All Poems
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"Yes! Thou Art Fair, Yet Be Not Moved"
© William Wordsworth
YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved
To scorn the declaration,
That sometimes I in thee have loved
My fancy's own creation.
Lost on the Prairie
© William Topaz McGonagall
In one of fhe States of America, some years ago,
There suddenly came on a violent storm of snow,
Which was nearly the death of a party of workmen,
Who had finished their day's work - nine or ten of them.
The Plains of Riverine
© Anonymous
I have come to tell the glorious news you'll all be glad to hear,
Of the pleasant alterations that are taking place this year.
So kindly pay attention, and I'll pass the whisper round,
The squatters of their own free will this year will pay the pound.
The Little Man In Green
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
'TWAS a little man in green,
And he sat upon a stone;
And he sat there all alone,
Whispering.
Lispeth
© Rudyard Kipling
Look, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these
You bid me please?
The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so!
To my own Gods I go.
It may be they shall give me greater ease
Than your cold Christ and tangled Trinities.
Sus Ventanas
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Sus ventanas floridas
Que miran al oriente,
Llevan buena amistad con las auroras
Que, como primicias fulgidas, esmaltan
Al campo de victorias de su frente.
Bach in the DC Subway by David Lee Garrison : American Life in Poetry #239 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Lau
© Ted Kooser
It’s likely that if you found the original handwritten manuscript of T. S. Eliot’s groundbreaking poem, “The Waste Land,” you wouldn’t be able to trade it for a candy bar at the Quick Shop on your corner. Here’s a poem by David Lee Garrison of Ohio about how unsuccessfully classical music fits into a subway.
Bach in the DC Subway
As an experiment,
Joys of Peace
© Theocritus
And, oh! that they might till rich fields,
And that unnumbered sheep and fat
Might bleat cheerily through the plains,
And that oxen coming in herds to the stalls
Longfellow Dead
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AY, it is well! Crush back your selfish tears;
For from the half-veiled face of earthly spring
Hath he not risen on heaven-aspiring wing
To reach the spring-tide of the eternal years?
Before Execution.
© Robert Crawford
The sun is set, and all the stars are come,
Stars I shall no more see; the air is still,
And my life waits the ruin so near now.
A little space, and I shall have done here.
How Can I Keep From Singing?
© Robert Wadsworth Lowry
My life flows on in endless song;
Above earths lamentation
Horatian Lyrics Odes I, 23.
© Eugene Field
Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn,
That, fearful of the breezes and the wood,
Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn
And on the pathless mountain tops has stood?
The Incarceration Of Loneliness
© Faiz Ahmed Faiz
On the far horizon waved some flicker of light
My heart, a city of suffering, awoke in a state of dream
My eyes, turning restless, still dreaming,
the morning, dawning in this vacuous abode of separation
To Alice--Sit--By--The--Hour II
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Lady in the blue kimono,
Although deadly hot the day,
Don't you think--(alas! we know no
Way to put what we would say!)
Proem To A Voice On The Wind And Other Poems
© Madison Julius Cawein
Oh, for a soul that fulfills
Music like that of a bird!
Thrilling with rapture the hills,
Heedless if any one heard.
The Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare , Maggie
© Robert Burns
A Guide New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie,
I've seen the day
There could hae gaen like ony staggie,
Out-owre the lay.
The Soul That Loves God Finds Him Everywhere
© William Cowper
O thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide;
My love! how full of sweet content
I pass my years of banishment!
Drake
© Alfred Noyes
England, my mother,
Lift to my western sweetheart
One full cup of English mead, breathing of the may!
Pledge the may-flower in her face that you and ah, none other,
Sent her from the mother-land
Across the dashing spray.
The RagPicker
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In the April sun
Shuffling, shapeless, bent,
Cobweb--eyed, with stick
Searching, one by one,
Gutter--heaps, intent
Wretched rags to pick.
