All Poems
/ page 174 of 3210 /
Forby Sutherland
© George Gordon McCrae
A LANE of elms in June;the air
Of eve is cool and calm and sweet.
The Performance
© James Dickey
The last time I saw Donald Armstrong
He was staggering oddly off into the sun,
Going down, off the Philippine Islands.
I let my shovel fall, and put that hand
Above my eyes, and moved some way to one side
That his body might pass through the sun,
May
© Madison Julius Cawein
The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed,
That spangle the woods and dance-
Beautiful City
© Alfred Tennyson
Beautiful city, the centre and crater of European confusion,
O you with your passionate shriek for the rights of an equal
humanity,
How often your Re-volution has proven but E-volution
Rolld again back on itself in the tides of a civic insanity!
Dead!
© Alfred Austin
Hush! or you'll wake her. Softly tread!
She slumbers in her little bed.
What do I see? A coffin! Dead?
Yes, dead at break of morning.
To Mr. Rose;
© Mary Barber
Presumptuous Youth! this dang'rous Art forbear;
Nor tempt a Character beyond thy Sphere.
Let meaner Flames thy tender Breast inspire;
Touch not a Beam of hers--'Tis sacred Fire!
Phoebus might trust thy Mother with his Sun;
But you, fond Boy, may prove a Phaeton.
To the West
© William Percy French
The Midland Great Western is doing its best,
And the circular ticket is safe in my vest;
But I know that my holiday never begins
Till I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins.
Where Sings The Whippoorwill
© Alma Frances McCollum
GOLDEN-GRAY the twilight lingers
In the glory of the west,
The New Dispensation
© Edith Nesbit
OUT in the sun the buttercups are gold,
The daisies silver all the grassy lane,
And spring has given love a flower to hold,
And love lays blindness on the eyes of pain.
An Invitation To Maecenas
© Eugene Field
Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask
Of wine solicits your attention;
The Shadows
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"How many have gone?" was the question of old
Ere Time our bright ring of its jewels bereft;
Alas! for too often the death-bell has tolled,
And the question we ask is, "How many are left?"
Our Country
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WE give thy natal day to hope,
O Country of our love and prayer!
Thy way is down no fatal slope,
But up to freer sun and air.
The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo
© William Schwenck Gilbert
From east and south the holy clan
Of Bishops gathered to a man;
The Living Beauties
© Edgar Albert Guest
I never knew, until they went,
How much their laughter really meant
I never knew how much the place
Depended on each little face;
How barren home could be and drear
Without its living beauties here.
The Wood Witch
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is a woodland witch who lies
With bloom-bright limbs and beam-bright eyes,
Dawn
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
AN angel, robed in spotless white,
Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.
Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.
Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.
Train Journey
© Judith Wright
Glassed with cold sleep and dazzled by the moon,
out of the confused hammering dark of the train
Written Out [1]
© Henry Lawson
Sing the song of the reckless, who care not what they do;
Sing the song of a sinner and the song of a writer, too
Down in a pub in the alleys, in a dark and dirty hole,
With every soul a drunkard and the boss with never a soul.
Weaving at Night
© Ho Xuan Huong
Lampwick turned up, the room glows white.
The looms moves easily all night long
