All Poems

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3210

The Captains sailed in rotten ships, with often rotten crews,
Because their lands were ignorant and meaner than the ooze;
With money furnished them by Greed, or by ambition mean,
When they had crawled to some pig-faced, pig-hearted king or queen.

God's World

© Boris Pasternak

Thin as hair are the shadows of sunset
When they follow drawn-out every tree.
On the road through the forest the post-girl
Hands a parcel and letters to me.

'Love Is Winged For Two'

© George Meredith

Love is winged for two,

In the worst he weathers,

Sandy Star And Willie Gee

© William Stanley Braithwaite

Sandy Star and Willie Gee,
Count 'em two, you make 'em three:
Pluck the man and boy apart
And you'll see into my heart.

As Men Have Loved Their Lovers In Times Past

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

As men have loved their lovers in times past

And sung their wit, their virtue and their grace,

Dirge

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.

Nostalgia And Complaint Of The Grandparents

© Donald Justice

Les morts
Cest sous terre;
Ça nen sort
Guère.
LAFORGUE

The Morning Song of the Jungle

© Rudyard Kipling

One moment past our bodies cast

No shadow on the plain;

Song: "Fair Delia while each sighing swain "

© Henry James Pye

Fair Delia while each sighing swain

Whose heart your charms adores,

Sonnet: As From The Darkening Gloom A Silver Dove

© John Keats

As from the darkening gloom a silver dove

Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light,

God

© Walt Whitman

Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade!
Waiting, content, invisible yet, but certain,
Be thou my God.

The Old Sexton

© William Henry Drummond

I know very well t'was purty hard case
If dere 's not on de worl' some beeger place
Dan village of Cote St. Paul,
But we got mebbe sixty-five house or more
Wit' de blacksmit' shop an' two fine store
Not to speak of de church an' de city hall.

The Song of Arda: (From Annatanam.)

LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call

Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;

To A Greek Girl

WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum,

Across the years you seem to come,

The Dance To Death. Act V

© Emma Lazarus

LIEBHAID.
The air hangs sultry as in mid-July.
Look forth, Claire; moves not some big thundercloud
Athwart the sky? My heart is sick.

The Toy-Maker

I AM the Toy-maker; I have brought from the town
As much in my plack as should fetch a whole crown,
I'll array for you now my stock of renown
And man's the raree will show you.