All Poems
/ page 2945 of 3210 /
In The Hills
© Wang Wei
White rocks jutting from Ching stream
The weather's cold, red leaves few
No rain at all on the paths in the hills
Clothes are wet with the blue air.
A Song of an Autumn Night.
© Wang Wei
Under the crescent moon a light autumn dew
Has chilled the robe she will not change --
And she touches a silver lute all night,
Afraid to go back to her empty room.
Metonymy as an Approach to a Real World
© William Bronk
Whether what we sense of this world
is the what of this world only, or the what
of which of several possible worlds
--which what?--something of what we sense
The Smile on the Face of a Kouros
© William Bronk
This boy, of course, was dead, whatever that
might mean. And nobly dead. I think we should feel
he was nobly dead. He fell in battle, perhaps,
and this carved stone remembers him
What We Are
© William Bronk
What we are? We say we want to become
what we are or what we have an intent to be.
We read the possibilities, or try.
We get to some. We think we know how to read.
On the Soft and Gentle Motions of Eudora.
© Anne Killigrew
That 'tis not the Lowd though Tuneable String,
Can shewforth so soft, so Noyseless a Thing!
O This to express from thy Hand must fall,
Then Musicks self, something more Musical.
Upon a Little Lady Under the Discipline of an Excellent Person.
© Anne Killigrew
A little Nymph whose Limbs divinely bright,
Lay like a Body of Collected Light,
But not to Love and Courtship so disclos'd,
But to the Rigour of a Dame oppos'd,
Who instant on the Faire with Words and Blows,
Now chastens Error, and now Virtue shews.
Cloris Charmes Dissolved by EUDORA.
© Anne Killigrew
For there's no Light,
But all is Night,
And Darkness that you meet.
Extemporary Counsel given to a Young Gallant in a Frolick.
© Anne Killigrew
AS you are Young, if you'l be also Wise,
Danger with Honour court, Quarrels despise;
Believe you then are truly Brave and Bold,
To Beauty when no Slave, and less to Gold;
When Vertue you dare own, not think it odd,
Or ungenteel to say, I fear a God.
An ODE.
© Anne Killigrew
ARise my Dove, from mid'st of Pots arise,
Thy sully'd Habitation leave,
To Dust no longer cleave,
Unworthy they of Heaven that will not view the Skies.
[Page 83]
An Epitaph on her Self.
© Anne Killigrew
WHen I am Dead, few Friends attend my Hearse,
And for a Monument, I leave my VERSE.
Penelope to Ulysses.
© Anne Killigrew
REturn my dearest Lord, at length return,
Let me no longer your sad absence mourn,
Ilium in Dust, does no more Work afford,
No more Employment for your Wit or Sword.
ON THE Dutchess of Grafton Under the Name of Alinda.
© Anne Killigrew
A SONG.I.
TH'ambitious Eye that seeks alone,
Where Beauties Wonders most are shown;
Of all that bounteous Heaven displays,
On a young Lady Whose LORD was Travelling.
© Anne Killigrew
NO sooner I pronounced Celindas name,
But Troops of wing'd Pow'rs did chant the fame:
Not those the Poets Bows and Arrows lend,
But such as on the Altar do attend.
On my Aunt Mrs A. K. Drown'd under London-Bridge, in the QUEENS Bardge, Anno 1641.
© Anne Killigrew
When angry Heav'n extinguisht her fair Light,
It seem'd to say, Nought's Precious in my sight;
As I in Waves this Paragon have drown'd,
The Nation next, and King I will confound.
A Pastoral Dialogue (Melibæus, Alcippe, Asteria, Licida, Alcimedon, and Amira. )
© Anne Killigrew
Melibæus. WElcome fair Nymphs, most welcome to this shade,
Distemp'ring Heats do now the Plains invade:
But you may sit, from Sun securely here,
If you an old mans company not fear.
The Discontent.
© Anne Killigrew
I.
HEre take no Care, take here no Care, my Muse,
Nor ought of Art or Labour use:
But let thy Lines rude and unpolisht go,
TO My Lord Colrane, In Answer to his Complemental Verses sent me under the Name of CLEANOR
© Anne Killigrew
LOng my dull Muse in heavy slumbers lay,
Indulging Sloth, and to soft Ease gave way,
Her Fill of Rest resolving to enjoy,
Or fancying little worthy her employ.
On the Birth-Day of Queen Katherine
© Anne Killigrew
WHile yet it was the Empire of the Night,
And Stars still check'r'd Darkness with their Light,
From Temples round the cheerful Bells did ring,
But with the Peales a churlish Storm did sing.
Upon the saying that my VERSES were made by another.
© Anne Killigrew
The Deity that ever does attend
Prayers so sincere, to mine did condescend.
I writ, and the Judicious prais'd my Pen:
Could any doubt Insuing Glory then ?
