All Poems
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If
© William Dean Howells
Yes, death is at the bottom of the cup,
And every one that lives must drink it up;
And yet between the sparkle at the top
And the black lees where lurks the bitter drop,
There swims enough good liquor, Heaven knows,
To ease our hearts of all their other woes.
Dead Hope
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Hope new born one pleasant morn
Died at even;
Hope dead lives nevermore.
No, not in heaven.
An Oriental Apologue
© James Russell Lowell
Somewhere in India, upon a time,
(Read it not Injah, or you spoil the verse,)
The False Laurel And The True
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest
The wreath to mighty poets only due,
Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few
The Dome Of Sunday
© Karl Shapiro
With focus sharp as Flemish-painted face
In film of varnish brightly fixed
Upon The Sudden Restraint Of The Earl Of Somerset, Then Falling From Favour
© Sir Henry Wotton
Dazled thus with height of place,
Whilst our Hopes our wits Beguile,
No man marks the narrow space
'Twixt a Prison and a Smile.
Ode Written For The Celebration Of The Cochituate Water Into The City Of Boston
© James Russell Lowell
My name is Water: I have sped
Through strange, dark ways, untried before,
By pure desire of friendship led,
Cochituate's ambassador;
He sends four royal gifts by me:
Long life, health, peace, and purity.
The Oriental Nosegay. By Pickersgill
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,
But only to the spring and summer known.
Ah! little marvel in such clime and age
As that of our too earth-bound pilgrimage,
That we should daily hear that love is fled,
And hope grown pale, and lighted feelings dead.
Sunrise
© Victor Marie Hugo
Foul times there are when nations spiritless
Throw honour away
For tinsel glory, to base happiness
A mournful prey.
To A Departing Favorite
© George Moses Horton
Thou mayst retire, but think of me
When thou art gone afar,
Where'er in life thy travels be,
If tost along the brackish sea,
Or borne upon the car.
Night Coming Into A Garden
© Lord Alfred Douglas
Roses red and white,
Every rose is hanging her head,
Silently comes the lady Night,
Only the flowers can hear her tread.
Epigram
© George Canning
What mean ye by this print so rare?
Ye wits, of Eton jealous:
Behold! your rivals soar in air,
And ye are heavy-fellows!
The Saddest Fate
© Anonymous
To touch a broken lute,
To strike a jangled string,
To strive with tones forever mute
The dear old tunes to sing--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, never to sing at all.
On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford
© William Wordsworth
. A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Kitchener
© Robert Laurence Binyon
This is the man whom, dead, the meanest match
With their own stature; give tongue, and grow brave
On the imperfection fools have wit to espy.
His silence towers the grander for their cry,
Troubling his fame no more than yelp and scratch
Of jackal could disturb that ocean--grave.
Mary's Evening Sigh
© Robert Bloomfield
How bright with pearl the western sky!
How glorious far and wide,
The Baby's Feet
© Edgar Albert Guest
Pinker than the roses that enrich a summer's day,
Splashing in the bath tub or just kicking them in play,
Nothing in the skies above or earth below as sweet,
As fascinating to me as a baby's little feet.
On The Ice Islands Seen Floating In The German Ocean
© William Cowper
What portents, from what distant region, ride,
Unseen till now in ours, the astonished tide?
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves;
