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William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVIII - Elizabeth | Hail, Virgin Queen! o'er many an envious bar
Triumphant, snatched from many a treacherous wile!
All hail, sage Lady, whom a grateful Isle
Hath blest, respiring from that dismal war
Stilled by thy voice! But quickly from afar
Defiance breathes with more malignant aim;
And alien storms with home-bred ferments claim
Porte... | Hail, Virgin Queen! o'er many an envious bar
Triumphant, snatched from many a treacherous wile!
All hail, sage Lady, whom a grateful Isle
Hath blest, respiring from that dismal war | Stilled by thy voice! But quickly from afar
Defiance breathes with more malignant aim;
And alien storms with home-bred ferments claim
Portentous fellowship. Her silver car,
By sleepless prudence ruled, glides slowly on;
Unhurt by violence, from menaced taint
Emerging pure, and seemingly more bright:
Ah! wherefore yield... | sonnet |
Alfred Lord Tennyson | A Medley: As Thro' The Land (The Princess) | As thro' the land at eve we went,
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
O we fell out I know not why,
And kiss'd again with tears.
And blessings on the falling out
That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love
And kiss again with tears!
For when we came where lies the child
We lost ... | As thro' the land at eve we went,
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
O we fell out I know not why, | And kiss'd again with tears.
And blessings on the falling out
That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love
And kiss again with tears!
For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
O there above the little grave,
We kiss'd again with tears. | sonnet |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | Envoi | Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
Frail pale wings for the winds to try,
Small white wings that we scarce can see
Fly.
Here and there may a chance-caught eye
Note in a score of you twain or three
Brighter or darker of tinge or dye.
Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
Some fly soft as a low long sigh:
All to the haven ... | Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
Frail pale wings for the winds to try,
Small white wings that we scarce can see | Fly.
Here and there may a chance-caught eye
Note in a score of you twain or three
Brighter or darker of tinge or dye.
Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
Some fly soft as a low long sigh:
All to the haven where each would be
Fly. | free_verse |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets XCII - But do thy worst to steal thyself away | But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour do... | But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine. | Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O! what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to ... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Lost Faith. | To lose one's faith surpasses
The loss of an estate,
Because estates can be
Replenished, -- faith cannot.
Inherited with life,
Belief but once can be;
Annihilate a single clause,
And Being's beggary. | To lose one's faith surpasses
The loss of an estate, | Because estates can be
Replenished, -- faith cannot.
Inherited with life,
Belief but once can be;
Annihilate a single clause,
And Being's beggary. | octave |
Rupert Brooke | The Hill | Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;
Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,
When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die
All's over that is ours; and life burns on
Through other lovers, other lips," sai... | Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;
Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still, | When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die
All's over that is ours; and life burns on
Through other lovers, other lips," said I,
"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!"
"We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here.
Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said;
"We shall go down with unreluctant... | sonnet |
Aurelius Clemens Prudentius | Hymn Before Meat (Hymnus Ante Cibum) | Newly Translated Into English Verse By R. Martin Pope is below this original.
Hymnus Ante Cibum
O crucifer bone, lucisator,
omniparens, pie, verbigena,
edite corpore virgineo,
sed prius in genitore potens,
astra, solum, mare quam fierent:
Huc nitido precor intuitu
flecte salutiferam faciem,
fronte serenus et inradia,
n... | Newly Translated Into English Verse By R. Martin Pope is below this original.
Hymnus Ante Cibum
O crucifer bone, lucisator,
omniparens, pie, verbigena,
edite corpore virgineo,
sed prius in genitore potens,
astra, solum, mare quam fierent:
Huc nitido precor intuitu
flecte salutiferam faciem,
fronte serenus et inradia,
n... | Ecce venit nova progenies,
aethere proditus alter homo,
non luteus, velut ille prior:
sed Deus ipse gerens hominem,
corporeisque carens vitiis.
Fit caro vivida sermo Patris,
numine quam rutilante gravis
non thalamo, neque iure tori,
nec genialibus inlecebris
intemerata puella parit.
Hoc odium vetus illud erat,
hoc erat... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Ralph. | Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph
In sev'rall tills and boxes, keeps 'em safe;
Instead of hartshorn, if he speaks the troth,
To make a lusty-jelly for his broth. | Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph | In sev'rall tills and boxes, keeps 'em safe;
Instead of hartshorn, if he speaks the troth,
To make a lusty-jelly for his broth. | quatrain |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets XXXVII - As a decrepit father takes delight | As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted, to th... | As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; | For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted, to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
And by a part of all thy gl... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | Red Dog | For our white and our excellent nights, for the nights of swift running,
Fair ranging, far seeing, good hunting, sure cunning!
For the smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has departed!
For the rush through the mist, and the quarry blind-started!
For the cry of our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and is standin... | For our white and our excellent nights, for the nights of swift running,
Fair ranging, far seeing, good hunting, sure cunning!
For the smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has departed! | For the rush through the mist, and the quarry blind-started!
For the cry of our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and is standing at bay!
For the risk and the riot of night!
For the sleep at the lair-mouth by day!
It is met, and we go to the fight.
Bay! O bay! | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | A Reflection At Sea. | See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for awhile,--
Then murmuring subsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea:
And, having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity! | See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast, | And foams and sparkles for awhile,--
Then murmuring subsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea:
And, having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity! | octave |
Matthew Prior | The Lady Who Offers Her Looking-Glass To Venus | Venus, take my votive glass:
Since I am not what I was,
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see. | Venus, take my votive glass: | Since I am not what I was,
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see. | quatrain |
George William Russell | To One Consecrated | Your paths were all unknown to us:
We were so far away from you,
We mixed in thought your spirit thus--
With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew.
The mighty mother nourished you:
Her breath blew from her mystic bowers:
Their elfin glimmer floated through
The pureness of your shadowy hours.
The mighty mother made you wise... | Your paths were all unknown to us:
We were so far away from you,
We mixed in thought your spirit thus--
With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew.
The mighty mother nourished you:
Her breath blew from her mystic bowers: | Their elfin glimmer floated through
The pureness of your shadowy hours.
The mighty mother made you wise;
Gave love that clears the hidden ways:
Her glooms were glory to your eyes;
Her darkness but the Fount of Days.
She made all gentleness in you,
And beauty radiant as the morn's:
She made our joy in yours, then threw
... | free_verse |
Michael Drayton | Sonet 30 To The Vestalls | Those Priests, which first the Vestall fire begun,
Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,
Deuisd a vessell to receiue the sunne,
Beeing stedfastly opposed to the same;
Where with sweet wood laid curiously by Art,
Whereon the sunne might by reflection beate,
Receiuing strength from euery secret part,
The fuell k... | Those Priests, which first the Vestall fire begun,
Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,
Deuisd a vessell to receiue the sunne,
Beeing stedfastly opposed to the same; | Where with sweet wood laid curiously by Art,
Whereon the sunne might by reflection beate,
Receiuing strength from euery secret part,
The fuell kindled with celestiall heate.
Thy blessed eyes, the sunne which lights this fire,
My holy thoughts, they be the Vestall flame,
The precious odors be my chast desire,
My breast ... | sonnet |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Certitude | There was a time when I was confident
That God's stupendous mystery of birth
Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent
New ecstasy and glory to the earth.
I heard no voice that uttered it aloud,
Nor was it written for me on a scroll;
Yet, if alone or in the common crowd,
I felt myself a consecrated soul.
My child leap... | There was a time when I was confident
That God's stupendous mystery of birth
Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent
New ecstasy and glory to the earth. | I heard no voice that uttered it aloud,
Nor was it written for me on a scroll;
Yet, if alone or in the common crowd,
I felt myself a consecrated soul.
My child leaped in its dark and silent room
And cried, 'I am,' though all unheard by men.
So leaps my spirit in the body's gloom
And cries, 'I live! I shall be born a... | sonnet |
Edna St. Vincent Millay | Sonnets III | Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
We drenched the altars of Love's sacred grove,
Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after
The launching of the colored moths of Love.
Love's proper myrtle and his mother's zone
We bound about our irreligious brows,
And fettered him with garlands of our own,
And sprea... | Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
We drenched the altars of Love's sacred grove,
Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after
The launching of the colored moths of Love. | Love's proper myrtle and his mother's zone
We bound about our irreligious brows,
And fettered him with garlands of our own,
And spread a banquet in his frugal house.
Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear
Though we should break our bodies in his flame,
And pour our blood upon his altar, here
Henceforward is a grove wit... | sonnet |
William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham) | Paul | Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,
Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought;
His man henceforward, eager to be voicing
That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.
Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;
Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;
Bound him in darkness, till the glori... | Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,
Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought; | His man henceforward, eager to be voicing
That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.
Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;
Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;
Bound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow
Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known. | octave |
William Ernest Henley | Friends. . . Old Friends | Friends . . . old friends . . .
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man tells lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before.
And so it ends
With friends.
Friends . . . old friends . . .
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What w... | Friends . . . old friends . . .
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man tells lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before.
And so it ends
With friends. | Friends . . . old friends . . .
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What we live to learn?
It has done its work,
It has served its turn;
And, forgive and forget
Or hanker and fret,
We can be no more
As we were before.
When it ends, it ends
With friends.
Friends . . . old friends . . .
So it breaks, so it ends.
... | free_verse |
Jonathan Swift | To Thomas Sheridan | Dear Tom, I'm surprised that your verse did not jingle;
But your rhyme was not double, 'cause your sight was but single.
For, as Helsham observes, there's nothing can chime,
Or fit more exact than one eye and one rhyme.
If you had not took physic, I'd pay off your bacon,
But now I'll write short, for fear you're short-... | Dear Tom, I'm surprised that your verse did not jingle;
But your rhyme was not double, 'cause your sight was but single.
For, as Helsham observes, there's nothing can chime,
Or fit more exact than one eye and one rhyme.
If you had not took physic, I'd pay off your bacon,
But now I'll write short, for fear you're short-... | Haec tibi pauca dedi, sed consule Betty my Lady,
Huic te des solae, nec egebis pharmacopolae.
Haec somnians cecini,
JON. SWIFT.
Oct. 23, 1718.
[Footnote 1: Dr. Richard Helsham.]
[Footnote 2: Pro potes. - Horat.]
[Footnote 3: Pro quovis fluvio. - Virg.]
[Footnote 4: Saccharo Saturni.]
SWIFT TO SHERIDAN, IN REPLY
Tom, fo... | free_verse |
Oliver Goldsmith | To G. C. And R. L. | 'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together,
'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether;
This, I believe, between us great or small,
You, I, he, wrote it not 'twas Churchill's all. | 'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together, | 'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether;
This, I believe, between us great or small,
You, I, he, wrote it not 'twas Churchill's all. | quatrain |
Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley | Futurity. | What of our life when this frail flesh lies low
A withered clod, and the free soul has burst
Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed
With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow
Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow
At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst
For Truth, and see not, - spirits deep im... | What of our life when this frail flesh lies low
A withered clod, and the free soul has burst
Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed
With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow | Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow
At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst
For Truth, and see not, - spirits deep immersed
In doubt and trouble, - hearts that fain would know?
The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained
For the divine, because the beautiful,
Now with the body gone, free and unstained,
Doubts ... | sonnet |
Richard Le Gallienne | To A Simple Housewife | Who dough shall knead as for God's sake
Shall fill it with celestial leaven,
And every loaf that she shall bake
Be eaten of the Blest in heaven. | Who dough shall knead as for God's sake | Shall fill it with celestial leaven,
And every loaf that she shall bake
Be eaten of the Blest in heaven. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Waiting. | I sing to use the waiting,
My bonnet but to tie,
And shut the door unto my house;
No more to do have I,
Till, his best step approaching,
We journey to the day,
And tell each other how we sang
To keep the dark away. | I sing to use the waiting,
My bonnet but to tie, | And shut the door unto my house;
No more to do have I,
Till, his best step approaching,
We journey to the day,
And tell each other how we sang
To keep the dark away. | octave |
Alexander Pope | On Seeing The Ladies Crux-Easton Walk In The Woods By The Grotto. | Authors the world and their dull brains have traced
To fix the ground where Paradise was placed;
Mind not their learned whims and idle talk;
Here, here's the place where these bright angels walk. | Authors the world and their dull brains have traced | To fix the ground where Paradise was placed;
Mind not their learned whims and idle talk;
Here, here's the place where these bright angels walk. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Tears Are Tongues. | When Julia chid I stood as mute the while
As is the fish or tongueless crocodile.
Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear,
But she could see each eye to stamp a tear;
By which mine angry mistress might descry
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
And when true love of words is destitute
The eyes by tears speak, ... | When Julia chid I stood as mute the while
As is the fish or tongueless crocodile. | Air coin'd to words my Julia could not hear,
But she could see each eye to stamp a tear;
By which mine angry mistress might descry
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
And when true love of words is destitute
The eyes by tears speak, while the tongue is mute. | octave |
Arthur Macy | Bon Voyage | [TO O. R.]
Out from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past
A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast.
Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,
Kind for the sake of the friend, - for the sake of the hands he pressed.
Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcom... | [TO O. R.]
Out from the Land of the Future, into the Land of the Past
A comrade sails to the East, the sport of the wave and the blast. | Oh, billow and breeze, be kind, and temper your strength to your guest,
Kind for the sake of the friend, - for the sake of the hands he pressed.
Oh, tenderest billow and breeze, welcome him even as we
Would welcome if you were the friend and we were the wind and the sea!
Welcome, protect him, and waft him westward and ... | free_verse |
Charles Baudelaire | The Happy Corpse | In a rich land, fertile, replete with snails
I'd like to dig myself a spacious pit
Where I might spread at leisure myoid bones
And sleep unnoticed, like a shark at sea.
I hate both testaments and epitaphs;
Sooner than beg remembrance from the world
I would, alive, invite the hungry crows
To bleed my tainted carcass inc... | In a rich land, fertile, replete with snails
I'd like to dig myself a spacious pit
Where I might spread at leisure myoid bones
And sleep unnoticed, like a shark at sea. | I hate both testaments and epitaphs;
Sooner than beg remembrance from the world
I would, alive, invite the hungry crows
To bleed my tainted carcass inch by inch.
O worms! dark playmates minus ear or eye,
Prepare to meet a free and happy corpse;
Droll philosophies, children of rottenness,
Go then along my ruin guiltless... | sonnet |
Robert Fuller Murray | A Birthday Gift | No gift I bring but worship, and the love
Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure,
Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure;
Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above;
To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move
Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure,
Less fearful of its ending, being sure
That t... | No gift I bring but worship, and the love
Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure,
Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure;
Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above; | To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move
Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure,
Less fearful of its ending, being sure
That they watch over us, where'er we rove.
And though my gift itself have little worth,
Yet worth it gains from her to whom 'tis given,
As a weak flower gets colour from the sun.
Or rather,... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Hoar-Frost | The frail eidolons of all blossoms Spring,
Year after year, about the forest tossed,
The magic touch of the enchanter, Frost,
Back from the Heaven of the Flow'rs doth bring;
Each branch and bush in silence visiting
With phantom beauty of its blooms long lost:
Each dead weed bends, white-haunted of its ghost,
Each dead ... | The frail eidolons of all blossoms Spring,
Year after year, about the forest tossed,
The magic touch of the enchanter, Frost,
Back from the Heaven of the Flow'rs doth bring; | Each branch and bush in silence visiting
With phantom beauty of its blooms long lost:
Each dead weed bends, white-haunted of its ghost,
Each dead flower stands ghostly with blossoming.
This is the wonder-legend Nature tells
To the gray moon and mist a winter's night;
The fairy-tale, which her weird fancy 'spells
With a... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | High On A Hill | There is a place among the Cape Ann hills
That looks from fir-dark summits on the sea,
Whose surging sapphire changes constantly
Beneath deep heavens, Morning windowsills,
With golden calm, or sunset citadels
With storm, whose towers the winds' confederacy
And bandit thunder hold in rebel fee,
Swooping upon the ilsher'... | There is a place among the Cape Ann hills
That looks from fir-dark summits on the sea,
Whose surging sapphire changes constantly
Beneath deep heavens, Morning windowsills, | With golden calm, or sunset citadels
With storm, whose towers the winds' confederacy
And bandit thunder hold in rebel fee,
Swooping upon the ilsher's sail that swells.
A place, where Sorrow ceases to complain,
And life's old Cares put all their burdens by,
And Weariness forgets itself in rest.
Would that all life were ... | sonnet |
Clark Ashton Smith | A Live-Oak Leaf | How marvellous this bit of green
I hold, and soon shall throw away!
Its subtile veins, its vivid sheen,
Seem fragment of a god's array.
In all the hidden toil of earth,
Which is the more laborious part -
To rear the oak's enormous girth,
Or shape its leaves with poignant art? | How marvellous this bit of green
I hold, and soon shall throw away! | Its subtile veins, its vivid sheen,
Seem fragment of a god's array.
In all the hidden toil of earth,
Which is the more laborious part -
To rear the oak's enormous girth,
Or shape its leaves with poignant art? | octave |
Katharine Lee Bates | Above The Battle | Honor and pity for the smitten field,
The valorous ranks mown down like precious corn,
Whose want must famish love morn after morn,
Till Death, the good physician, shall have healed
The craving and the tearspent eyelids sealed.
Proud be the homes that for each cannon-torn,
Encrimsoned rampart have been left forlorn;
Ho... | Honor and pity for the smitten field,
The valorous ranks mown down like precious corn,
Whose want must famish love morn after morn,
Till Death, the good physician, shall have healed | The craving and the tearspent eyelids sealed.
Proud be the homes that for each cannon-torn,
Encrimsoned rampart have been left forlorn;
Holy the knells o'er fallen patriots pealed.
But they, above the battle, throng a space
Of starry silences and silver rest.
Commingled ghosts, they press like brothers through
White, d... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | The Braggart | Petrolio, vaunting his Mercedes' power,
Vows she can cover eighty miles an hour.
I tried the car of old and know she can.
But dare he ever make her? Ask his man! | Petrolio, vaunting his Mercedes' power, | Vows she can cover eighty miles an hour.
I tried the car of old and know she can.
But dare he ever make her? Ask his man! | quatrain |
John Clare | The Ants | What wonder strikes the curious, while he views
The black ant's city, by a rotten tree,
Or woodland bank! In ignorance we muse:
Pausing, annoyed,--we know not what we see,
Such government and thought there seem to be;
Some looking on, and urging some to toil,
Dragging their loads of bent-stalks slavishly:
And what's mo... | What wonder strikes the curious, while he views
The black ant's city, by a rotten tree,
Or woodland bank! In ignorance we muse:
Pausing, annoyed,--we know not what we see, | Such government and thought there seem to be;
Some looking on, and urging some to toil,
Dragging their loads of bent-stalks slavishly:
And what's more wonderful, when big loads foil
One ant or two to carry, quickly then
A swarm flock round to help their fellow-men.
Surely they speak a language whisperingly,
Too fine fo... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. LXVIII. Tales. | Old Abram Brown is dead and gone,
You'll never see him more;
He used to wear a long brown coat,
That button'd down before. | Old Abram Brown is dead and gone, | You'll never see him more;
He used to wear a long brown coat,
That button'd down before. | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | All The Words In All The World | All the flowers cannot weave
A garland worthy of your hair,
Not a bird in the four winds
Can sing of you that is so fair.
Only the spheres can sing of you;
Some planet in celestial space,
Hallowed and lonely in the dawn,
Shall sing the poem of your face. | All the flowers cannot weave
A garland worthy of your hair, | Not a bird in the four winds
Can sing of you that is so fair.
Only the spheres can sing of you;
Some planet in celestial space,
Hallowed and lonely in the dawn,
Shall sing the poem of your face. | octave |
William Butler Yeats | Upon A House Shaken By The Land Agitation | How should the world be luckier if this house,
Where passion and precision have been one
Time out of mind, became too ruinous
To breed the lidless eye that loves the sun?
And the sweet laughing eagle thoughts that grow
Where wings have memory of wings, and all
That comes of the best knit to the best? Although
Mean roof... | How should the world be luckier if this house,
Where passion and precision have been one
Time out of mind, became too ruinous
To breed the lidless eye that loves the sun? | And the sweet laughing eagle thoughts that grow
Where wings have memory of wings, and all
That comes of the best knit to the best? Although
Mean roof-trees were the sturdier for its fall,
How should their luck run high enough to reach
The gifts that govern men, and after these
To gradual Time's last gift, a written spe... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | No--Leave My Heart To Rest. | No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Oh,... | No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead, | Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou comest like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,
When w... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | To One Unsatisfied | When, with all the loved around thee,
Still thy heart says, "I am lonely,"
It is well; the truth hath found thee:
Rest is with the Father only. | When, with all the loved around thee, | Still thy heart says, "I am lonely,"
It is well; the truth hath found thee:
Rest is with the Father only. | quatrain |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | Sonnets From The Portuguese XXIII | Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Belov'd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine,
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble?... | Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head? | I marvelled, my Belov'd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine,
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me, breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love... | sonnet |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | The Way To Behave. | Though tempers are bad and peevish folks swear,
Remember to ruffle thy brows, friend, ne'er;
And let not the fancies of women so fair
E'er serve thy pleasure in life to impair. | Though tempers are bad and peevish folks swear, | Remember to ruffle thy brows, friend, ne'er;
And let not the fancies of women so fair
E'er serve thy pleasure in life to impair. | quatrain |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LXXXVIII | Out, traytor Absence, dar'st thou counsell me
From my deare captainesse to run away,
Because in braue array heere marcheth she,
That, to win mee, oft shewes a present pay?
Is faith so weake? or is such force in thee?
When sun is hid, can starres such beames display?
Cannot heau'ns food, once felt, keepe stomakes free
F... | Out, traytor Absence, dar'st thou counsell me
From my deare captainesse to run away,
Because in braue array heere marcheth she,
That, to win mee, oft shewes a present pay? | Is faith so weake? or is such force in thee?
When sun is hid, can starres such beames display?
Cannot heau'ns food, once felt, keepe stomakes free
From base desire on earthly cates to pray?
Tush, Absence; while thy mistes eclipse that light,
My orphan sense flies to the inward sight,
Where memory sets forth the beames ... | sonnet |
Washington Irving | The Adelantado Of The Seven Cities - A Legend Of St. Brandan - Prose | In the early part of the fifteenth century, when Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, was pushing the career of discovery along the western coast of Africa, and the world was resounding with reports of golden regions on the main land, and new-found islands in the ocean, there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered ... | In the early part of the fifteenth century, when Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, was pushing the career of discovery along the western coast of Africa, and the world was resounding with reports of golden regions on the main land, and new-found islands in the ocean, there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered ... | The night closed in, before they entered the river. They swept along, past rock and promontory, each guarded by its tower. The sentinels at every post challenged them as they passed by.
'Who goes there?'
'The Adelantado of the Seven Cities.'
'He is welcome. Pass on.'
On entering the harbor, they rowed close along an ar... | free_verse |
Robert Fuller Murray | An Afterthought | You found my life, a poor lame bird
That had no heart to sing,
You would not speak the magic word
To give it voice and wing.
Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour,
I think, if you had known
How much my life was in your power,
It might have sung and flown. | You found my life, a poor lame bird
That had no heart to sing, | You would not speak the magic word
To give it voice and wing.
Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour,
I think, if you had known
How much my life was in your power,
It might have sung and flown. | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Woodland Waterfall | Rock and root and fern and flower
They had led him for an hour
To the inmost forest, where,
In a hollow, green with moss,
That the deep ferns trailed across,
Fell a fall, a presence fair,
Syllabling to the air,
Charming with cool sounds the bower.
It was she he used to know
In some land of Long Ago,
Some far land of Ye... | Rock and root and fern and flower
They had led him for an hour
To the inmost forest, where,
In a hollow, green with moss,
That the deep ferns trailed across,
Fell a fall, a presence fair,
Syllabling to the air,
Charming with cool sounds the bower.
It was she he used to know
In some land of Long Ago,
Some far land of Ye... | Round him now her arms she flung,
And, as dripping there she clung,
In her gaze of green and gold
He beheld a beauty gleam,
And the shadow of a dream,
That to no man hath been told,
Like a Faery tale of old,
Rise up glimmering, ever young.
As his form to hers she drew
In his soul, it seemed, he knew
She was daughter of... | free_verse |
Walter De La Mare | Berries | There was an old woman
Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
From Weep to Wicking.
Half a pottle -
No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
From her green grot;
And says, "Well, Jill,
Would 'ee pick 'ee mo?"
And Jill, she curtseys,
And looks just so.
"Be off," says the Fairy,
"As quick as you can,
Over the meado... | There was an old woman
Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
From Weep to Wicking.
Half a pottle -
No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
From her green grot;
And says, "Well, Jill,
Would 'ee pick 'ee mo?"
And Jill, she curtseys,
And looks just so.
"Be off," says the Fairy,
"As quick as you can,
Over the meado... | She glints very bright,
And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
She has faded in air.
Be sure old Goodie
She trots betimes
Over the meadows
To Farmer Grimes.
And never was queen
With jewellry rich
As those same hedges
From twig to ditch;
Like Dutchmen's coffers,
Fruit, thorn, and flower -
They shone like William
And... | free_verse |
Herman Melville | The Tuft Of Kelp | All dripping in tangles green,
Cast up by a lonely sea
If purer for that, O Weed,
Bitterer, too, are ye? | All dripping in tangles green, | Cast up by a lonely sea
If purer for that, O Weed,
Bitterer, too, are ye? | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To Sappho. | Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar. | Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no; | But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar. | quatrain |
Richard Hunter | Smiler. | He smiles throughout the morning,
And all the afternoon;
He smiles whene'er the sun shines,
And also at the moon.
He smiles upon the carpet,
Or when you pick him up;
He smiles all through his dinner,
And when he goes to sup. | He smiles throughout the morning,
And all the afternoon; | He smiles whene'er the sun shines,
And also at the moon.
He smiles upon the carpet,
Or when you pick him up;
He smiles all through his dinner,
And when he goes to sup. | octave |
Jean Blewett | Soldiers All. | They're praying for the soldier lads in grim old London town;
Last night I went, myself, and heard a bishop in his gown
Confiding to the Lord of Hosts his views of this affair.
"We do petition Thee," he said, "to have a watchful care
Of all the stalwart men and strong who at their country's call
Went sailing off to Afr... | They're praying for the soldier lads in grim old London town;
Last night I went, myself, and heard a bishop in his gown
Confiding to the Lord of Hosts his views of this affair.
"We do petition Thee," he said, "to have a watchful care
Of all the stalwart men and strong who at their country's call
Went sailing off to Afr... | The God of battles is our God, and in His arm we trust."
He never got that prayer of his in any printed book,
It came straight from the heart of him, his deep voice, how it shook!
And something glistened in his eye and down his flushed cheek ran.
I like a Bishop best of all when he is just a man.
"Amen!" they cried out... | free_verse |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Two Songs by Sitara, of Kashmir | Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
In softly varying hues.
I loved you for your slightness,
Your melancholy sweetness,
Your changeful eyes, that promised
What your lips would still refuse.
You came to me, and loved me,
Were mine upon the River,
The azure water saw us
And ... | Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
In softly varying hues.
I loved you for your slightness,
Your melancholy sweetness,
Your changeful eyes, that promised
What your lips would still refuse.
You came to me, and loved me,
Were mine upon the River,
The azure water saw us
And ... | While life was only River,
Only love, and you and I.
Love wakened on the River,
To sounds of running water,
With silver Stars for witness
And reflected Stars for light;
Awakened to existence,
With ripples for first music
And sunlight on the River
For earliest sense of sight.
Love grew upon the River
Among the scented f... | free_verse |
Archibald Lampman | Sight. | The world is bright with beauty, and its days
Are filled with music; could we only know
True ends from false, and lofty things from low;
Could we but tear away the walls that graze
Our very elbows in life's frosty ways;
Behold the width beyond us with its flow,
Its knowledge and its murmur and its glow,
Where doubt its... | The world is bright with beauty, and its days
Are filled with music; could we only know
True ends from false, and lofty things from low;
Could we but tear away the walls that graze | Our very elbows in life's frosty ways;
Behold the width beyond us with its flow,
Its knowledge and its murmur and its glow,
Where doubt itself is but a golden haze.
Ah brothers, still upon our pathway lies
The shadow of dim weariness and fear,
Yet if we could but lift our earthward eyes
To see, and open our dull ears t... | sonnet |
Rudyard Kipling | The Appeal | It I have given you delight
By aught that I have done,
Let me lie quiet in that night
Which shall be yours anon:
And for the little, little, span
The dead are born in mind,
Seek not to question other than
The books I leave behind. | It I have given you delight
By aught that I have done, | Let me lie quiet in that night
Which shall be yours anon:
And for the little, little, span
The dead are born in mind,
Seek not to question other than
The books I leave behind. | octave |
Richard Hunter | Ping-Pong. | Sing a song of Ping-pong,
Fast away he ran:
"Come along," said Ping-pong,
"Catch me if you can!"
Sing a song of Ping-pong,
Racquet and a ball:
"Come along," said Ping-pong,
"You can't run at all!" | Sing a song of Ping-pong,
Fast away he ran: | "Come along," said Ping-pong,
"Catch me if you can!"
Sing a song of Ping-pong,
Racquet and a ball:
"Come along," said Ping-pong,
"You can't run at all!" | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXCIII. Love And Matrimony. | Blue eye beauty,
Grey eye greedy,
Black eye blackie,
Brown eye brownie. | Blue eye beauty, | Grey eye greedy,
Black eye blackie,
Brown eye brownie. | quatrain |
John Milton | Sonnet to the Nightingale | O nightingale that on yon blooming spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O if Jove's will
Hav... | O nightingale that on yon blooming spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. | Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For m... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCXCVIII. Lullabies. | My dear cockadoodle, my jewel, my joy,
My darling, my honey, my pretty sweet boy;
Before I do rock thee with soft lullaby,
Give me thy dear lips to be kiss'd, kiss'd, kiss'd. | My dear cockadoodle, my jewel, my joy, | My darling, my honey, my pretty sweet boy;
Before I do rock thee with soft lullaby,
Give me thy dear lips to be kiss'd, kiss'd, kiss'd. | quatrain |
George MacDonald | To My Lord And Master | Imagination cannot rise above thee;
Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee;
My misery away from me I thrust it,
For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. | Imagination cannot rise above thee; | Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee;
My misery away from me I thrust it,
For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. | quatrain |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Dead | A knock is at her door, but she is weak;
Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek;
She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known,
And knows that he will find her all alone.
So opens he the door, and with soft tread
Goes straightway to the richly curtained bed.
His soft hand on her dewy head he lays.... | A knock is at her door, but she is weak;
Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek;
She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known,
And knows that he will find her all alone. | So opens he the door, and with soft tread
Goes straightway to the richly curtained bed.
His soft hand on her dewy head he lays.
A strange white light she gives him for his gaze.
Then, looking on the glory of her charms,
He crushes her resistless in his arms.
Stand back! look not upon this bold embrace,
Nor view the cal... | sonnet |
William Lisle Bowles | The Winds | When dark November bade the leaves adieu,
And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds,
Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew,
With garments streaming light, amid the clouds;
From adverse regions of the sky,
In dim succession, they went by.
The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed,
Blew from its brazen trum... | When dark November bade the leaves adieu,
And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds,
Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew,
With garments streaming light, amid the clouds; | From adverse regions of the sky,
In dim succession, they went by.
The first, as o'er the billowy deep he passed,
Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast.
Upon a beaked promontory high,
With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe,
Marked ye the father of the frowning year!
Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempest... | sonnet |
Michael Drayton | Amour 39 | Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,
If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue;
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue.
Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong:
O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue!
And with the swan record thy dying song,
And prai... | Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,
If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue;
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue. | Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong:
O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue!
And with the swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.
So in loues death shall loues perfection proue
That loue diuine which I haue borne to you,
By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,
That yet t... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Salutation. | Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say,
Sending them forth, Salute no man by th' way:
Not that He taught His ministers to be
Unsmooth or sour to all civility,
But to instruct them to avoid all snares
Of tardidation in the Lord's affairs.
Manners are good; but till His errand ends,
Salute we must nor strangers, k... | Christ, I have read, did to His chaplains say,
Sending them forth, Salute no man by th' way: | Not that He taught His ministers to be
Unsmooth or sour to all civility,
But to instruct them to avoid all snares
Of tardidation in the Lord's affairs.
Manners are good; but till His errand ends,
Salute we must nor strangers, kin, or friends. | octave |
Charles Hamilton Musgrove | Forgiven. | I might have met his anger with a smile
For so it was that I had set my heart
To mask deception with a wanton's guile,
And save the tears that now begin to start.
I might have worn my guilty crown of thorn,--
Yea, even worn it gladly like a prize;
But, oh! more bitter than his rage or scorn,
He left me with forgiveness... | I might have met his anger with a smile
For so it was that I had set my heart | To mask deception with a wanton's guile,
And save the tears that now begin to start.
I might have worn my guilty crown of thorn,--
Yea, even worn it gladly like a prize;
But, oh! more bitter than his rage or scorn,
He left me with forgiveness in his eyes. | octave |
Jonathan Swift | The Gulf Of All Human Possessions | Come hither, and behold the fruits,
Vain man! of all thy vain pursuits.
Take wise advice, and look behind,
Bring all past actions to thy mind.
Here you may see, as in a glass,
How soon all human pleasures pass;
How will it mortify thy pride,
To turn the true impartial side!
How will your eyes contain their tears,
When ... | Come hither, and behold the fruits,
Vain man! of all thy vain pursuits.
Take wise advice, and look behind,
Bring all past actions to thy mind.
Here you may see, as in a glass,
How soon all human pleasures pass;
How will it mortify thy pride,
To turn the true impartial side!
How will your eyes contain their tears,
When ... | For, while the bashful sylvan maid,
As half-ashamed and half-afraid,
Approaching finds it hard to part
With that which dwelt so near her heart;
The courtly dame, unmoved by fear,
Profusely pours her offering here.
A treasure here of learning lurks,
Huge heaps of never-dying works;
Labours of many an ancient sage,
And m... | free_verse |
John Byrom | Which Is Which | "God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender!
God bless, no harm in blessing, the Pretender.
But who pretender is, and who is king,
God bless us all, that's quite another thing." | "God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender! | God bless, no harm in blessing, the Pretender.
But who pretender is, and who is king,
God bless us all, that's quite another thing." | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Man Hunt | The woods stretch wild to the mountain-side,
And the brush is deep where a man may hide.
They have brought the bloodhounds up again
To the roadside rock where they found the slain.
They have brought the bloodhounds up, and they
Have taken the trail to the mountain way.
Three times they circled the trail and crossed,
An... | The woods stretch wild to the mountain-side,
And the brush is deep where a man may hide.
They have brought the bloodhounds up again
To the roadside rock where they found the slain.
They have brought the bloodhounds up, and they
Have taken the trail to the mountain way.
Three times they circled the trail and crossed,
An... | The man who crouches among the trees
From the stern-faced men who follow these.
A huddle of rocks that the ooze has mossed
And the trail of the hunted again is lost.
An upturned pebble; a bit of ground
A heel has trampled the trail is found.
And the woods re-echo the bloodhounds' bay
As again they take to the mountain ... | free_verse |
William Butler Yeats | Spilt Milk | We that have done and thought,
That have thought and done,
Must ramble, and thin out
Like milk spilt on a stone. | We that have done and thought, | That have thought and done,
Must ramble, and thin out
Like milk spilt on a stone. | quatrain |
George Pope Morris | Thy Will Be Done. | Searcher of Hearts!--from mine erase
All thoughts that should not be,
And in its deep recesses trace
My gratitude to Thee!
Hearer of Prayer!--oh, guide aright
Each word and deed of mine;
Life's battle teach me how to fight,
And be the victory Thine.
Giver of All!--for every good--
In the Redeemer came--
For raiment, sh... | Searcher of Hearts!--from mine erase
All thoughts that should not be,
And in its deep recesses trace
My gratitude to Thee!
Hearer of Prayer!--oh, guide aright | Each word and deed of mine;
Life's battle teach me how to fight,
And be the victory Thine.
Giver of All!--for every good--
In the Redeemer came--
For raiment, shelter, and for food,
I thank Thee in His name.
Father and Son and Holy Ghost!
Thou glorious Three in One!
Thou knowest best what I need most,
And let Thy will ... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | Mild Is The Parting Year | Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all. | Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray; | Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all. | octave |
Robert Herrick | Upon Prig. | Prig now drinks water, who before drank beer;
What's now the cause? we know the case is clear;
Look in Prig's purse, the chev'ril there tells you
Prig money wants, either to buy or brew.
| Prig now drinks water, who before drank beer; | What's now the cause? we know the case is clear;
Look in Prig's purse, the chev'ril there tells you
Prig money wants, either to buy or brew. | quatrain |
Louisa May Alcott | Listening To Celestial Lays | '"Listening to celestial lays,
Bending thy unclouded gaze
On the pure and living light,
Thou art blest, Aslauga's Knight!" | '"Listening to celestial lays, | Bending thy unclouded gaze
On the pure and living light,
Thou art blest, Aslauga's Knight!" | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | It Can't Be Summer, | It can't be summer, -- that got through;
It 's early yet for spring;
There 's that long town of white to cross
Before the blackbirds sing.
It can't be dying, -- it's too rouge, --
The dead shall go in white.
So sunset shuts my question down
With clasps of chrysolite. | It can't be summer, -- that got through;
It 's early yet for spring; | There 's that long town of white to cross
Before the blackbirds sing.
It can't be dying, -- it's too rouge, --
The dead shall go in white.
So sunset shuts my question down
With clasps of chrysolite. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | To The Lord Hopton, On His Fight In Cornwall. | Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that
Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at.
Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall,
And by that one blow set an end to all. | Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that | Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at.
Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall,
And by that one blow set an end to all. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 - I - 'A Poet'! He Hath Put His Heart To School | 'A poet'! He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which Art hath lodged within his hand must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveler sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have kille... | 'A poet'! He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which Art hath lodged within his hand must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule. | Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveler sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And s... | sonnet |
Victor-Marie Hugo | Apostrophe To Nature. | ("O Soleil!")
[Bk. II. iv., Anniversary of the Coup d''tat, 1852.]
O Sun! thou countenance divine!
Wild flowers of the glen,
Caves swoll'n with shadow, where sunshine
Has pierced not, far from men;
Ye sacred hills and antique rocks,
Ye oaks that worsted time,
Ye limpid lakes which snow-slide shocks
Hurl up in storms su... | ("O Soleil!")
[Bk. II. iv., Anniversary of the Coup d''tat, 1852.]
O Sun! thou countenance divine!
Wild flowers of the glen, | Caves swoll'n with shadow, where sunshine
Has pierced not, far from men;
Ye sacred hills and antique rocks,
Ye oaks that worsted time,
Ye limpid lakes which snow-slide shocks
Hurl up in storms sublime;
And sky above, unruflfed blue,
Chaste rills that alway ran
From stainless source a course still true,
What think ye of... | sonnet |
W. M. MacKeracher | Sonnet to ---- . | Journeying through a desert, waste and drear,
Exhausted and disheartened by his way,
So hard and parched, unchanged from day to day,
Saw the lone traveller an oasis near,
In which a tender flower did appear,
Endued with beauty and with fragrance sweet,
Known not to scorching winds nor blighting heat;
And gazing on it, ... | Journeying through a desert, waste and drear,
Exhausted and disheartened by his way,
So hard and parched, unchanged from day to day,
Saw the lone traveller an oasis near, | In which a tender flower did appear,
Endued with beauty and with fragrance sweet,
Known not to scorching winds nor blighting heat;
And gazing on it, it imparted cheer.
The traveller trod the weary sands of Time,
Entering thy home delightful peace he found;
Radiant with youthful beauty half divine,
On him thine angel fa... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Shelter. | The body grows outside, --
The more convenient way, --
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway
Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty. | The body grows outside, --
The more convenient way, -- | That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway
Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty. | octave |
James Whitcomb Riley | Dedication To Hewitt Hanson Howland With Halest Christmas Greetings And Fraternal | Little Boy! Halloo! - halloo!
Can't you hear me calling you? -
Little Boy that used to be,
Come in here and play with me. | Little Boy! Halloo! - halloo! | Can't you hear me calling you? -
Little Boy that used to be,
Come in here and play with me. | quatrain |
James Stephens | The Patriot's Bed (The Rocky Road To Dublin) | When a son you shall desire,
Pray to water and to fire;
But when you would have a daughter,
Pray to fire and then to water. | When a son you shall desire, | Pray to water and to fire;
But when you would have a daughter,
Pray to fire and then to water. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | The Little Filcher; Or, The Captiv'd Bee | As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower;
For some rich flower, he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he suck'd from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir;
So Julia took ... | As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower;
For some rich flower, he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he suck'd from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir;
So Julia took ... | And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t'excuse:
'Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much sirup ran at waste.
Besides, know this, I ne... | free_verse |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650): Epilogue | Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,
Found first among the nations: once, when she
Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee
Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death
Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:
More than thy place, then first among the free,
More than that so... | Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,
Found first among the nations: once, when she
Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee
Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death | Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:
More than thy place, then first among the free,
More than that sovereign lordship of the sea
Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth,
More than thy fiery guiding- star, which Drake
Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake,
More than all deeds wrought of thy ... | sonnet |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets CXIII - Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind | Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds wh... | Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out; | For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night:
The crow, ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | His Last Request To Julia | I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o'er-much the virgin's cheek or ear;--
Beg for my pardon, Julia! he doth win
Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come,
And go with me to chuse my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book... | I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o'er-much the virgin's cheek or ear;-- | Beg for my pardon, Julia! he doth win
Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come,
And go with me to chuse my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To The Nightingale And Robin Redbreast. | When I departed am, ring thou my knell,
Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel:
And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be
Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me. | When I departed am, ring thou my knell, | Thou pitiful and pretty Philomel:
And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be
Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me. | quatrain |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets XII - When I do count the clock that tells the time | When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bie... | When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; | When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fa... | sonnet |
Madison Julius Cawein | Leander To Hero. | I.
Brows wan thro' blue-black tresses
Wet with sharp rain and kisses;
Locks loose the sea-wind scatters,
Like torn wings fierce for flight;
Cold brows, whose sadness flatters,
One kiss and then - good-night.
II.
Can this thy love undo me
When in the heavy waves?
Nay; it must make unto me
Their groaning backs but slaves... | I.
Brows wan thro' blue-black tresses
Wet with sharp rain and kisses;
Locks loose the sea-wind scatters,
Like torn wings fierce for flight;
Cold brows, whose sadness flatters,
One kiss and then - good-night.
II.
Can this thy love undo me
When in the heavy waves?
Nay; it must make unto me
Their groaning backs but slaves... | To take me, even as now,
To drag me, their weak lover,
To caves where sirens hover,
Deep caves the dark waves cover,
Down! throat and hair and brow.
IV.
But in thy sleep shalt follow -
Thy bosom fierce to mine,
Long arms wound warm and hollow, -
In sleep, in sleep shalt follow, -
To save me from the brine;
Dim eyes ... | free_verse |
Walter De La Mare | Peak And Puke | From his cradle in the glamourie
They have stolen my wee brother,
Roused a changeling in his swaddlings
For to fret mine own poor mother.
Pules it in the candle light
Wi' a cheek so lean and white,
Chinkling up its eyne so wee,
Wailing shrill at her an' me.
It we'll neither rock nor tend
Till the Silent Silent send,
La... | From his cradle in the glamourie
They have stolen my wee brother,
Roused a changeling in his swaddlings
For to fret mine own poor mother.
Pules it in the candle light | Wi' a cheek so lean and white,
Chinkling up its eyne so wee,
Wailing shrill at her an' me.
It we'll neither rock nor tend
Till the Silent Silent send,
Lapping in their waesome arms
Him they stole with spells and charms,
Till they take this changeling creature
Back to its own fairy nature -
Cry! Cry! as long as may be,... | free_verse |
James Whitcomb Riley | At Aunty's House | One time, when we'z at Aunty's house -
'Way in the country! - where
They's ist but woods - an' pigs, an' cows -
An' all's out-doors an' air! -
An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees -
An' churries in 'em! - Yes, an' these -
Here red-head birds steals all they please,
An' tetch 'em ef you dare! -
W'y, wunst, one time, when... | One time, when we'z at Aunty's house -
'Way in the country! - where
They's ist but woods - an' pigs, an' cows -
An' all's out-doors an' air! -
An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees -
An' churries in 'em! - Yes, an' these -
Here red-head birds steals all they please,
An' tetch 'em ef you dare! -
W'y, wunst, one time, when... | Wite where the cellar-door wuz shut
The table wuz; an' I
Let Aunty set by me an' cut
My vittuls up - an' pie.
'Tuz awful funny! - I could see
The red-heads in the churry-tree;
An' bee-hives, where you got to be
So keerful, goin' by; -
An' "Comp'ny" there an' all! - an' we -
We et out on the porch!
An' I ist et p'surves... | free_verse |
William Cowper | Lines Written In An Album Of Miss Patty More's, Sister Of Hannah More. | In vain to live from age to age
While modern bards endeavour,
I write my name in Patty's page,
And gain my point for ever.
| In vain to live from age to age | While modern bards endeavour,
I write my name in Patty's page,
And gain my point for ever. | quatrain |
John Alexander McCrae | The Harvest of the Sea | The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-h... | The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves | Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep. | octave |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Tree-Toad | I
Secluded, solitary on some underbough,
Or cradled in a leaf, 'mid glimmering light,
Like Puck thou crouchest: Haply watching how
The slow toadstool comes bulging, moony white,
Through loosening loam; or how, against the night,
The glowworm gathers silver to endow
The darkness with; or how the dew conspires
To hang, a... | I
Secluded, solitary on some underbough,
Or cradled in a leaf, 'mid glimmering light,
Like Puck thou crouchest: Haply watching how
The slow toadstool comes bulging, moony white,
Through loosening loam; or how, against the night,
The glowworm gathers silver to endow
The darkness with; or how the dew conspires
To hang, a... | Thou gatherest up the silence in one shrill
Vibrating note and send'st it where, half hid
In cedars, twilight sleeps - each azure lid
Drooping a line of golden eyeball still. -
Afar, yet near, I hear thy dewy voice
Within the Garden of the Hours apoise
On dusk's deep daffodil.
III
Minstrel of moisture! silent when hig... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | Dying Speech Of An Old Philosopher | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart. | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife: | Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart. | quatrain |
Charles Sangster | Sonnet: - XX. | I sat within the temple of her heart,
And watched the living Soul as it passed through,
Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure.
The calm, immortal Presence made me start.
It searched through all the chambers of her mind
With one mild glance of love, and smiled to view
The fastnesses of feeling, strong - secure,
An... | I sat within the temple of her heart,
And watched the living Soul as it passed through,
Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure.
The calm, immortal Presence made me start. | It searched through all the chambers of her mind
With one mild glance of love, and smiled to view
The fastnesses of feeling, strong - secure,
And safe from all surprise. It sits enshrined
And offers incense in her heart, as on
An altar sacred unto God. The dawn
Of an imperishable love passed through
The lattice of my s... | sonnet |
Robert Burns | My Peggy's Face. | Tune - "My Peggy's Face."
I.
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heav'nly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.
II.
The lily's hue, the... | Tune - "My Peggy's Face."
I.
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind. | I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heav'nly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.
II.
The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway?
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The gen'rous purpose, nobly d... | free_verse |
Theodosia Garrison | Beauty | Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days,
The need to look on beauty falls on me
As on the blind the anguished wish to see,
As on the dumb the urge to rage or praise;
Beauty of marble where the eyes may gaze
Till soothed to peace by white serenity,
Or canvas where one master hand sets free
Great colours that like a... | Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days,
The need to look on beauty falls on me
As on the blind the anguished wish to see,
As on the dumb the urge to rage or praise; | Beauty of marble where the eyes may gaze
Till soothed to peace by white serenity,
Or canvas where one master hand sets free
Great colours that like angels blend and blaze.
O, there be many starved in this strange wise--
For this diviner food their days deny,
Knowing beyond their vision beauty stands
With pitying eyes--... | sonnet |
Paul Cameron Brown | Isles And Rivulets | On your brow, the steppes of Asia
are fetched by deep set eyes
A colouring distict with mystery
perceives the Polos greeting the Great Khan,
the golden isle of Ciphangu, the sultry east.
I revel in the mystery
of my warm, wet flower.
A pollen bee laden with honey
squirms, embraces with me,
in the abrupt opening of our ... | On your brow, the steppes of Asia
are fetched by deep set eyes
A colouring distict with mystery
perceives the Polos greeting the Great Khan,
the golden isle of Ciphangu, the sultry east.
I revel in the mystery
of my warm, wet flower. | A pollen bee laden with honey
squirms, embraces with me,
in the abrupt opening of our jar,
serrated edge of the known world.
The air, buoyed and elastic with pleasure, belongs to me.
Tawny, pale rose, your oriental skin
peels back
the tiny veils separating our cultures.
I peer in to find Confucian
lilac, towers of sile... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Puss And Her 'Prentice. Epig. | Puss and her 'prentice both at drawgloves play;
That done, they kiss, and so draw out the day:
At night they draw to supper; then well fed,
They draw their clothes off both, so draw to bed.
| Puss and her 'prentice both at drawgloves play; | That done, they kiss, and so draw out the day:
At night they draw to supper; then well fed,
They draw their clothes off both, so draw to bed. | quatrain |
John Greenleaf Whittier | The Battle Autumn Of 1862 | The flags of war like storm-birds fly,
The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
No earthquake strives below.
And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
Her ancient promise well,
Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps
The battle's breath of hell.
And still she walks in golden hours
Through harvest-happy... | The flags of war like storm-birds fly,
The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
No earthquake strives below.
And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
Her ancient promise well,
Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps
The battle's breath of hell.
And still she walks in golden hours
Through harvest-happy... | The mirth that shakes the beard of grain
And yellow locks of corn?
Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,
And hearts with hate are hot;
But even-paced come round the years,
And Nature changes not.
She meets with smiles our bitter grief,
With songs our groans of pain;
She mocks with tint of flower and leaf
The war-field's ... | free_verse |
Charles Baudelaire | Spleen | Pluvius, this whole city on his nerves,
Spills from his urn great waves of chilling rain
On graveyards' pallid inmates, and he pours
Mortality in gloomy district streets.
My restless cat goes scratching on the tiles
To make a litter for his scabby hide.
Some poet's phantom roams the gutter-spouts,
Moaning and whimperin... | Pluvius, this whole city on his nerves,
Spills from his urn great waves of chilling rain
On graveyards' pallid inmates, and he pours
Mortality in gloomy district streets. | My restless cat goes scratching on the tiles
To make a litter for his scabby hide.
Some poet's phantom roams the gutter-spouts,
Moaning and whimpering like a freezing soul.
A great bell wails-within, the smoking log
Pipes in falsetto to a wheezing clock,
And meanwhile, in a reeking deck of cards
Some dropsied crone's f... | sonnet |
George MacDonald | Song | She loves thee, loves thee not!
That, that is all, my heart.
Why should she take a part
In every selfish blot,
In every greedy spot
That now doth ache and smart
Because she loves thee not--
Not, not at all, poor heart!
Thou art no such dove-cot
Of virtues--no such chart
Of highways, though the dart
Of love be through t... | She loves thee, loves thee not!
That, that is all, my heart.
Why should she take a part
In every selfish blot, | In every greedy spot
That now doth ache and smart
Because she loves thee not--
Not, not at all, poor heart!
Thou art no such dove-cot
Of virtues--no such chart
Of highways, though the dart
Of love be through thee shot!
Why should she not love not
Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart? | sonnet |
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