All Poems
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London Types: Sandwich-Man
© William Ernest Henley
An ill March noon; the flagstones gray with dust;
An all-round east wind volleying straws and grit;
My Native Land!
© Caroline Norton
WHERE is the minstrel's native land?
Where the flames of light and feeling glow;
Where the flowers are wreathed for beauty's brow;
Where the bounding heart swells strong and high,
With holy hopes which may not die--
There is my native land!
Any Poet At Any Time
© Alfred Austin
Time, thou supreme inexorable Judge,
Whom none can bribe, and none can overawe,
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 99
© Alfred Tennyson
Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
To myriads on the genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,
And unto myriads more, of death.
Poet, Lover, Birdwatcher
© Nissim Ezekiel
To force the pace and never to be still
Is not the way of those who study birds
Or women. The best poets wait for words.
The hunt is not an exercise of will
Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments
© Archibald MacLeish
THE praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems
Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes
Limited Liability
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Some seven men form an Association
(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),
The Parrot and the Billy-Goat
© Henry Clay Work
There were no romping children at Doctor Quibble's door;
Long past the silver wedding, no toys lay on the floor,
But to relieve her longings, to soothe her vain regrets,
His good wife had contrived to raise a family of pets.
Microcosm
© Edith Nesbit
SHE and I--we kissed and vowed
That should be which could not be;
Just as if mere vows endowed
Love with immortality!
Ah, had vows but kept us true,
As we thought them sure to do!
The Vision At Twilight
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITHOUT the squares of misted pane,
I saw the wan autumnal rain,
And heard, o'er tufts of churchyard grass,
The wind's low miserere pass.
Queen Mab: Part IX.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Earth floated then below;
The chariot paused a moment there;
The Spirit then descended;
The restless coursers pawed the ungenial soil,
Snuffed the gross air, and then, their errand done,
Unfurled their pinions to the winds of heaven.
Lines. "To the smooth beach the silver sea"
© Frances Anne Kemble
To the smooth beach the silver sea
Comes rippling in a thousand smiles,
Honey-Suckles.
© Robert Crawford
The sweet dew in the honey-suckle flowers
Tastes of the morning; to Love's palate still
Are tender thoughts so all-delicious too.
Beranger's My Last Song Perhaps (January 1814)
© Eugene Field
When, to despoil my native France,
With flaming torch and cruel sword
Iona: The Graves Of The Kings
© Robinson Jeffers
I wish not to lie here.
There's hardly a plot of earth not blessed for burial, but here
One might dream badly.
Heartsease
© Peter McArthur
IN some strange way God understands
Her dreaming lips were fondly pressed,
The playful touch of childish hands
Her wan cheek lingeringly caressed.
Bob Polter
© William Schwenck Gilbert
BOB POLTER was a navvy, and
His hands were coarse, and dirty too,
His homely face was rough and tanned,
His time of life was thirty-two.
The Doll Upon The Topmost Bough
© Vachel Lindsay
This doll upon the topmost bough,
This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress,
Was taken down and brought to me
One sleety night most comfortless.
Age
© William Lisle Bowles
Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn!
But thou art passing to that night-still bourne,
Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud
To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud,
Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest;
And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast!
