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Robert Herrick | Lip-Labour. | In the old Scripture I have often read,
The calf without meal ne'er was offered;
To figure to us nothing more than this,
Without the heart lip-labour nothing is. | In the old Scripture I have often read, | The calf without meal ne'er was offered;
To figure to us nothing more than this,
Without the heart lip-labour nothing is. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Pray And Prosper | First offer incense; then, thy field and meads
Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads.
The spangling dew dredged o'er the grass shall be
Turn'd all to mell and manna there for thee.
Butter of amber, cream, and wine, and oil,
Shall run as rivers all throughout thy soil.
Would'st thou to sincere silver turn thy mo... | First offer incense; then, thy field and meads
Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads. | The spangling dew dredged o'er the grass shall be
Turn'd all to mell and manna there for thee.
Butter of amber, cream, and wine, and oil,
Shall run as rivers all throughout thy soil.
Would'st thou to sincere silver turn thy mould?
Pray once, twice pray; and turn thy ground to gold. | octave |
William Wordsworth | When Philoctetes In The Lemnian Isle | When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle
Like a form sculptured on a monument
Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent
Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile
The rigid features of a transient smile,
Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent,
Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment
From his loved home, and fro... | When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle
Like a form sculptured on a monument
Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent
Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile | The rigid features of a transient smile,
Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent,
Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment
From his loved home, and from heroic toil.
And trust that spiritual Creatures round us move,
Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal;
Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove
To fettere... | sonnet |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCXCI. Lullabies. | Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green;
Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen;
And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring;
And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king. | Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green; | Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen;
And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring;
And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king. | quatrain |
Charles Baudelaire | N'est ce pas qu'il est doux | Is it not pleasant, now we are tired,
and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires
in the furthest East, where, again, we might see
morning's new dawn, and, in mad history,
hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs
of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives? | Is it not pleasant, now we are tired,
and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires | in the furthest East, where, again, we might see
morning's new dawn, and, in mad history,
hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs
of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives? | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Comely, A Good Speaker But An Ill Singer. Epig. | Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part,
He doth it with the sweetest tones of art:
But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be
More curs'd for singing out of tune than he. | Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part, | He doth it with the sweetest tones of art:
But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be
More curs'd for singing out of tune than he. | quatrain |
Henry Kendall | A Mountain Spring | Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the 'wildering wings of rain
Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat,
And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain;
But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain,
Year after year, the days of tender heat,
And gracious nights, whose lips with flowers are ... | Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the 'wildering wings of rain
Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat,
And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain; | But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain,
Year after year, the days of tender heat,
And gracious nights, whose lips with flowers are sweet,
And filtered lights, and lutes of soft refrain.
A still, bright pool. To men I may not tell
The secret that its heart of water knows,
The story of a loved and lost repose;
Ye... | sonnet |
William Wordsworth | Picture Of Daniel In The Lions' Den, At Hamilton Palace | Amid a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well did it become
The ducal Owner, in his palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;
Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood
(Couched in their den) with those that roam at large
Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while... | Amid a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well did it become
The ducal Owner, in his palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood; | Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood
(Couched in their den) with those that roam at large
Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while they roar for food.
Satiate are 'these'; and stilled to eye and ear;
Hence, while we gaze, a more enduring fear!
Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the ... | sonnet |
Robert Fuller Murray | On An Edinburgh Advocate | In youth with diligence he toiled
A Roman nose to gain,
But though a decent pug was spoiled,
A pug it did remain. | In youth with diligence he toiled | A Roman nose to gain,
But though a decent pug was spoiled,
A pug it did remain. | quatrain |
Jonathan Swift | Fabula Canis Et Umbrae | ORE cibum portans catulus dum spectat in undis,
Apparet liquido praedae melioris imago:
Dum speciosa diu damna admiratur, et alt'
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice praeceps
Ore cibus, nee non simulacrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avidus deceptis faucibus umbram;
Illudit species, ac dentibus a'ra mordet. | ORE cibum portans catulus dum spectat in undis,
Apparet liquido praedae melioris imago: | Dum speciosa diu damna admiratur, et alt'
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice praeceps
Ore cibus, nee non simulacrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avidus deceptis faucibus umbram;
Illudit species, ac dentibus a'ra mordet. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | To Mistress Dorothy Parsons. | If thou ask me, dear, wherefore
I do write of thee no more,
I must answer, sweet, thy part
Less is here than in my heart. | If thou ask me, dear, wherefore | I do write of thee no more,
I must answer, sweet, thy part
Less is here than in my heart. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | The Dream | This was my dream:
It seemed the afternoon
Of some deep tropic day; and yet the moon
Stood round and bright with golden alchemy
High in a heaven bluer than the sea.
Long lawny lengths of perishable cloud
Hung in a west o'er rolling forests bowed;
Clouds raining colours, gold and violet,
That, opening, seemed from mysti... | This was my dream:
It seemed the afternoon
Of some deep tropic day; and yet the moon
Stood round and bright with golden alchemy
High in a heaven bluer than the sea.
Long lawny lengths of perishable cloud
Hung in a west o'er rolling forests bowed;
Clouds raining colours, gold and violet,
That, opening, seemed from mysti... | And all about me fruited orchards grew,
Pear, quince and peach, and plums of dusty blue;
Rose-apricots and apples streaked with fire,
Kissed into ripeness by the sun's desire
And big with juice. And on far, fading hills,
Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rills
Flashed rushing silver, vines and vines and vines
Of p... | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Content, Not Cates. | 'Tis not the food, but the content
That makes the table's merriment.
Where trouble serves the board, we eat
The platters there as soon as meat.
A little pipkin with a bit
Of mutton or of veal in it,
Set on my table, trouble-free,
More than a feast contenteth me. | 'Tis not the food, but the content
That makes the table's merriment. | Where trouble serves the board, we eat
The platters there as soon as meat.
A little pipkin with a bit
Of mutton or of veal in it,
Set on my table, trouble-free,
More than a feast contenteth me. | octave |
John Clare | The Last Of April. | Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn
Her death-bed steeps in tears:--to hail the May
New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born,
And all poor April's charms are swept away.
The early primrose, peeping once so gay,
Is now chok'd up with many a mounting weed,
And the poor violet we once admir'd
Creeps in the grass ... | Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn
Her death-bed steeps in tears:--to hail the May
New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born,
And all poor April's charms are swept away. | The early primrose, peeping once so gay,
Is now chok'd up with many a mounting weed,
And the poor violet we once admir'd
Creeps in the grass unsought for--flowers succeed,
Gaudy and new, and more to be desired,
And of the old the school-boy seemeth tired.
So with us all, poor April, as with thee!
Each hath his day;--th... | sonnet |
Henry Austin Dobson | A Roman "Round-Robin." | ("His Friends" To Quintus Horatius Flaccus.)
"H'c decies repetita [non] placebit."--Ars Poetica.
Flaccus, you write us charming songs:
No bard we know possesses
In such perfection what belongs
To brief and bright addresses;
No man can say that Life is short
With mien so little fretful;
No man to Virtue's paths exhort
I... | ("His Friends" To Quintus Horatius Flaccus.)
"H'c decies repetita [non] placebit."--Ars Poetica.
Flaccus, you write us charming songs:
No bard we know possesses
In such perfection what belongs
To brief and bright addresses;
No man can say that Life is short
With mien so little fretful;
No man to Virtue's paths exhort
I... | And then delightfully digress
From Alp to Adriatic:
All this is well, no doubt, and tends
Barbarian minds to soften;
But, HORACE--we, we are your friends--
Why tell us this so often?
Why feign to spread a cheerful feast,
And then thrust in our faces
These barren scraps (to say the least)
Of Stoic common-places?
Recount... | free_verse |
Margaret J. Preston | Jackson. A Sonnet. | Thank God for such a Hero! - Fearless hold
His diamond character beneath the sun,
And brighter scintillations, one by one,
Come flashing from it. Never knight of old
Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold,
Diviner courage: never martyr knew
Trust more sublime, - nor patriot, zeal more true, -
Nor saint, self-abnegati... | Thank God for such a Hero! - Fearless hold
His diamond character beneath the sun,
And brighter scintillations, one by one,
Come flashing from it. Never knight of old | Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold,
Diviner courage: never martyr knew
Trust more sublime, - nor patriot, zeal more true, -
Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould
Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare,
Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul
Such lambent lustre, owned but one sole aim, -
Not for ... | sonnet |
Bret Harte (Francis) | What the Chimney Sang | Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And t... | Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew; | And the Children said, as they closer drew,
''Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,
'Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, 'It w... | free_verse |
Vachel Lindsay | Love and Law | True Love is founded in rocks of Remembrance
In stones of Forbearance and mortar of Pain.
The workman lays wearily granite on granite,
And bleeds for his castle 'mid sunshine and rain.
Love is not velvet, not all of it velvet,
Not all of it banners, not gold-leaf alone.
'Tis stern as the ages and old as Religion.
With ... | True Love is founded in rocks of Remembrance
In stones of Forbearance and mortar of Pain. | The workman lays wearily granite on granite,
And bleeds for his castle 'mid sunshine and rain.
Love is not velvet, not all of it velvet,
Not all of it banners, not gold-leaf alone.
'Tis stern as the ages and old as Religion.
With Patience its watchword, and Law for its throne. | octave |
John Keats | Sonnet X: To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent | To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and langu... | To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament. | Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel, an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon h... | sonnet |
Alexander Pope | Epigram On The Toasts Of The Kit-Cat Club, Anno 1716. | Whence deathless 'Kit-cat' took its name,
Few critics can unriddle:
Some say from 'pastrycook' it came,
And some, from 'cat' and 'fiddle.'
From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits;
But from this pell-mell pack of toasts
Of old 'cats' and young 'kits.' | Whence deathless 'Kit-cat' took its name,
Few critics can unriddle: | Some say from 'pastrycook' it came,
And some, from 'cat' and 'fiddle.'
From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits;
But from this pell-mell pack of toasts
Of old 'cats' and young 'kits.' | octave |
Thomas Hardy | Her Reproach | Con the dead page as 'twere live love: press on!
Cold wisdom's words will ease thy track for thee;
Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and leave me wan
To biting blasts that are intent on me.
But if thy object Fame's far summits be,
Whose inclines many a skeleton o'erlies
That missed both dream and substance, stop and see
Ho... | Con the dead page as 'twere live love: press on!
Cold wisdom's words will ease thy track for thee;
Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and leave me wan
To biting blasts that are intent on me.
But if thy object Fame's far summits be, | Whose inclines many a skeleton o'erlies
That missed both dream and substance, stop and see
How absence wears these cheeks and dims these eyes!
It surely is far sweeter and more wise
To water love, than toil to leave anon
A name whose glory-gleam will but advise
Invidious minds to quench it with their own,
And over whic... | free_verse |
James Whitcomb Riley | A Very Youthful Affair | I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week
To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,
An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,
An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at. | I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week | To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,
An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,
An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at. | quatrain |
Archibald Lampman | The Poet's Possession | Think not, oh master of the well-tilled field,
This earth is only thine; for after thee,
When all is sown and gathered and put by,
Comes the grave poet with creative eye,
And from these silent acres and clean plots,
Bids with his wand the fancied after-yield,
A second tilth and second harvest, be,
The crop of images an... | Think not, oh master of the well-tilled field,
This earth is only thine; for after thee, | When all is sown and gathered and put by,
Comes the grave poet with creative eye,
And from these silent acres and clean plots,
Bids with his wand the fancied after-yield,
A second tilth and second harvest, be,
The crop of images and curious thoughts. | octave |
William Wordsworth | To A Child - Written In Her Album | Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest Friends, bright Creature! scorn not one:
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun. | Small service is true service while it lasts: | Of humblest Friends, bright Creature! scorn not one:
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun. | quatrain |
Henry Kendall | On the Paroo | As when the strong stream of a wintering sea
Rolls round our coast, with bodeful breaks of storm,
And swift salt rain, and bitter wind that saith
Wild things and woeful of the White South Land
Alone with God and silence in the cold
As when this cometh, men from dripping doors
Look forth, and shudder for the mariners
Ab... | As when the strong stream of a wintering sea
Rolls round our coast, with bodeful breaks of storm,
And swift salt rain, and bitter wind that saith
Wild things and woeful of the White South Land
Alone with God and silence in the cold
As when this cometh, men from dripping doors
Look forth, and shudder for the mariners
Ab... | When fierce sleep caught them in the camps at rest,
And violent darkness gripped the life in them
And whelmed them, as an eagle unawares
Is whelmed and slaughtered in a sudden snare.
All murdered by the blacks; smit while they lay
In silver dreams, and with the far, faint fall
Of many waters breaking on their sleep!
Ye... | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | The Island Of Endless Play | Said Willie to Tom, 'Let us hie away
To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.
It lies off the border of "No School Land,"
And abounds with pleasure, I understand.
There boys go swimming whenever they please
In a lovely river right under the trees.
And marbles are free, so you need not buy;
And kites of all sizes are re... | Said Willie to Tom, 'Let us hie away
To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.
It lies off the border of "No School Land,"
And abounds with pleasure, I understand.
There boys go swimming whenever they please
In a lovely river right under the trees.
And marbles are free, so you need not buy;
And kites of all sizes are re... | Books are not known in that land so fair,
Teachers are stoned if they set foot there.
Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free,
That is the country for you and me.'
So away went Willie and Tom together
On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather,
And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze
Right into the harbour of 'D... | free_verse |
William Shakespeare | The Sonnets LXXXIII - I never saw that you did painting need | I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, ... | I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet's debt: | And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would g... | sonnet |
Mark Lemon | How To Make A Man Of Consequence | A brow austere, a circumspective eye.
A frequent shrug of the os humeri;
A nod significant, a stately gait,
A blustering manner, and a tone of weight,
A smile sarcastic, an expressive stare:
Adopt all these, as time and place will bear;
Then rest assur'd that those of little sense
Will deem you sure a man of consequenc... | A brow austere, a circumspective eye.
A frequent shrug of the os humeri; | A nod significant, a stately gait,
A blustering manner, and a tone of weight,
A smile sarcastic, an expressive stare:
Adopt all these, as time and place will bear;
Then rest assur'd that those of little sense
Will deem you sure a man of consequence. | octave |
Michael Earls | The Countersign | Along Virginia's wondering roads
While armies hastened on,
To Beauregard's great Southern host,
Manassas fields upon,
Came Colonel Smith's good regiment,
Eager for Washington.
But Colonel Smith must halt his men
In a dangerous delay,
Though well he knows the countryside
To the distant host of grey.
He cannot join with ... | Along Virginia's wondering roads
While armies hastened on,
To Beauregard's great Southern host,
Manassas fields upon,
Came Colonel Smith's good regiment,
Eager for Washington.
But Colonel Smith must halt his men
In a dangerous delay,
Though well he knows the countryside
To the distant host of grey. | He cannot join with Beauregard
For Bull Run's bloody fray.
And does he halt for storm or ford,
Or does he stay to dine?
Say, No! but death will meet his men,
Onward if moves the line:
He dares not hurry to Beauregard,
Not knowing the countersign.
Flashed in the sun his waving sword;
"Who rides for me?" he cried,
"And a... | free_verse |
William Lisle Bowles | Distant View Of England From The Sea | Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,
As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight
Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white
Above the wave, once more my beating heart
With eager hope and filial transport hails!
Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring,
As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring
Joyo... | Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,
As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight
Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white
Above the wave, once more my beating heart | With eager hope and filial transport hails!
Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring,
As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring
Joyous awoke amidst your hawthorn vales,
And filled with fragrance every village lane:
Fled are those hours, and all the joys they gave!
Yet still I gaze, and count each rising wave
That ... | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | Upon Peason. Epig. | Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears,
Not for to hide his high and mighty ears;
No, but because he would not have it seen
That stubble stands where once large ears have been. | Long locks of late our zealot Peason wears, | Not for to hide his high and mighty ears;
No, but because he would not have it seen
That stubble stands where once large ears have been. | quatrain |
Madison Julius Cawein | A Coign Of The Forest | The hills hang woods around, where green, below
Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees, mats the moss,
Crisp with the brittle hulls of last year's nuts;
The water hums one bar there; and a glow
Of gold lies steady where the trailers toss
Red, bugled blossoms and a rock abuts;
In spots the wild-phlox and oxalis grow
Where b... | The hills hang woods around, where green, below
Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees, mats the moss,
Crisp with the brittle hulls of last year's nuts;
The water hums one bar there; and a glow
Of gold lies steady where the trailers toss
Red, bugled blossoms and a rock abuts;
In spots the wild-phlox and oxalis grow
Where b... | And where the sumach brakes grow dusk and dense,
Among the rocks, great yellow violets,
Blue-bells and wind-flowers bloom; the agaric
In dampness crowds; a Fungus, thick, intense
With gold and crimson and wax-white, that sets
The May-apples along the terraced creek
At bold defiance. Where the old rail-fence
Divides the... | free_verse |
James McIntyre | Brantford. | In these sketches of towns in Southern Ontario we are not vain enough to suppose that because we have produced some lines thereon that said rhymes are poetry. If we furnish an occasional poetic gleam like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun, it is all we dare hope for.
Brantford as thriving city's famed,
And after Indian Ch... | In these sketches of towns in Southern Ontario we are not vain enough to suppose that because we have produced some lines thereon that said rhymes are poetry. If we furnish an occasional poetic gleam like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun, it is all we dare hope for.
Brantford as thriving city's famed,
And after Indian Ch... | The cruelties of monster Brant.
But the Chief's son to England went
And Campbell to him did lament,
And all the tale he did recant
About cruel butcheries of Brant.
Now pleasant thoughts it doth awake
When Brantford thinks of her namesake,
She evermore with pride will chant
The bold heroic name of Brant.
We sing of two ... | free_verse |
Philip Sidney (Sir) | Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LXXXIII | Good brother Philip, I haue borne you long;
I was content you should in fauour creepe,
While craftely you seem'd your cut to keepe,
As though that faire soft hand did you great wrong:
I bare with enuie, yet I bare your song,
When in her necke you did loue-ditties peepe;
Nay (more foole I) oft suffred you to sleepe
In l... | Good brother Philip, I haue borne you long;
I was content you should in fauour creepe,
While craftely you seem'd your cut to keepe,
As though that faire soft hand did you great wrong: | I bare with enuie, yet I bare your song,
When in her necke you did loue-ditties peepe;
Nay (more foole I) oft suffred you to sleepe
In lillies neast where Loues selfe lies along.
What, doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is sawcinesse reward of curtesie?
Cannot such grace your silly selfe content,
But you must ... | sonnet |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | To The River Charles. | River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!
Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.
Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep... | River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!
Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.
Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep... | I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.
And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.
Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
T... | free_verse |
Vachel Lindsay | To Reformers in Despair | 'Tis not too late to build our young land right,
Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan,
Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers,
Hearths that will recreate the breed called man. | 'Tis not too late to build our young land right, | Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan,
Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers,
Hearths that will recreate the breed called man. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | To Roses In Julia's Bosom. | Roses, you can never die,
Since the place wherein ye lie,
Heat and moisture mix'd are so
As to make ye ever grow. | Roses, you can never die, | Since the place wherein ye lie,
Heat and moisture mix'd are so
As to make ye ever grow. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Hanch, A Schoolmaster. Epig. | Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife,
He weeps and sighs, as weary of his life.
Say, is't for real grief he mourns? not so;
Tears have their springs from joy, as well as woe. | Hanch, since he lately did inter his wife, | He weeps and sighs, as weary of his life.
Say, is't for real grief he mourns? not so;
Tears have their springs from joy, as well as woe. | quatrain |
Rudyard Kipling | The Rout Of The White Hussars | It was not in the open fight
We threw away the sword,
But in the lonely watching
In the darkness by the ford.
The waters lapped, the night-wind blew,
Full-armed the Fear was born and grew,
And we were flying ere we knew
From panic in the night. | It was not in the open fight
We threw away the sword, | But in the lonely watching
In the darkness by the ford.
The waters lapped, the night-wind blew,
Full-armed the Fear was born and grew,
And we were flying ere we knew
From panic in the night. | octave |
Charles Baudelaire | The Cat | Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Please let your claws be concealed.
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Coalescence of agate and steel.
When my leisurely fingers are stroking your head
And your body's elasticity,
And my hand becomes drunk with the pleasure it finds
In the feel of electricity,
My woman c... | Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Please let your claws be concealed.
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Coalescence of agate and steel. | When my leisurely fingers are stroking your head
And your body's elasticity,
And my hand becomes drunk with the pleasure it finds
In the feel of electricity,
My woman comes into my mind. Her regard
Like your own, my agreeable beast,
Is deep and is cold, and it splits like a spear,
And, from her head to her feet,
A subt... | sonnet |
Hattie Howard | Storm-bound. | My careful plans all storm-subdued,
In disappointing solitude
The weary hours began;
And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
Marked only by the passing tread
Of some pedestrian.
But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
A fairy scene I looked upon
That filled me with delight;
Far-reaching from my own abode,
The world in mat... | My careful plans all storm-subdued,
In disappointing solitude
The weary hours began;
And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
Marked only by the passing tread
Of some pedestrian.
But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
A fairy scene I looked upon
That filled me with delight;
Far-reaching from my own abode,
The world in mat... | Beyond the line where wayside posts
Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts
Of awful form and mien,
A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,
A seeming castle fortified,
Uprose in wondrous sheen.
The evergreens loomed up before
My staunch and storm-defying door,
Like snowy palaces
That one dare only penetrate
With reverence - ... | free_verse |
Lewis Carroll | Epilogue To Through The Looking Glass | A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July,
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear,
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise
Alice moving under skies
Nev... | A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July,
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear,
Long has paled that sunny sky: | Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever... | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | At Least To Pray Is Left, Is Left. | At least to pray is left, is left.
O Jesus! in the air
I know not which thy chamber is, --
I 'm knocking everywhere.
Thou stirrest earthquake in the South,
And maelstrom in the sea;
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
Hast thou no arm for me? | At least to pray is left, is left.
O Jesus! in the air | I know not which thy chamber is, --
I 'm knocking everywhere.
Thou stirrest earthquake in the South,
And maelstrom in the sea;
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
Hast thou no arm for me? | octave |
Robert Herrick | God Has A Twofold Part. | God, when for sin He makes His children smart,
His own He acts not, but another's part;
But when by stripes He saves them, then 'tis known
He comes to play the part that is His own. | God, when for sin He makes His children smart, | His own He acts not, but another's part;
But when by stripes He saves them, then 'tis known
He comes to play the part that is His own. | quatrain |
Paul Bewsher | Cloud Thoughts | Above the clouds I sail, above the clouds,
And wish my mind
Above its clouds could climb as well,
And leave behind
The world and all its crowds,
And ever dwell
In such a calm and limpid solitude
With ne'er a breath unkind or harsh or rude
To break the spell -
With ne'er a thought to drive away
The golden splendour of ... | Above the clouds I sail, above the clouds,
And wish my mind
Above its clouds could climb as well,
And leave behind | The world and all its crowds,
And ever dwell
In such a calm and limpid solitude
With ne'er a breath unkind or harsh or rude
To break the spell -
With ne'er a thought to drive away
The golden splendour of the day.
Alone and lost beneath the tranquil blue,
My God! With you!
Written in an Aeroplane. | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Soul. | When once the soul has lost her way,
O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night! | When once the soul has lost her way, | O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night! | quatrain |
William Cowper | On The Queen's Visit To London. The Night Of The Seventeenth Of March 1789. | When, long sequester'd from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign,
Then loyalty, with all his lamps
New trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.
'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares
Which form'd the chief display... | When, long sequester'd from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign,
Then loyalty, with all his lamps
New trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.
'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares
Which form'd the chief display... | Where George, recover'd, made a scene
Sweet always, doubly sweet.
Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescried,
How much the object of her love
Was loved by all beside.
Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her design'
Darkness, O Queen! ne'er called before
To veil a deed of thine!
On borrow'd wh... | free_verse |
Thomas Moore | Epigram. From The French. | "I never gave a kiss (says Prue),
"To naughty man, for I abhor it."
She will not give a kiss, 'tis true;
She'll take one though, and thank you for it. | "I never gave a kiss (says Prue), | "To naughty man, for I abhor it."
She will not give a kiss, 'tis true;
She'll take one though, and thank you for it. | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | North And South. | The Jews their beds and offices of ease,
Placed north and south for these clean purposes;
That man's uncomely froth might not molest
God's ways and walks, which lie still east and west. | The Jews their beds and offices of ease, | Placed north and south for these clean purposes;
That man's uncomely froth might not molest
God's ways and walks, which lie still east and west. | quatrain |
Matthew Arnold | The World's Triumphs | So far as I conceive the World's rebuke
To him address'd who would recast her new,
Not from herself her fame of strength she took,
But from their weakness, who would work her rue.
'Behold,' she cries, 'so many rages lull'd,
So many fiery spirits quite cool'd down:
Look how so many valours, long undull'd,
After short co... | So far as I conceive the World's rebuke
To him address'd who would recast her new,
Not from herself her fame of strength she took,
But from their weakness, who would work her rue. | 'Behold,' she cries, 'so many rages lull'd,
So many fiery spirits quite cool'd down:
Look how so many valours, long undull'd,
After short commerce with me, fear my frown.
Thou too, when thou against my crimes wouldst cry,
Let thy foreboded homage check thy tongue.'
The World speaks well: yet might her foe reply
'Are wi... | sonnet |
Robert Fuller Murray | A Song Of Greek Prose | Thrice happy are those
Who ne'er heard of Greek Prose--
Or Greek Poetry either, as far as that goes;
For Liddell and Scott
Shall cumber them not,
Nor Sargent nor Sidgwick shall break their repose.
But I, late at night,
By the very bad light
Of very bad gas, must painfully write
Some stuff that a Greek
With his delicate... | Thrice happy are those
Who ne'er heard of Greek Prose--
Or Greek Poetry either, as far as that goes;
For Liddell and Scott
Shall cumber them not,
Nor Sargent nor Sidgwick shall break their repose.
But I, late at night,
By the very bad light
Of very bad gas, must painfully write
Some stuff that a Greek | With his delicate cheek
Would smile at as 'barbarous'--faith, he well might.
For when it is done,
I doubt if, for one,
I myself could explain how the meaning might run;
And as for the style--
Well, it's hardly worth while
To talk about style, where style there is none.
It was all very fine
For a poet divine
Like Byron,... | free_verse |
Sara Teasdale | In A Cuban Garden | Hibiscus flowers are cups of fire,
(Love me, my lover, life will not stay)
The bright poinsettia shakes in the wind,
A scarlet leaf is blowing away.
A lizard lifts his head and listens
Kiss me before the noon goes by,
Here in the shade of the ceiba hide me
From the great black vulture circling the sky. | Hibiscus flowers are cups of fire,
(Love me, my lover, life will not stay) | The bright poinsettia shakes in the wind,
A scarlet leaf is blowing away.
A lizard lifts his head and listens
Kiss me before the noon goes by,
Here in the shade of the ceiba hide me
From the great black vulture circling the sky. | free_verse |
Thomas Runciman | Sonnet. | She scanned the record of Beethoven's thought,
And made the dumb chords speak both clear and low,
And spread the dead man's voice till I was caught
Away, and now seemed long and long ago.
Methought in Tellus' bosom still I lay,
While centuries like steeds tramped overhead,
To the wild rhythms that, by night and day,
Fr... | She scanned the record of Beethoven's thought,
And made the dumb chords speak both clear and low,
And spread the dead man's voice till I was caught
Away, and now seemed long and long ago. | Methought in Tellus' bosom still I lay,
While centuries like steeds tramped overhead,
To the wild rhythms that, by night and day,
From nature and man's passions still are made.
The music of their motion as they pranced
Lulled me to flawless ease as of a God;
Never upon me pain or pleasure chanced;
Unknown the dew of bl... | sonnet |
Sara Teasdale | Chance | How many times we must have met
Here on the street as strangers do,
Children of chance we were, who passed
The door of heaven and never knew. | How many times we must have met | Here on the street as strangers do,
Children of chance we were, who passed
The door of heaven and never knew. | quatrain |
Edward Smyth Jones | Put Nothing In Another's Way | Put nothing in another's way,
Who's plodding on through life,
But fill each heart with joy each day,
With peace instead of strife.
So then let not a missent word,
Or thought, or act, or deed
Be by our weaker brother heard
To cause his heart to bleed.
Put nothing in another's way,
It clear and ample leave;
For words and... | Put nothing in another's way,
Who's plodding on through life,
But fill each heart with joy each day,
With peace instead of strife.
So then let not a missent word,
Or thought, or act, or deed
Be by our weaker brother heard
To cause his heart to bleed.
Put nothing in another's way,
It clear and ample leave;
For words and... | That we are solely free
In manners, dress, in food, or drink,
Or fulsome revelry.
Put nothing in another's way,
Just learn the Christian part
To let a holy, sunny ray
Shine in thy brother's heart.
Help him to bear his load of care,
His soul get edified -
'Twas only for the soul's welfare
That Jesus bled and died.
Put ... | free_verse |
Edward Powys Mathers (As Translator) | Because The Good Are Never Fair | When she appears the daylight envies her garment,
The wanton daylight envies her garment
To show it to the jealous sun.
And when she walks,
All women tall and tiny
Want her figure and start crying.
Because of your mouth,
Long life to the Agata valley,
Long life to pearls.
Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheek... | When she appears the daylight envies her garment,
The wanton daylight envies her garment
To show it to the jealous sun.
And when she walks, | All women tall and tiny
Want her figure and start crying.
Because of your mouth,
Long life to the Agata valley,
Long life to pearls.
Watchers have discovered paradise in your cheeks,
But I am undecided,
For there is a hint of the tops of flames
In their purple shining.
From the Arabic of Ahmed Bey Chawky (contemporary)... | sonnet |
Walter Crane | Puss At Court | "Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?"
"I've been to London to look at the Queen."
"Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?"
"I caught a little mouse under the chair." | "Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?" | "I've been to London to look at the Queen."
"Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?"
"I caught a little mouse under the chair." | quatrain |
Rupert Brooke | Town And Country | Here, where love's stuff is body, arm and side
Are stabbing-sweet 'gainst chair and lamp and wall.
In every touch more intimate meanings hide;
And flaming brains are the white heart of all.
Here, million pulses to one centre beat:
Closed in by men's vast friendliness, alone,
Two can be drunk with solitude, and meet
On ... | Here, where love's stuff is body, arm and side
Are stabbing-sweet 'gainst chair and lamp and wall.
In every touch more intimate meanings hide;
And flaming brains are the white heart of all.
Here, million pulses to one centre beat:
Closed in by men's vast friendliness, alone,
Two can be drunk with solitude, and meet
On ... | And roar, and glare, and dust, and myriad white
Undying passers, pinnacle and crown
Intensest heavens between close-lying faces
By the lamp's airless fierce ecstatic fire;
And we've found love in little hidden places,
Under great shades, between the mist and mire.
Stay! though the woods are quiet, and you've heard
Nigh... | free_verse |
Francis William Lauderdale Adams | Dai Butsu. {70} | He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest
The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings
Touch on the shoulders where the shadow clings.
The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast;
The face - that face one scarce can look on lest
One learn the secret of unspeakable things;
But the dread gaze descends with shudderings,... | He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest
The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings
Touch on the shoulders where the shadow clings.
The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast; | The face - that face one scarce can look on lest
One learn the secret of unspeakable things;
But the dread gaze descends with shudderings,
To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed.
O lidded, downcast eyes that bear the weight
Of all our woes and terrible wrong's increase:
Proud nostrils, lips pro... | sonnet |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | The Transvaal | Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too long
Have sloth and doubt and treason bidden us be
What Cromwell's England was not, when the sea
To him bore witness given of Blake how strong
She stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrong
From foes less vile than men like wolves set free
Whose war is waged where none may figh... | Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too long
Have sloth and doubt and treason bidden us be
What Cromwell's England was not, when the sea
To him bore witness given of Blake how strong | She stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrong
From foes less vile than men like wolves set free
Whose war is waged where none may fight or flee
With women and with weanlings. Speech and song
Lack utterance now for loathing. Scarce we hear
Foul tongues that blacken God's dishonoured name
With prayers turned curses and w... | sonnet |
James Whitcomb Riley | A Song By Uncle Sidney | O were I not a clod, intent
On being just an earthly thing,
I'd be that rare embodiment
Of Heart and Spirit, Voice and Wing,
With pure, ecstatic, rapture-sent,
Divinely-tender twittering
That Echo swoons to re-present, -
A bluebird in the Spring. | O were I not a clod, intent
On being just an earthly thing, | I'd be that rare embodiment
Of Heart and Spirit, Voice and Wing,
With pure, ecstatic, rapture-sent,
Divinely-tender twittering
That Echo swoons to re-present, -
A bluebird in the Spring. | octave |
William Hayley | Hymn. | Since the Evening of Life will soon close,
While I live, may I justly incline
To diffuse peace of heart among those,
Whose lives may be guided by mine!
To Christ may I lead them to own
The charms of his tender controul,
And with gratitude gaze on His throne.
Whom to serve is the joy of the soul! | Since the Evening of Life will soon close,
While I live, may I justly incline | To diffuse peace of heart among those,
Whose lives may be guided by mine!
To Christ may I lead them to own
The charms of his tender controul,
And with gratitude gaze on His throne.
Whom to serve is the joy of the soul! | octave |
Bj'rnstjerne Martinius Bj'rnson | Hymn Of The Puritans (From Maria Stuart) | Arm me, Lord, my strength redouble,
Heaven open, heed my trouble!
God, if my cause Thine shall be,
Grant a day of victory!
Fell all Thy foes now!
Fell all Thy foes now!
Roll forth Thy thunders, Thy lightning affright them,
Into the pit, the bottomless, smite them,
Their seed uproot,
Tread under foot!
Send then Thy snow... | Arm me, Lord, my strength redouble,
Heaven open, heed my trouble!
God, if my cause Thine shall be,
Grant a day of victory! | Fell all Thy foes now!
Fell all Thy foes now!
Roll forth Thy thunders, Thy lightning affright them,
Into the pit, the bottomless, smite them,
Their seed uproot,
Tread under foot!
Send then Thy snowy white dove peace-bringing,
Unto Thy faithful Thy token winging,
Olive-branch fair of Thy summer's fruition
After the delu... | sonnet |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | To Learn The Transport By The Pain, | To learn the transport by the pain,
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;
To stay the homesick, homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air --
This is the sovereign anguish,
This, the signal woe!
These are the patient laurea... | To learn the transport by the pain,
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;
To stay the homesick, homesick feet | Upon a foreign shore
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air --
This is the sovereign anguish,
This, the signal woe!
These are the patient laureates
Whose voices, trained below,
Ascend in ceaseless carol,
Inaudible, indeed,
To us, the duller scholars
Of the mysterious bard! | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Earth And Moon. | I Saw the day like some great monarch die,
Gold-couched, behind the clouds' rich tapestries.
Then, purple-sandaled, clad in silences
Of sleep, through halls of skyey lazuli,
The twilight, like a mourning queen, trailed by,
Dim-paged of dreams and shadowy mysteries;
And now the night, the star-robed child of these,
In m... | I Saw the day like some great monarch die,
Gold-couched, behind the clouds' rich tapestries.
Then, purple-sandaled, clad in silences
Of sleep, through halls of skyey lazuli, | The twilight, like a mourning queen, trailed by,
Dim-paged of dreams and shadowy mysteries;
And now the night, the star-robed child of these,
In meditative loveliness draws nigh.
Earth, like to Romeo, deep in dew and scent,
Beneath Heaven's window, watching till a light,
Like some white blossom, in its square be set,
L... | sonnet |
William Browne | Caelia - Sonnet - 1 | Lo, I the man that whilom lov'd and lost,
Not dreading loss, do sing again of love;
And like a man but lately tempest-toss'd,
Try if my stars still inauspicious prove:
Not to make good that poets never can
Long time without a chosen mistress be,
Do I sing thus; or my affections ran
Within the maze of mutability;
What l... | Lo, I the man that whilom lov'd and lost,
Not dreading loss, do sing again of love;
And like a man but lately tempest-toss'd,
Try if my stars still inauspicious prove: | Not to make good that poets never can
Long time without a chosen mistress be,
Do I sing thus; or my affections ran
Within the maze of mutability;
What last I lov'd was beauty of the mind,
And that lodg'd in a temple truly fair,
Which ruin'd now by death, if I can find
The saint that liv'd therein some otherwhere,
I may... | sonnet |
James Thomson - (Bysshe Vanolis) | The Lord of the Castle of Indolence | I.
Nor did we lack our own right royal king,
The glory of our peaceful realm and race.
By no long years of restless travailing,
By no fierce wars or intrigues bland and base,
Did he attain his superlofty place;
But one fair day he lounging to the throne
Reclined thereon with such possessing grace
That all could see it ... | I.
Nor did we lack our own right royal king,
The glory of our peaceful realm and race.
By no long years of restless travailing,
By no fierce wars or intrigues bland and base,
Did he attain his superlofty place;
But one fair day he lounging to the throne
Reclined thereon with such possessing grace
That all could see it ... | V.
How men will strain to row against the tide,
Which yet must sweep them down in its career!
Or if some win their way and crown their pride,
What do they win? the desert wild and drear,
The savage rocks, the icy wastes austere,
Wherefrom the river's turbid rills downflow
But he upon the waters broad and clear,
In harm... | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | Years | Years, many parti-colour'd years,
Some have crept on, and some have flown
Since first before me fell those tears
I never could see fall alone.
Years, not so many, are to come,
Years not so varied, when from you
One more will fall: when, carried home,
I see it not, nor hear Adieu. | Years, many parti-colour'd years,
Some have crept on, and some have flown | Since first before me fell those tears
I never could see fall alone.
Years, not so many, are to come,
Years not so varied, when from you
One more will fall: when, carried home,
I see it not, nor hear Adieu. | octave |
Robert William Service | The Wistful One | I sought the trails of South and North,
I wandered East and West;
But pride and passion drove me forth
And would not let me rest.
And still I seek, as still I roam,
A snug roof overhead;
Four walls, my own; a quiet home. . . .
"You'll have it - when you're dead." | I sought the trails of South and North,
I wandered East and West; | But pride and passion drove me forth
And would not let me rest.
And still I seek, as still I roam,
A snug roof overhead;
Four walls, my own; a quiet home. . . .
"You'll have it - when you're dead." | octave |
Robert Herrick | Upon Julia's Ribbon | As shews the air when with a rain-bow graced,
So smiles that ribbon 'bout my Julia's waist;
Or like Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove. | As shews the air when with a rain-bow graced, | So smiles that ribbon 'bout my Julia's waist;
Or like Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove. | quatrain |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Loyalty. | Split the lark and you'll find the music,
Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled,
Scantily dealt to the summer morning,
Saved for your ear when lutes be old.
Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,
Gush after gush, reserved for you;
Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,
Now, do you doubt that your bird was true? | Split the lark and you'll find the music,
Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, | Scantily dealt to the summer morning,
Saved for your ear when lutes be old.
Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,
Gush after gush, reserved for you;
Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,
Now, do you doubt that your bird was true? | octave |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | The Old Bridge At Florence | Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old,
Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone
Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own
Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold
Beneath me as it struggles. I behold
Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown
My kindred and companions. Me alone
It moveth not, but is by me... | Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old,
Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone
Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own
Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold | Beneath me as it struggles. I behold
Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown
My kindred and companions. Me alone
It moveth not, but is by me controlled,
I can remember when the Medici
Were driven from Florence; longer still ago
The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf.
Florence adorns me with her jewelry... | sonnet |
Frank Sidgwick | The Nutbrown Maid | The Text is from Arnold's Chronicle, of the edition which, from typographical evidence, is said to have been printed at Antwerp in 1502 by John Doesborowe. Each stanza is there printed in six long lines. Considerable variations appear in later editions. There is also a Balliol MS. (354), which contains a contemporary v... | The Text is from Arnold's Chronicle, of the edition which, from typographical evidence, is said to have been printed at Antwerp in 1502 by John Doesborowe. Each stanza is there printed in six long lines. Considerable variations appear in later editions. There is also a Balliol MS. (354), which contains a contemporary v... | And sure all thoo, that doo not so,
Trewe louers ar they noon;
But, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.
11.
I councel yow, remembre howe
It is noo maydens lawe,
Nothing to dought, but to renne out
To wod with an outlawe;
For ye must there in your hande bere
A bowe to bere and drawe;
And, as a theef, thus... | free_verse |
James McIntyre | Gray Hairs. | Once on a time a lady quarrelled
With the witty Douglass Jerrold,
Because that he had been so bold,
To hint that she was growing old.
She said her hair was dark 'till one day
She used an essence turned it gray,
O, yes, said he, tincture of time
Affects the hair in this our clime. | Once on a time a lady quarrelled
With the witty Douglass Jerrold, | Because that he had been so bold,
To hint that she was growing old.
She said her hair was dark 'till one day
She used an essence turned it gray,
O, yes, said he, tincture of time
Affects the hair in this our clime. | octave |
Jean Blewett | Morning. | The eastern sky grew all aglow,
A tinted fleet sailed just below.
The thick wood and the clinging mist
Slow parted, wept good-bye, and kissed.
To primrose, tulip, daffodil,
The wind came piping gay and shrill:
"Wake up! wake up! while day is new,
And all the world is washed with dew!" | The eastern sky grew all aglow,
A tinted fleet sailed just below. | The thick wood and the clinging mist
Slow parted, wept good-bye, and kissed.
To primrose, tulip, daffodil,
The wind came piping gay and shrill:
"Wake up! wake up! while day is new,
And all the world is washed with dew!" | octave |
William Wordsworth | Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland 1814 - II. Composed At Cora Linn - In Sight Of Wallace's Tower | "How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name
Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,
All over his dear Country; left the deeds
Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,
To people the steep rocks and river banks,
Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul
Of independence and stern liberty."
- See The Prelude, Book I, ... | "How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name
Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,
All over his dear Country; left the deeds
Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,
To people the steep rocks and river banks,
Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul
Of independence and stern liberty."
- See The Prelude, Book I, ... | The little trembling flowers that peep
Thy shelving rocks among.
Hence all who love their country, love
To look on thee, delight to rove
Where they thy voice can hear;
And, to the patriot-warrior's Shade,
Lord of the vale! to Heroes laid
In dust, that voice is dear!
Along thy banks, at dead of night
Sweeps visibly the ... | free_verse |
George MacDonald | Life Or Death? | Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep,
For every flower that ends its little span,
For every child that groweth up to man,
For every captive bird a cage doth keep,
For every aching eye that went to sleep
Long ages back, when other eyes began
To see and know and love as now they can,
Unravelling God's wonders heap by... | Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep,
For every flower that ends its little span,
For every child that groweth up to man,
For every captive bird a cage doth keep, | For every aching eye that went to sleep
Long ages back, when other eyes began
To see and know and love as now they can,
Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap?
Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity
In charnel dens that rot and reek alway,
A dismal light for those that go astray,
A pit of foul deformity--to be,
Beauty, a d... | sonnet |
Unknown | Beauty | A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. | A thing of beauty is a joy forever; | Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Sea Of Sunset. | This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails. | This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea; | Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails. | octave |
Sara Teasdale | At Night | Love said, "Wake still and think of me,"
Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day,"
But Dreams came by and smilingly
Gave both to Love and Sleep their way. | Love said, "Wake still and think of me," | Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day,"
But Dreams came by and smilingly
Gave both to Love and Sleep their way. | quatrain |
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop | Life's Burying-Ground. | My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms,
Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone,
But every agony my heart has known, -
The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms.
I visit every day the shadowy grove;
I bury there my outraged tender thought;
I bring the insult for the love I sought,
And my contempt, where... | My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms,
Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone, | But every agony my heart has known, -
The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms.
I visit every day the shadowy grove;
I bury there my outraged tender thought;
I bring the insult for the love I sought,
And my contempt, where I had tried to love. | octave |
Robert Browning | The Glove | PETER RONSARD loquitur.
'Heigho!' yawned one day King Francis,
'Distance all value enhances!
'When a man's busy, why, leisure
'Strikes him as wonderful pleasure,
''Faith, and at leisure once is he?
'Straightway he wants to be busy.
'Here we've got peace; and aghast I'm
'Caught thinking war the true pastime!
'Is there a... | PETER RONSARD loquitur.
'Heigho!' yawned one day King Francis,
'Distance all value enhances!
'When a man's busy, why, leisure
'Strikes him as wonderful pleasure,
''Faith, and at leisure once is he?
'Straightway he wants to be busy.
'Here we've got peace; and aghast I'm
'Caught thinking war the true pastime!
'Is there a... | The lion at last was delivered?
Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead!
And you saw by the flash on his forehead,
By the hope in those eyes wide and steady,
He was leagues in the desert already,
Driving the flocks up the mountain,
Or catlike couched hard by the fountain
To waylay the date-gathering negress:
So guarded he e... | free_verse |
Richard Le Gallienne | Art | Art is a gipsy,
Fickle as fair,
Good to kiss and flirt with,
But marry - if you dare! | Art is a gipsy, | Fickle as fair,
Good to kiss and flirt with,
But marry - if you dare! | quatrain |
Robert Herrick | Fortune Favours. | Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite. | Fortune did never favour one | Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite. | quatrain |
Oliver Herford | Christopher Columbus | Columbus is an easy one
To draw, for when the picture's done,
Where is the captious critic who
Can say the likeness is not true? | Columbus is an easy one | To draw, for when the picture's done,
Where is the captious critic who
Can say the likeness is not true? | quatrain |
Ralph Waldo Emerson | Hush! | Every thought is public,
Every nook is wide;
Thy gossips spread each whisper,
And the gods from side to side. | Every thought is public, | Every nook is wide;
Thy gossips spread each whisper,
And the gods from side to side. | quatrain |
Siegfried Loraine Sassoon | Blighters | The house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks
Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;
"We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!"
I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
Lurching to rag-time tunes, or "Home, sweet Home," -
And there'd be no more jokes in... | The house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks | Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;
"We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!"
I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
Lurching to rag-time tunes, or "Home, sweet Home," -
And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls
To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume. | octave |
Matthew Arnold | East London | 'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen
In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited.
I met a preacher there I knew, and said:
'Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?',
'Bravely!' said he; 'for I of late have been
Much ... | 'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen
In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited. | I met a preacher there I knew, and said:
'Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?',
'Bravely!' said he; 'for I of late have been
Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.'
O human soul! as long as thou canst so
Set up a mark of everlasting light,
Above the howling senses' ebb and flow,
To cheer th... | sonnet |
William Cowper | Song. On Peace. | Written in the summer of 1783, at the request of Lady Austen, who gave the sentiment.
Air''My fond Shepherds of late.'
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
O happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!
I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I ha... | Written in the summer of 1783, at the request of Lady Austen, who gave the sentiment.
Air''My fond Shepherds of late.'
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
O happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu! | I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.
An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires;
'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope,
And the summit of all our desires.
Peace may be the lo... | free_verse |
Unknown | Hosts | Here's to the host and the hostess,
We're honored to be here tonight;
May they both live long and prosper,
May their star of hope ever be bright. | Here's to the host and the hostess, | We're honored to be here tonight;
May they both live long and prosper,
May their star of hope ever be bright. | quatrain |
Rudyard Kipling | Chapter Headings - Kim | Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised,
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou between, thy coming's all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam's, fathers', own, sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Whi... | Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised,
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars? | Creep thou between, thy coming's all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam's, fathers', own, sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars. | octave |
Oliver Herford | The Whole Duty of Kittens | When Human Folk at Table eat,
A Kitten must not mew for meat,
Or jump to grab it from the Dish,
(Unless it happens to be fish). | When Human Folk at Table eat, | A Kitten must not mew for meat,
Or jump to grab it from the Dish,
(Unless it happens to be fish). | quatrain |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | Felix Antonius | (After Martial)
To-day, my friend is seventy-five;
He tells his tale with no regret;
His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,
His heart the .lightest heart alive.
He sees behind him green and wide
The pathway of his pilgrim years;
He sees the shore, and dreadless hears
The whisper of the creeping tide.
For out of all his ... | (After Martial)
To-day, my friend is seventy-five;
He tells his tale with no regret;
His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,
His heart the .lightest heart alive. | He sees behind him green and wide
The pathway of his pilgrim years;
He sees the shore, and dreadless hears
The whisper of the creeping tide.
For out of all his days, not one
Has passed and left its unlaid ghost
To seek a light for ever lost,
Or wail a deed for ever done.
So for reward of life-long truth
He lives again,... | free_verse |
W. M. MacKeracher | God in Nature. | We see our Father's hand in all around;
In summer's sun, and in cold winter's snow,
In leafy wood, on grassy-covered ground,
In showers that fall and icy blasts that blow.
And when we see the light'ning's flash, and hear
The thunder's roar, majestically grand,
A heavenly voice says, "Christian, do not fear,
'Tis but th... | We see our Father's hand in all around;
In summer's sun, and in cold winter's snow, | In leafy wood, on grassy-covered ground,
In showers that fall and icy blasts that blow.
And when we see the light'ning's flash, and hear
The thunder's roar, majestically grand,
A heavenly voice says, "Christian, do not fear,
'Tis but the working of thy Father's hand." | octave |
Elizabeth Barrett Browning | A Musical Instrument | I.
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river ?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
II.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river :
The limpid wa... | I.
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river ?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
II.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river :
The limpid wa... | While turbidly flowed the river ;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
IV.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river !)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a ma... | free_verse |
Hanford Lennox Gordon | My Dead | Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
A voice like the moan of an autumn sea,
Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
And it said "My darling, come home to me."
Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head
As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain:
I wakened and knew from among the dead
My darling stood by my coach agai... | Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
A voice like the moan of an autumn sea, | Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
And it said "My darling, come home to me."
Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head
As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain:
I wakened and knew from among the dead
My darling stood by my coach again. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | The Monument. | She laid her docile crescent down,
And this mechanic stone
Still states, to dates that have forgot,
The news that she is gone.
So constant to its stolid trust,
The shaft that never knew,
It shames the constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew. | She laid her docile crescent down,
And this mechanic stone | Still states, to dates that have forgot,
The news that she is gone.
So constant to its stolid trust,
The shaft that never knew,
It shames the constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew. | octave |
Anna Akhmatova | Along the Hard Crust... | Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours,
So gentle and quiet ' we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs' a-nodding with favor,
The light ring of your silver spurs... | Along the hard crust of deep snows,
To the secret, white house of yours, | So gentle and quiet ' we both
Are walking, in silence half-lost.
And sweeter than all songs, sung ever,
Are this dream, becoming the truth,
Entwined twigs' a-nodding with favor,
The light ring of your silver spurs... | octave |
William Butler Yeats | The Lover Speaks To The Hearers Of His Songs In Coming Days | O women, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence,
When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer,
And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet air
And covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense;
Bend down and pray for all that sin I wove in song,
Till the Attorney for Lost Souls cry her sweet cry,
An... | O women, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence,
When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer, | And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet air
And covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense;
Bend down and pray for all that sin I wove in song,
Till the Attorney for Lost Souls cry her sweet cry,
And.call to my beloved and me: "No longer fly
Amid the hovering, piteouS, penitential throng. | octave |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | On Spion Kop | Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep
Here VERTUE fell, and here he sleeps his sleep.*
A fairer name no Roman ever gave
To stand sole monument on Valour's grave. | Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep | Here VERTUE fell, and here he sleeps his sleep.*
A fairer name no Roman ever gave
To stand sole monument on Valour's grave. | quatrain |
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