All Poems
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Happy Animal
© Caple Natalee
Green birds love tinselAnd red birds love silkGold birds love liquorAnd blue birds love milk
The Indian Gone!
© Canning Josiah Dean
By night I saw the Hunter's moon Slow gliding in the placid sky;Her lustre mocked the sun at noon -- I asked myself the reason why?And straightway came the sad reply: She shines as she was wont to doTo aid the Indian's aiming eye, When by her light he strung his bow, But where is he?
Beside the ancient flood I strayed, Where dark traditions mark the shore;With wizzard vision I essayed Into the misty past to pore
A Wife’s Protest
© Ada Cambridge
##. From child to girl I grew,And thought no thought, and heard no word That was not pure and true.
The Physical Conscience
© Ada Cambridge
The moral conscience -- court of last appeal -- Our word of God -- our Heaven-sent light and guide -- From what high aims it lures our steps aside!To what immoral deeds it sets its seal!That beacon lamp has lost its sacred fire; That pilot-guide, compelling wind and wave, By slow, blind process, has become the slaveOf all-compelling custom and desire
Who Killed John Keats?
© George Gordon Byron
Are you aware that Shelley has written an elegy on Keats--and accuses the Quarterly of killing him?--
Stanzas for Music
© George Gordon Byron
There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee;And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me:When, as if its sound were causingThe charmed ocean's pausing,The waves lie still and gleaming,And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep;Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep:So the spirit bows before thee,To listen and adore thee;With a full but soft emotion,Like the swell of Summer's ocean
Manfred: Incantation
© George Gordon Byron
When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass,And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass;When the falling stars are shooting,And the answer'd owls are hooting,And the silent leaves are stillIn the shadow of the hill,Shall my soul be upon thine,With a power and with a sign
Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet
© George Gordon Byron
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last;Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third
© George Gordon Byron
I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!
II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers
And Thou art Dead, as Young and Fair
© George Gordon Byron
And thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth;And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon return'd to Earth!Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth,There is an eye which could not brookA moment on that grave to look
