All Poems
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Of The Nature Of Things: Book II - Part 02 - Atomic Motions
© Lucretius
Now come: I will untangle for thy steps
Now by what motions the begetting bodies
Spleen (III)
© Charles Baudelaire
Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux,
Riche, mais impuissant, jeune et pourtant très vieux,
Qui, de ses précepteurs méprisant les courbettes,
S'ennuie avec ses chiens comme avec d'autres bêtes.
Toujours Ce Souvenir MAttendrit
© André Marie de Chénier
Toujours ce souvenir m'attendrit et me touche,
Quand lui-même, appliquant la flûte sur ma bouche,
Apart
© Madison Julius Cawein
While sunset burns and stars are few,
And roses scent the fading light,
And like a slim urn, dripping dew,
A spirit carries through the night,
The pearl-pale moon hangs new,--
I think of you, of you.
Black Lizzie
© Henry Kendall
But let them pass! To right your wrong,
Aspasia of the ardent South,
Your poet means to sing a song
With some prolixity of mouth.
Inconsiderate Hannah
© Harry Graham
Naughty little Hannah said
She could make her grandma whistle,
So, that night, inside her bed
Placed some nettles and a thistle.
The Death Of Regret
© Thomas Hardy
I opened my shutter at sunrise,
And looked at the hill hard by,
And I heartily grieved for the comrade
Who wandered up there to die.
The Chant Of The Cross-Bearing Child
© James Whitcomb Riley
I bear dis cross dis many a mile.
O de cross-bearin' chile--
De cross-bearin' chile!
Song Of Loves Coming
© Arthur Symons
Love comes unawares
(In my arms sighing).
Ah me, the many cares
Between his birth and dying!
Breitmann As An Uhlan. V. Breitmann In Biouvac.
© Charles Godfrey Leland
HE sits in bivouacke,
By fire, peneat' de drees;
A pottle of champagner
Held shently on his knees;
The Nativity Of The Blessed Virgin Mary
© Alessandro Manzoni
O'er the hills of the country, a went climbing one day,
In the stillness a Nazarene carpenter's bride,
A visit, unseen, to the cottage to pay
Of a happy old wife in first pregnancy's pride.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
Sonnet 47: What, Have I thus Betray'd
© Sir Philip Sidney
What, have I thus betray'd my liberty?
Can those black beams such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave,
Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?
Good-Bye My Fancy!
© Walt Whitman
blended into one;
Then if we die we die together, (yes,we'll remain one,)
If we go anywhere we'll be better off and blither, and learn something,
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me
