All Poems

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People And A Heron

© Robinson Jeffers

A desert of weed and water-darkened stone under my western

windows

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The Fair Maid of Perth's House

© William Topaz McGonagall

All ye good people, afar and near,
To my request pray lend an ear;
I advise you all without delay to go
And see the Fair Maid's House - it is a rare show.

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A Walk

© William Matthews

February on the narrow beach, 3o

A.M. I set out south. Cape Cod Light

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The Execution of James Graham, Marquis of Montrose

© William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the year of 1650, and on the twenty-first of May,
The city of Edinburgh was put into a state of dismay
By the noise of drums and trumpets, which on the air arose,
That the great sound attracted the notice of Montrose.

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Mulford

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Unnoted as the setting of a star
He passed; and sect and party scarcely knew
When from their midst a sage and seer withdrew
To fitter audience, where the great dead are
In God's republic of the heart and mind,
Leaving no purer, nobler soul behind.

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The Downfall of Delhi

© William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the year of 1857 and on the 14th of September
That the Sepoy rebels at Delhi were forced to surrender;
The attack was first to be made by Brigadier Nicholson,
And he was ordered to attack the Cashmere Bastion.

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The Kerrigan Boys

© Edward Harrington

By jove it’s hot on the track today, my flannel is soaked with sweat.
I think I’ll sit in the shade a bit and wait for the sun to set.
I know of a decent camping place by the river beyond the town,
And I’d rather carry my swag through there after the sun goes down.

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The Disastrous Fire at Scarborough

© William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the year of 1898, and on the 8th of June,
A mother and six children met with a cruel doom
In one of the most fearful fires for some years past
And as the spectators gazed upon them they stood aghast

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The Speech Of Flattery

© Leon Gellert

See how he lies, still mighty in his ease,
The fields' huge fear, the terrifying saint;
And nothing needed but his straightened knees,
A polished helm,-perhaps a little paint.

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The Destroying Angel

© William Topaz McGonagall

I dreamt a dream the other night
That an Angel appeared to me, clothed in white.
Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
Such as filled my heart with delight.

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The Dead To The Living

© Robert Laurence Binyon

O you that still have rain and sun,
Kisses of children and of wife
And the good earth to tread upon,
And the mere sweetness that is life,

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The Den o' Fowlis

© William Topaz McGonagall

Beautiful Den o' Fowlis, most charming to be seen
In the summer season, when your trees are green;
Especially in the bright and clear month of June,
When your flowere and shrubberies are in full bloom.

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Hyperbion

© Walter Savage Landor

Hyperbion was among the chosen few

Of Phoebus; and men honored him awhile,

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The Demon Drink

© William Topaz McGonagall

Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer;
Thou curse of society, and its greatest annoyer.
What hast thou done to society, let me think?
I answer thou hast caused the most of ills, thou demon Drink.

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The Death of the Rev. Dr. Wilson

© William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the year of 1888 and on the 17th of January
That the late Rev. Dr. Wilson's soul fled away;
The generous-hearted Dr. had been ailing for some time,
But death, with his dart, did pierce the heart of the learned divine.

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The Lovers

© Rainer Maria Rilke

See how in their veins all becomes spirit;

into each other they mature and grow.

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The Death of the Queen

© William Topaz McGonagall

Alas! our noble and generous Queen Victoria is dead,
And I hope her soul to Heaven has fled,
To sing and rejoice with saints above,
Where ah is joy, peace, and love.

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Solstice Song

© Johannes Vilhelm Jensen

Our sun has now grown cold,

we are in winter’s hold

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The Death of the Old Mendicant

© William Topaz McGonagall

There was a rich old gentleman
Lived on a lonely moor in Switzerland,
And he was very hard to the wandering poor,
'Tis said he never lodged nor served them at his door.

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Thought's Austerity.

© Robert Crawford

Alas! in this bare life thought is austere,
And only when the dream-clouds cover us
And we breathe phantasy's sweet airs, we take
Contentment, though 'tis visionary, on,
And find some miracle of beauty still
To charm us from the savour of ourselves.