All Poems
/ page 2591 of 3210 /
An old life
© Donald Hall
Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
His Answer To "Her Letter"
© Francis Bret Harte
(REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES)
Being asked by an intimate party,--
My Lover Asks Me
© Nizar Qabbani
My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.
Behind The Gates Of The Wealthy
© Du Fu
Behind the gates of the wealthy
food lies rotting from waste
Outside it's the poor
who lie frozen to death
Oh, My Love
© Nizar Qabbani
Oh, my love
If you were at the level of my madness,
You would cast away your jewelry,
Sell all your bracelets,
And sleep in my eyes.
Every Time I Kiss You
© Nizar Qabbani
Every time I kiss you
After a long separation
I feel
I am putting a hurried love letter
In a red mailbox.
To One Who Bade Him Work
© Edith Nesbit
EACH day Work bids my heart anew,
Fold wings and watch my brain at play;
But brain and heart will fly your way,
And find their natural home in you!
Come to me--'tis the only way!
In The Summer
© Nizar Qabbani
In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
Light Is More Important Than The Lantern
© Nizar Qabbani
Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Night Is On The Downland
© John Masefield
Night is on the downland, on the lonely moorland,
On the hills where the wind goes over sheep-bitten turf,
Where the bent grass beats upon the unplowed poorland
And the pine-woods roar like the surf.
The Sea-Child
© Eliza Cook
HE crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink
Where every eye but his own would shrink;
No music he hears but the billows noise,
And shells and weeds are his only toys.
The Pizza
© Ogden Nash
Look at itsy-bitsy Mitzi!
See her figure slim and ritzy!
She eats a
Pizza!
Greedy Mitzi!
She no longer itsy-bitsy!
The Quiet Eye
© Eliza Cook
THE ORB I like is not the one
That dazzles with its lightning gleam;
That dares to look upon the sun,
As though it challenged brighter beam.
Poem
© Ernest Hemingway
The only man I ever loved
Said good bye
And went away
He was killed in Picardy
On a sunny day.
The Old Arm-chair
© Eliza Cook
I LOVE it, I love it ; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair ?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ;
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.
The First Flowers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
For ages on our river borders,
These tassels in their tawny bloom,
And willowy studs of downy silver,
Have prophesied of Spring to come.
Song of the Worm
© Eliza Cook
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The Waggoner - Canto Fourth
© William Wordsworth
THUS they, with freaks of proud delight,
Beguile the remnant of the night;
And many a snatch of jovial song
Regales them as they wind along;
Don't Tell the World that You're Waiting for Me
© Eliza Cook
THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love,
And still 'tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ;
I hear no reply but a gentle " Not yet, love,"
With a smile of your lip, and a shake of your head.
