All Poems

 / page 2568 of 3210 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Enduring

© John Gould Fletcher

If the autumn ended

  Ere the birds flew southward,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Hymn To Eros

© Denise Levertov

O Eros, silently smiling one, hear me.
Let the shadow of thy wings
brush me.
Let thy presence

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Garden Wall

© Denise Levertov

Bricks of the wall,
so much older than the house -
taken I think from a farm pulled down
when the street was built -
narrow bricks of another century.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sound Sleep

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.
By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

On the Mystery of the Incarnation

© Denise Levertov

It's when we face for a moment
the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
the taint in our own selves, that awe
cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet: "It is not to be thought of"

© William Wordsworth

IT is not to be thought of that the Flood

Of British freedom, which, to the open sea

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Quest

© Denise Levertov

High, hollowed in green
above the rocks of reason
lies the crater lake
whose ice the dreamer breaks
to find a summer season.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Maiden-Song

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

But I have a will to work,
And a heart for you:
Bid me stay or bid me go.'

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

September 1961

© Denise Levertov

This is the year the old ones,
the old great ones
leave us alone on the road.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

An Invitation

© Robert Fuller Murray

Dear Ritchie, I am waiting for the signal word to fly,
And tell me that the visit which has suffered such belating
Is to be a thing of now, and no more of by-and-by.
Dear Ritchie, I am waiting.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart...

© Denise Levertov

Turn from that road's beguiling ease; return
to your hunger's turret. Enter, climb the stair
chill with disuse, where the croaking toad of time
regards from shimmering eyes your slow ascent

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Avowal

© Denise Levertov

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Book

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Gallery of sacred pictures manifold,

A minster rich in holy effigies,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Everything That Acts Is Actual

© Denise Levertov

into December? a lowland
of space, perception of space
towering of shadows of clouds blown upon
clouds over new ground, new made
under heavy December footsteps? the only
way to live?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

This Quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies

© Emily Dickinson

This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies
And lads and girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls;

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Contraband

© Denise Levertov

The tree of knowledge was the tree of reason.
That's why the taste of it
drove us from Eden. That fruit
was meant to be dried and milled to a fine powder

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Nightingale

© Mark Akenside

To-night retired, the queen of heaven
 With young Endymion stays;
And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
 A stream of brighter rays.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Illustrious Ancestors

© Denise Levertov

The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To Caroline: Oh When Shall The Grave Hide

© George Gordon Byron

Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
  Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?
The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow
  But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

An Embroidery

© Denise Levertov

Rose Red's hair is brown as fur
and shines in firelight as she prepares
supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,
for the bear, and leaves it ready
on the hearth-stone.