pray, mamma, give me some dinner. | quatrain |
Robert Burns | O Whar Did Ye Get | Tune - "Bonnie Dundee."
I.
O, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?
O silly blind body, O dinna ye see?
I gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie,
Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee.
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't!
Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee;
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
And send... | Tune - "Bonnie Dundee."
I.
O, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?
O silly blind body, O dinna ye see?
I gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie,
Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. | O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't!
Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee;
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
And send him safe hame to his babie and me!
II.
My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie,
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie!
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Thou's ay the dearer and ... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Lucia Dabbled In The Dew. | My Lucia in the dew did go,
And prettily bedabbled so,
Her clothes held up, she showed withal
Her decent legs, clean, long, and small.
I follow'd after to descry
Part of the nak'd sincerity;
But still the envious scene between
Denied the mask I would have seen.
| My Lucia in the dew did go,
And prettily bedabbled so, | Her clothes held up, she showed withal
Her decent legs, clean, long, and small.
I follow'd after to descry
Part of the nak'd sincerity;
But still the envious scene between
Denied the mask I would have seen. | octave |
Robert Burns | On R.A., Esq. | Know thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. | Know thou, O stranger to the fame | Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XII - Down A Swift Stream | Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design
Have we pursued, with livelier stir of heart
Than his who sees, borne forward by the Rhine,
The living landscapes greet him, and depart;
Sees spires fast sinking, up again to start!
And strives the towers to number, that recline
O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line
S... | Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design
Have we pursued, with livelier stir of heart
Than his who sees, borne forward by the Rhine,
The living landscapes greet him, and depart; | Sees spires fast sinking, up again to start!
And strives the towers to number, that recline
O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line
Striding with shattered crests his eye athwart,
So have we hurried on with troubled pleasure:
Henceforth, as on the bosom of a stream
That slackens, and spreads wide a watery gleam,
W... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Chop-Cherry. | Thou gav'st me leave to kiss,
Thou gav'st me leave to woo;
Thou mad'st me think, by this
And that, thou lov'dst me too.
But I shall ne'er forget
How, for to make thee merry,
Thou mad'st me chop, but yet
Another snapp'd the cherry. | Thou gav'st me leave to kiss,
Thou gav'st me leave to woo; | Thou mad'st me think, by this
And that, thou lov'dst me too.
But I shall ne'er forget
How, for to make thee merry,
Thou mad'st me chop, but yet
Another snapp'd the cherry. | octave |
Walt Whitman | France, The 18th Year Of These States | A great year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.
I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea,
Heard over the waves the little voice,
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wailing, amid the roar of cannon, curses, shouts, crash of falling buil... | A great year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.
I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea,
Heard over the waves the little voice,
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wailing, amid the roar of cannon, curses, shouts, crash of falling buil... | Could I wish the people made of wood and stone?
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?
O Liberty! O mate for me!
Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in reserve, to fetch them out in case of need;
Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy'd;
Here too could rise at last, murdering and extat... | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CLXV. Songs. | How does my lady's garden grow?
How does my lady's garden grow?
With cockle shells, and silver bells,
And pretty maids all of a row. | How does my lady's garden grow? | How does my lady's garden grow?
With cockle shells, and silver bells,
And pretty maids all of a row. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | Home From The Wars | A tattered soldier, gone the glow and gloss,
With wounds half healed, and sorely trembling knee,
Homeward I come, to claim no victory-cross:
I only faced the foe, and did not flee. | A tattered soldier, gone the glow and gloss, | With wounds half healed, and sorely trembling knee,
Homeward I come, to claim no victory-cross:
I only faced the foe, and did not flee. | quatrain |
Nancy Rebecca Campbell Glass | The Desert Spring | "Oh, no, my lord, she cannot stay;
Cast out this bond maid with her mocking child,
For they cannot be heirs with thine and mine."
Abraham was sad, for he had prayed, "O God,
That Ishmael may dwell within thy sight!"
And now the message came to him, "Fear not!
In all that Sarah says list to her voice.
In Isaac shall thy... | "Oh, no, my lord, she cannot stay;
Cast out this bond maid with her mocking child,
For they cannot be heirs with thine and mine."
Abraham was sad, for he had prayed, "O God,
That Ishmael may dwell within thy sight!"
And now the message came to him, "Fear not!
In all that Sarah says list to her voice.
In Isaac shall thy... | Are flowers with which to wreathe my bow.
With it I'll bring thee deer and fowl to dress,
When by and by we reach a babbling stream
Where we may safely dwell."
On, still on,
Through arid plains, with blistering feet,
Beneath a burning sky, they toil along.
The lad no longer talks of birds and flowers,
But begs for wate... | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Master. | He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,
Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow
Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
T... | He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees, | Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow
Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul. | free_verse |
Jonathan Swift | Verses On I Know Not What | My latest tribute here I send,
With this let your collection end.
Thus I consign you down to fame
A character to praise or blame:
And if the whole may pass for true,
Contented rest, you have your due.
Give future time the satisfaction,
To leave one handle for detraction. | My latest tribute here I send,
With this let your collection end. | Thus I consign you down to fame
A character to praise or blame:
And if the whole may pass for true,
Contented rest, you have your due.
Give future time the satisfaction,
To leave one handle for detraction. | octave |
Robert Burns | Sketch. | A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
And still his precious self his dear delight;
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets:
A man of fashion, too, he made his tour,
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive l'amour:
So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve,
Polish th... | A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
And still his precious self his dear delight;
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets: | A man of fashion, too, he made his tour,
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive l'amour:
So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve,
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love.
Much specious lore, but little understood;
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood:
His solid sense, by inches you must tell.
But mete his cunnin... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | On Himself (2) | Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die,
Leaving no fame to long posterity;
When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone,
Here shall endure thy vast dominion. | Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die, | Leaving no fame to long posterity;
When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone,
Here shall endure thy vast dominion. | quatrain |
Unknown | Courtship | Augustus Fitzgibbons Moran
Fell in love with Maria McCann.
With a yell and a whoop
He cleared the front stoop
Just ahead of her papa's brogan. | Augustus Fitzgibbons Moran | Fell in love with Maria McCann.
With a yell and a whoop
He cleared the front stoop
Just ahead of her papa's brogan. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon The Same. (To The Detractor.) | I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read,
And lik'st the best. Still thou reply'st: The dead.
I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou'lt like or thou wilt envy me. | I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read, | And lik'st the best. Still thou reply'st: The dead.
I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou'lt like or thou wilt envy me. | quatrain |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | Prologue to Doctor Faustus | Light, as when dawn takes wing and smites the sea,
Smote England when his day bade Marlowe be.
No fire so keen had thrilled the clouds of time
Since Dante's breath made Italy sublime.
Earth, bright with flowers whose dew shone soft as tears,
Through Chaucer cast her charm on eyes and ears:
The lustrous laughter of the ... | Light, as when dawn takes wing and smites the sea,
Smote England when his day bade Marlowe be.
No fire so keen had thrilled the clouds of time
Since Dante's breath made Italy sublime.
Earth, bright with flowers whose dew shone soft as tears,
Through Chaucer cast her charm on eyes and ears:
The lustrous laughter of the ... | Then first our speech was thunder: then our song
Shot lightning through the clouds that wrought us wrong.
Blind fear, whose faith feeds hell with fire, became
A moth self-shrivelled in its own blind flame.
We heard, in tune with even our seas that roll,
The speech of storm, the thunders of the soul.
Men's passions, clo... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | It Will Not Change | It will not change now
After so many years;
Life has not broken it
With parting or tears;
Death will not alter it,
It will live on
In all my songs for you
When I am gone. | It will not change now
After so many years; | Life has not broken it
With parting or tears;
Death will not alter it,
It will live on
In all my songs for you
When I am gone. | octave |
Edgar Allan Poe | Fairyland | Dim vales- and shadowy floods,
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane,
Again, again, again,
Every moment of the night,
Forever changing places,
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon... | Dim vales- and shadowy floods,
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane,
Again, again, again,
Every moment of the night,
Forever changing places,
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon... | With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be,
O'er the strange woods- o'er the sea,
Over spirits on the wing,
Over every drowsy thing,
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light,
And then, how deep!- O, dee... | free_verse |
George William Russell | The Enchantment of Cuchullain | While our vision, backward cast,
Ranged the everliving past,
Through a haze of misty things--
Luminous with quiverings
Musical as starry chimes--
Rose a hero of old times,
In whose breast the magic powers
Slumbering from primeval hours,
Woke at the enchantment wild
Of Aed Abrait's lovely child;
Still for all her Druid ... | While our vision, backward cast,
Ranged the everliving past,
Through a haze of misty things--
Luminous with quiverings
Musical as starry chimes--
Rose a hero of old times, | In whose breast the magic powers
Slumbering from primeval hours,
Woke at the enchantment wild
Of Aed Abrait's lovely child;
Still for all her Druid learning
With the wild-bird heart, whose yearning
Blinded at his strength and beauty,
Clung to love and laughed at duty.
Warrior chief, and mystic maid,
Through your stumbl... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | Sonnet. About Jesus. XI. | The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear
Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things
Had credence; and no highest art that flings
A spirit radiance from it, like the spear
Of the ice-pointed mountain, lifted clear
In the nigh sunrise, had made skyey springs
Of light in the clouds of dull imaginings:
Vain were the pai... | The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear
Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things
Had credence; and no highest art that flings
A spirit radiance from it, like the spear | Of the ice-pointed mountain, lifted clear
In the nigh sunrise, had made skyey springs
Of light in the clouds of dull imaginings:
Vain were the painter or the sculptor here.
Give man the listening heart, the seeing eye;
Give life; let sea-derived fountain well,
Within his spirit, infant waves, to tell
Of the far ocean-m... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Moths And Fireflies | Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells
I know her tricks--These are not moths at all,
Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles
Whose link-boys torch them to Titania's ball. | Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells | I know her tricks--These are not moths at all,
Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles
Whose link-boys torch them to Titania's ball. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | To Help Our Bleaker Parts | To help our bleaker parts
Salubrious hours are given,
Which if they do not fit for earth
Drill silently for heaven. | To help our bleaker parts | Salubrious hours are given,
Which if they do not fit for earth
Drill silently for heaven. | quatrain |
Charles Baudelaire | The Way Her Silky Garments Undulate | The way her silky garments undulate
It seems she's dancing as she walks along,
Like serpents that the sacred charmers make
To move in rhythms of their waving wands.
Like desert sands and skies she is as well,
As unconcerned with human misery,
Like the long networks of the ocean's swells
Unfolding with insensibility.
He... | The way her silky garments undulate
It seems she's dancing as she walks along,
Like serpents that the sacred charmers make
To move in rhythms of their waving wands. | Like desert sands and skies she is as well,
As unconcerned with human misery,
Like the long networks of the ocean's swells
Unfolding with insensibility.
Her polished eyes are made of charming stones,
And in her essence, where the natures mix
Of holy angel and the ancient sphinx,
Where all is lit with gold, steel, diamo... | sonnet |
Horatio Alger, Jr. | Mrs. Merdle Ordereth The Second Course. | Come, John, Jane, and Susan, the soup take away,
And bring in the turbot, the sheep's head and bass;
And have you got lobster and salad to-day?
And see that the celery's all right in the glass.
Now fish--Colonel Dinewell, which fish will you try?
And how shall I dress it to suit your nice taste?
For sauce to the fish i... | Come, John, Jane, and Susan, the soup take away,
And bring in the turbot, the sheep's head and bass; | And have you got lobster and salad to-day?
And see that the celery's all right in the glass.
Now fish--Colonel Dinewell, which fish will you try?
And how shall I dress it to suit your nice taste?
For sauce to the fish is as love to the sigh,
Imperfect, it's worthless, and both prove a waste. | octave |
Thomas Hardy | Seventy-Four And Twenty | Here goes a man of seventy-four,
Who sees not what life means for him,
And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.
The one who shall walk to-day with me
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy wight who cannot see
What Earth's ingrained conditions are. | Here goes a man of seventy-four,
Who sees not what life means for him, | And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.
The one who shall walk to-day with me
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy wight who cannot see
What Earth's ingrained conditions are. | octave |
William Lisle Bowles | Associations | As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,
Still on that vision which is flown I dwell,
On images I loved, alas, too well!
Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds
Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep
Such recollections, painful though they seem,
And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream
I start, and find t... | As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,
Still on that vision which is flown I dwell,
On images I loved, alas, too well!
Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds | Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep
Such recollections, painful though they seem,
And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream
I start, and find them not; then I could weep
To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers;
To think how soon life's first endearments fail,
And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale,... | sonnet |
Vachel Lindsay | Parvenu | Where does Cinderella sleep?
By far-off day-dream river.
A secret place her burning Prince
Decks, while his heart-strings quiver.
Homesick for our cinder world,
Her low-born shoulders shiver;
She longs for sleep in cinders curled -
We, for the day-dream river. | Where does Cinderella sleep?
By far-off day-dream river. | A secret place her burning Prince
Decks, while his heart-strings quiver.
Homesick for our cinder world,
Her low-born shoulders shiver;
She longs for sleep in cinders curled -
We, for the day-dream river. | octave |
John Le Gay Brereton | The Power Of Hell | 'There is no place,' he said,
'For love or pity here;
We dread and only dread
The moods that once were dear.
'We break the ancient spell,
And arm to take our part
Against the power of Hell.'
And Hell was in his heart. | 'There is no place,' he said,
'For love or pity here; | We dread and only dread
The moods that once were dear.
'We break the ancient spell,
And arm to take our part
Against the power of Hell.'
And Hell was in his heart. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DVII. Natural History. | "What do they call you?"
"Patchy Dolly."
"Where were you born?"
"In the cow's horn."
"Where were you bred?"
"In the cow's head."
"Where will you die?"
"In the cow's eye." | "What do they call you?"
"Patchy Dolly." | "Where were you born?"
"In the cow's horn."
"Where were you bred?"
"In the cow's head."
"Where will you die?"
"In the cow's eye." | octave |
Thomas Moore | The Fudges In England. Letter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge, To Her Cousin, Miss Kitty ----. | IRREGULAR ODE.
Bring me the slumbering souls of flowers,
While yet, beneath some northern sky,
Ungilt by beams, ungemmed by showers,
They wait the breath of summer hours,
To wake to light each diamond eye,
And let loose every florid sigh!
Bring me the first-born ocean waves,
From out those deep primeval caves,
Where fr... | IRREGULAR ODE.
Bring me the slumbering souls of flowers,
While yet, beneath some northern sky,
Ungilt by beams, ungemmed by showers,
They wait the breath of summer hours,
To wake to light each diamond eye,
And let loose every florid sigh!
Bring me the first-born ocean waves,
From out those deep primeval caves,
Where fr... | Nor can I just now, being all in a whirl,
Looking out for the Magnet,[1] explain it, dear girl.
Suffice it to say, that one half the expense
Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries hence--
(Tho' "God knows," as aunt says my humble ambition
Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition)--
One half the whole cost of the... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Felicity Knows No Fence. | Of both our fortunes good and bad we find
Prosperity more searching of the mind:
Felicity flies o'er the wall and fence,
While misery keeps in with patience. | Of both our fortunes good and bad we find | Prosperity more searching of the mind:
Felicity flies o'er the wall and fence,
While misery keeps in with patience. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To The Water-nymphs Drinking At The Fountain | Reach with your whiter hands to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine. | Reach with your whiter hands to me
Some crystal of the spring; | And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DCLIX. Relics. | How do you do, neighbour?
Neighbour, how do you do?
I am pretty well,
And how does Cousin Sue do?
She's pretty well,
And sends her duty to you,
So does bonnie Nell.
Good lack, how does she do? | How do you do, neighbour?
Neighbour, how do you do? | I am pretty well,
And how does Cousin Sue do?
She's pretty well,
And sends her duty to you,
So does bonnie Nell.
Good lack, how does she do? | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCXCVIII. Games. | Ride a cock-horse to Banbury-cross,
To buy little Johnny a galloping-horse;
It trots behind, and it ambles before,
And Johnny shall ride till he can ride no more. | Ride a cock-horse to Banbury-cross, | To buy little Johnny a galloping-horse;
It trots behind, and it ambles before,
And Johnny shall ride till he can ride no more. | quatrain |
Louisa May Alcott | And If Your Nancy Frowns, My Lad | '"And if your Nancy frowns, my lad,
And scorns a jacket blue,
Just hoist your sails for other ports,
And find a maid more true."' | '"And if your Nancy frowns, my lad, | And scorns a jacket blue,
Just hoist your sails for other ports,
And find a maid more true."' | quatrain |
William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham) | Cup Of Mixture | For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up. | For every Guest who comes with him to sup, | The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up. | quatrain |
Victor-Marie Hugo | Early Love Revisited. | ("O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir.")
[XXXIV. i., October, 183-.]
I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this beautiful valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
In how short a span doth all Nature change,
How quickly she smoothes wi... | ("O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir.")
[XXXIV. i., October, 183-.]
I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this beautiful valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
In how short a span doth all Nature change,
How quickly she smoothes wi... | And it turned to pearls through her fingers wending
The wild, rugged path is paved with spars,
Where erst in the sand her footsteps were traced,
When so small were the prints that the surface mars,
That they seemed to smile ere by mine effaced.
The bank on the side of the road, day by day,
Where of old she awaited my l... | free_verse |
Henry Kendall | Sedan | Another battle! and the sounds have rolled
By many a gloomy gorge and wasted plain
O'er huddled hills and mountains manifold,
Like winds that run before a heavy rain
When Autumn lops the leaves and drooping grain,
And earth lies deep in brown and cloudy gold.
My brothers, lo! our grand old England stands,
With weapons ... | Another battle! and the sounds have rolled
By many a gloomy gorge and wasted plain
O'er huddled hills and mountains manifold,
Like winds that run before a heavy rain | When Autumn lops the leaves and drooping grain,
And earth lies deep in brown and cloudy gold.
My brothers, lo! our grand old England stands,
With weapons gleaming in her ready hands,
Outside the tumult! Let us watch and trust
That she will never darken in the dust
And drift of wild contention, but remain
The hope and s... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | A Book. | He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings! | He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust; | He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings! | octave |
A. H. Laidlaw | The Young Vets. | We all know the face of the chap who can tell
How he led the victorious van,
Through whose terrible yell all the enemy fell
Or fled from this murderous man.
We all know the pate of the chap who was late,
Too late for a wound or a scar,
A year or two late for a soldierly fate,
And twenty too late for the war.
We all kno... | We all know the face of the chap who can tell
How he led the victorious van,
Through whose terrible yell all the enemy fell
Or fled from this murderous man.
We all know the pate of the chap who was late,
Too late for a wound or a scar, | A year or two late for a soldierly fate,
And twenty too late for the war.
We all know the voice of Goliah the Great,
Who never smelt powder, you know,
Who came to the field of battle too late
To give little David a show.
We all know the tale of the chap who delights
To tell all the girls he can find
Of the terrible sig... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Vow To Venus | Happily I had a sight
Of my dearest dear last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee! | Happily I had a sight | Of my dearest dear last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And I'll roses give to thee! | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXVIII. Natural History. | When the snow is on the ground,
Little Robin Red-breast grieves;
For no berries can be found,
And on the trees there are no leaves.
The air is cold, the worms are hid,
For this poor bird what can be done?
We'll strew him here some crumbs of bread,
And then he'll live till the snow is gone. | When the snow is on the ground,
Little Robin Red-breast grieves; | For no berries can be found,
And on the trees there are no leaves.
The air is cold, the worms are hid,
For this poor bird what can be done?
We'll strew him here some crumbs of bread,
And then he'll live till the snow is gone. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Meat Without Mirth. | Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer,
I did not sup, because no friends were there.
Where mirth and friends are absent when we dine
Or sup, there wants the incense and the wine. | Eaten I have; and though I had good cheer, | I did not sup, because no friends were there.
Where mirth and friends are absent when we dine
Or sup, there wants the incense and the wine. | quatrain |
Edgar Allan Poe | Alone | From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were, I have not seen
As others saw, I could not bring
My passions from a common spring,
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow, I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone,
And all I loved, I loved alone,
Thou,in my childhood,in the dawn
Of a most stormy... | From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were, I have not seen
As others saw, I could not bring
My passions from a common spring,
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow, I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone, | And all I loved, I loved alone,
Thou,in my childhood,in the dawn
Of a most stormy life,was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still,
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in t... | free_verse |
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