All Poems
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The Daemon Of The World
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nec tantum prodere vati,
Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam
Congeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.
Burnt Out Is Now My Misery
© Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy
Burnt out is now my misery--
love's yearning
No more unspeakably torments my heart,
Yet bearable alone through thee, my being--
All thou art not is idle, stale and dying,
Colourless, withered, dead,--save where thou art!
Under The Hunters Moon
© Madison Julius Cawein
White from her chrysalis of cloud,
The moth-like moon swings upward through the night;
And all the bee-like stars that crowd
The hollow hive of heav'n wane in her light.
Sonnet: What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
21st September 1870
© Charles Kingsley
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
The Devil Of Pope-Fig Island
© Jean de La Fontaine
ON t'other hand an island may be seen,
Where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen.
We know them by the thinness of their face
Long sleep is quite excluded from their race.
On The Lord's Prayer
© Charles Lamb
I have taught your young lips the good words to say over,
Which form the petition we call the Lord's Prayer,
And now let me help my dear child to discover
The meaning of all the good words that are there.
The Angels' Song. Honour To Jesus.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Honured be thu, blisful lord Ihesu, and preysed mote thu be in eueri place,So full of myght, [of] mercy and vertue,Of blisse, of bounte, of piete and of grace!Who is honurë, may no thing deface; Who is [ther] that withstondë may thi myght?But servë the, of fors mote eueri wight.
Honúred be thu, Ihesu, heven kyng, That hast be-taken to my gouernaunce Suche one that hath, a-bove al othire thing,Abowed to the with lowely obeysaunce,And loued the with sadde perséueraunce, Thi counseil and thin hey comaundëmentObseruyng with his hertely hool entent.
A Penitential Hymne
© Henry King
Hearken O God unto a Wretches cryes
Who low dejected at thy footstool lies.
Let not the clamour of my heinous sin
Drown my requests, which strive to enter in
Love From The North
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I had a love in soft south land,
Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my lightest breath,
And never dared to say me nay.
When It is Finished
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
WHEN it is finished, Father, and we set
The war-stained buckler and the bright blade by,
The Sheep and The Goat
© George MacDonald
The thousand streets of London gray
Repel all country sights;
But bar not winds upon their way,
Nor quench the scent of new-mown hay
In depth of summer nights.
Eclogue:--The Times
© William Barnes
Aye, John, I have, John; an' I ben't afeärd
To own it. Why, who woulden do the seäme?
We shant goo on lik' this long, I can tell ye.
Bread is so high an' wages be so low,
That, after workèn lik' a hoss, you know,
A man can't eärn enough to vill his belly.
Will Yer Write It Down for Me?
© Henry Lawson
And the backblocks bard goes through it, ever seeking as he goes
For the line of least resistance to the hearts of men he knows;
And he tracks their hearts in mateship, and he tracks them out alone
Seeking for the power to sway them, till he finds it in his own,
Feels what they feel, loves what they love, learns to hate what they condemn,
Takes his pen in tears and triumph, and he writes it down for them.
The Knotting Song
© Sir Charles Sedley
"Hears not my Phyllis how the birds
Their feathered mates salute?
They tell their passion in their words:
Must I alone be mute?"
Phyllis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
The Crane
© Hovhannes Toumanian
The Crane has lost his way across the heaven,
From yonder stormy cloud I hear him cry,
A traveller a'er an unknown pathway driven,
In a cold world unheeded he doth fly.
Limerick: There was an Old Man of Jamaica
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Man of Jamaica,
Who suddenly married a Quaker;
But she cried out, 'Alack!
I have married a black!'
Which distressed that Old Man of Jamaica
Heath from the Highlands
© Henry Kendall
Here, where the great hills fall away
To bays of silver sea,
I hold within my hand to-day
A wild thing, strange to me.
