All Poems
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'Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
© Katharine Tynan
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Sonnet 45: Stella Oft Sees
© Sir Philip Sidney
Stella oft sees the very face of woe
Painted in my beclouded stormy face:
But cannot skill to pity my disgrace,
Not though thereof the cause herself she know:
White Heliotrope
© Arthur Symons
The feverish room and that white bed,
The tumbled skirts upon a chair,
The novel flung half-open, where
Hat, hair-pins, puffs, and paints are spread;
Sonnet XVI: A Day of Love
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Those envied places which do know her well,
And are so scornful of this lonely place,
The House Of Dust: Part 01: 03:
© Conrad Aiken
One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.
La Reina (and translation)
© Pablo Neruda
Yo te he nombrado reina.
Hay más altas que tú, más altas.
Hay más puras que tú, más puras.
Hay más bellas que tú, hay más bellas.
Pero tú eres la reina.
Reflections Of King Hezekiah, In His Sickness
© Hannah More
"Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die." - Isaiah xxxviii.
What! and no more? - Is this, my soul, said I,
Night
© Boris Pasternak
The night proceeds and dwindling
Prepares the day's rebirth.
An airman is ascending
Above the sleeping earth.
Harvests
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Other harvests there are than those that lie
Glowing and ripe neath an autumn sky,
Awaiting the sickle keen,
Harvests more precious than golden grain,
Waving oer hillside, valley or plain,
Than fruits mid their leafy screen.
Song V
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
To Thee, eternal Defender of all creation,
I call, frail, commiserate, nowhere secure.
Keep me in close watch, and in my each anxiety,
Hasten to bring aid to my wretched soul.
The Reward
© James Weldon Johnson
No greater earthly boon than this I crave,
That those who some day gather 'round my grave,
In place of tears, may whisper of me then,
"He sang a song that reached the hearts of men."
Fragment II
© James Macpherson
But is it she that there appears, like
a beam of light on the heath? bright
as the moon in autumn, as the sun in
a summer-storm?--She speaks: but
how weak her voice! like the breeze
in the reeds of the pool. Hark!
Trinitas
© John Greenleaf Whittier
At morn I prayed, "I fain would see
How Three are One, and One is Three;
Read the dark riddle unto me."
Farewell
© Alfred Austin
Farewell! I breathe that wonted prayer,
But oh! though countless leagues divide
Fragment: The Vine-Shroud
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
Daylight Savings Time
© Phyllis McGinley
In spring when maple buds are red,
We turn the clock an hour ahead;
Which means, each April that arrives,
We lose an hour out of our lives.
The Scene Behind The Carriage Window Panes
© Paul Verlaine
The scene behind the carriage window-panes
Goes flitting past in furious flight; whole plains
With streams and harvest-fields and trees and blue
Are swallowed by the whirlpool, whereinto
The telegraph's slim pillars topple o'er,
Whose wires look strangely like a music-score.
