All Poems
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The Beasts In The Tower
© Charles Lamb
Within the precincts of this yard,
Each in his narrow confines barred,
Unkindnesse
© George Herbert
Lord, make me coy and tender to offend:
In friendship, first I think, if that agree,
Which I intend,
Unto my friends intent and end.
I would not use a friend, as I use Thee.
Penelope
© Francis Bret Harte
So you've kem 'yer agen,
And one answer won't do?
Well, of all the derned men
That I've struck, it is you.
O Sal! 'yer's that derned fool from Simpson's, cavortin' round 'yer
in the dew.
Har koii dil kii hathelii pe
© Ahmad Faraz
har koii dil kii hathelii pe hai sehraa rakhe
kis ko sairaab kare vo, kise pyaasa rakhe
A Wold Friend
© William Barnes
Oh! when the friends we us'd to know,
'V a-been a-lost vor years; an' when
Vaunting Oak
© John Crowe Ransom
He is a tower unleaning. But how hell break
If Heaven assault him with full wind and sleet,
And what uproar tall trees concumbent make!
To An Old Friend
© Edgar Albert Guest
When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through,
When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do,
When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends,
I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends.
The Young Novice
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The lights yet gleamed on the holy shrine, the incense hung around,
But the rites were oer, the silent church re-echoed to no sound;
Yet kneeling there on the altar steps, absorbed in ardent prayer,
Is a girl, as seraph meek and pureas seraph heavnly fair.
Omens
© Madison Julius Cawein
Sad o'er the hills the poppy sunset died.
Slow as a fungus breaking through the crusts
A Song Of Swords
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
In the place called Swords on the Irish road
It is told for a new renown
How we held the horns of the cattle, and how
We will hold the horns of the devils now
Ere the lord of hell with the horn on his brow
Is crowned in Dublin town.
Old Cambridge
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
AND can it be you've found a place
Within this consecrated space,
The Graves of Gallipoli
© Anonymous
THE herdman wandering by the lonely rills
Marks where they lie on the scarred mountain's flanks,
Remembering that wild morning when the hills
Shook to the roar of guns, and those wild ranks
Surged upward from the sea.
They Who Return
© Katharine Tynan
Into the stricken house who steals on quiet feet
And sudden brings the sunshine it used to wear?
Whose is the tender whisper that turns the bitter sweet?
Whose kiss is on your forehead, whose breath in your hair?
Two Folk Songs
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again.
