All Poems
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An Answer
© George Frederick Cameron
So, say:It must be good to die, my friend!
It must be good and more than good, I deem;
'Tis all the replication I may send
For deeper swimming seek a deeper stream.
Darkies
© John Lindley
Im the savage in the jungle
and the busboy in the town.
Im the one who jumps the highest
when the Boss man comes around.
The Song And The Sigh
© Henry Lawson
The creek went down with a broken song,
'Neath the sheoaks high;
The waters carried the song along,
And the oaks a sigh.
While Summer Suns O'er the Gay Prospect Play'd
© Thomas Warton
While summer suns o'er the gay prospect play'd,
Through Surrey's verdant scenes, where Epsom spread
'Mid intermingling elms her flowery meads,
And Hascombe's hill, in towering groves array'd,
The Pleasures of Melancholy
© Thomas Warton
Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,
Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock
Of Teneriffe; 'mid the tempestuous night,
On which, in calmest meditation held,
The End of the Day
© Katharine Tynan
The night darkens fast and the shadows darken,
Clouds and the rain gather about mine house,
Only the wood-dove moans, hearken, O hearken!
The moan of the wood-dove in the rain-wet boughs.
Solitude at an Inn
© Thomas Warton
Oft upon the twilight plain,
Circled with thy shadowy train,
While the dove at distance coo'd,
Have I met thee, Solitude!
The Sword Of The Tomb : A Northern Legend
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
"Voice of the gifted elder time!
Voice of the charm and the Runic rhyme!
Speak! from the shades and the depths disclose,
How Sigurd may vanquish his mortal foes;
Voice of the buried past!
Ode To Sleep
© Thomas Warton
On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep!
Descend, in all thy downy plumage drest:
Wipe with thy wing these eyes that wake to weep,
And place thy crown of poppies on my breast.
What the Birds Said
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The birds against the April wind
Flew northward, singing as they flew;
They sang, "The land we leave behind
Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew."
A Lover
© Amy Lowell
If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.
Vesta
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O CHRIST of God! whose life and death
Our own have reconciled,
Most quietly, most tenderly
Take home thy star-named child!
The Worship of Nature
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
The Sycamores
© John Greenleaf Whittier
In the outskirts of the village
On the river's winding shores
Stand the Occidental plane-trees,
Stand the ancient sycamores.
Lines To R. L.
© Henry Timrod
That which we are and shall be is made up
Of what we have been. On the autumn leaf
The Pumpkin
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,
