All Poems

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He lived amidst th' untrodden ways

© Hartley Coleridge

He lived amidst th' untrodden ways To Rydal Lake that lead: --A bard whom there were none to praise, And very few to read.

Donne

© Hartley Coleridge

Brief was the reign of pure poetic truthA race of thinkers next, with rhymes uncouth,And fancies fashion'd in laborious brains,Made verses heavy as o'erloaded wains

The Recruit

© Coleman Helena Jane

Through all the anguish of these days, The haunting horror and the woe,One thought can set my heart ablaze My memory aglow.

Night among the Thousand Islands

© Coleman Helena Jane

Mysterious falls the moon's transforming light On lichen-covered rock and granite wall,Comes piercing through the hollows of the night The loon's weird, plaintive call.

Flaring bugle, throbbing drum,Onward, onward hear them come,Like a tide along the streetSwells the sound of martial feet;On the breeze their colors streaming,In the sun their rifles gleaming,Pride of country, pride of race

In October

© Coleman Helena Jane

Touched by October's changing frost and heat, The ivy flames upon the gray old walls, Or, whirled by sudden, fitful breezes, fallsIn little crimson showers at our feet;Impetuous Spring and lingering Autumn meet On these wide lawns and in the echoing halls, For Summer with its golden bounty callsTo hearts that still with youth and promise beat

The Lament of the Forest

© Cole Thomas

In joyous Summer, when the exulting earthFlung fragrance from innumerable flowersThrough the wide wastes of heaven, as on she tookIn solitude her everlasting way,I stood among the mountain heights, alone!The beauteous mountains, which the voyagerOn Hudson's breast far in the purple westMagnificent, beholds; the abutments broadWhence springs the immeasurable dome of heaven

Give my Regards to Broadway

© Cohan George M.

Did you ever see two Yankees part upon a foreign shoreWhen the good ship's just about to start for Old New York once more?With a tear-dimmed eye they say goodbye, they're friends without a doubt;When the man on the pier shouts, "Let them clear!", as the ship strikes out

Perché Pensa? Pensando s'Invecchia

© Arthur Hugh Clough

Paysage Français

© Paul Claudel

La rivière sans se dépêcherArrive au fond de la vallée

Le Cygne

© Paul Claudel

Jour d'Automne

La Vierge à midi

© Paul Claudel

Il est midi. Je vois l'église ouverte. Il faut entrer.Mère de Jésus-Christ, je ne viens pas prier.

Watercolour for Negro Expatriates in France

What are calendars to you?And, indeed, what are atlases? Time is cool jazz in Bretagne,you, hidden in berets or eccentric scarves,somewhere over the rainbow

Song of Ecclesiastes

The wind chooses where song should fall,Where chaff should drift

Reading Titus Andronicus In Three Mile Plains, N.S.

Rue: When Witnesses sat before Bibles open like platesAnd spat sour sermons of interposition and nullification,While burr-orchards vomited bushels of thorns, and leavesRattled like uprooted skull-teeth across rough highways,And stars ejected brutal, serrated, heart-shredding light,And dark brothers lied down, quare, in government graves,Their white skulls jabbering amid farmer's dead flowers -