All Poems
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O Pulchritudo
© Sir Henry Newbolt
O Saint whose thousand shrines our feet have trod
And our eyes loved thy lamp's eternal beam,
Dim earthly radiance of the Unknown God,
Hope of the darkness, light of them that dream,
Far off, far off and faint, O glimmer on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.
Sonnet XVI: In Nature Apt
© Sir Philip Sidney
In nature apt to like when I did see
Beauties, which were of many carats fine,
My boiling sprites did thither soon incline,
And, Love, I thought that I was full of thee:
Many Are Called
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Queen of my life! I do not love you less
Because you choose not me to cast your woes on.
It is enough for me you once said ``Yes.''
Many are called by Love, but few are chosen.
Sonnet VIII: Love, Born In Greece
© Sir Philip Sidney
Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place,
Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart
Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart,
And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race.
The Swan Song of Parson Avery
© John Greenleaf Whittier
When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late,
Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children eight,
Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop "Watch and Wait."
Sonnet XXV: The Wisest Scholar
© Sir Philip Sidney
The wisest scholar of the wight most wise
By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says,
That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes,
Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise;
Ultima Thule: My Cathedral
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
Sonnet XXVI: Though Dusty Wits
© Sir Philip Sidney
Though dusty wits dare scorn astrology,
And fools can think those lamps of purest light
Whose numbers, ways, greatness, eternity,
Promising wonders, wonder do invite,
La Vie de Boheme
© Amy Lowell
Alone, I whet my soul against the keen
Unwrinkled sky, with its long stretching blue.
Sonnet XII: Cupid, Because Thou
© Sir Philip Sidney
Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stella's eyes,
That from her locks, thy day-nets, noe scapes free,
That those lips swell, so full of thee they be,
That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise,
Psalm Concerning The Castle
© Denise Levertov
Let me be at the place of the castle.
Let the castle be within me.
Sonnet XVII: His Mother Dear Cupid
© Sir Philip Sidney
His mother dear Cupid offended late,
Because that Mars grown slacker in her love,
With pricking shot he did not throughly more
To keep the pace of their first loving state.
The Poet
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
There was strength in him and the weak won freely from it,
There was an infinite pity, and hard hearts grew soft thereby,
There was truth so unshrinking and starry-shining,
Men read clear by its light and learned to scorn a lie.
Astrophel and Stella VII
© Sir Philip Sidney
When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,In colour black why wrapt she beams so bright?Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?Or did she else that sober hue devise,In object best to knit and strength our sight;Lest, if no veil these brave gleams did disguise,They, sunlike, should more dazzle than delight?Or would she her miraculous power show,That, whereas black seems beauty's contrary,She even in black doth make all beauties flow?Both so, and thus,--she, minding Love should bePlac'd ever there, gave him this mourning weedTo honour all their deaths who for her bleed
American Gothic
© William Stafford
If we see better through tiny,
grim glasses, we like to wear
tiny, grim glasses.
Our parents willed us this
view. It's tundra? We love it.
The Cloud
© Sara Teasdale
I am a cloud in the heaven's height,
The stars are lit for my delight,
Tireless and changeful, swift and free,
I cast my shadow on hill and sea-
But why do the pines on the mountain's crest
Call to me always, "Rest, rest"?
Suspiro (Yearning)
© Jose Asuncion Silva
Si en tus recuerdos ves algún día
entre la niebla de lo pasado
surgir la triste memoria mía
medio borrada ya por los años,
O Star Of France
© Walt Whitman
The brightness of thy hope and strength and fame,
Like some proud ship that led the fleet so long,
Beseems to-day a wreck, driven by the gale-a mastless hulk;
And 'mid its teeming, madden'd, half-drown'd crowds,
Nor helm nor helmsman.
Of The Slums
© Madison Julius Cawein
Red-faced as old carousal, and with eyes
A hard, hot blue; her hair a frowsy flame,
Sonnet XXI: Your Words, My Friend
© Sir Philip Sidney
Your words, my friend, (right healthful caustics) blame
My young mind marr'd, whom Love doth windlass so,
That mine own writings like bad servants show
My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame;
