All Poems
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The Young Author
© Samuel Johnson
When first the peasant, long inclined to roam,
Forsakes his rural sports and peaceful home,
To Leuconoee
© Eugene Field
Seek not, Leuconoee, to know how long you're going to live yet,
What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to give yet;
The Wife Of Usher's Well
© Andrew Lang
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them oer the sea,
The Despised Lover's Resolution
© Theocritus
Now I go whither thou hast sentenced me,
Whither, 'tis said, the road is common,
Where oblivion is the remedy for those that love.
But could I drink it all,
Not even thus could I slake
My passionate longing.
Overcast
© Charles Baudelaire
Are they blue, gray or green? Mysterious eyes
(as if in fact you were looking through a mist)
in alternation tender, dreamy, grim
to match the shiftless pallor of the sky.
In a City Garden
© Trumbull Stickney
Yet was this willow here.
It hung as now its olive skeins aloft
Into the sky, then blue and clear,-
And yonder pair of poplar trees
III: To Sir Robert Wroth
© Benjamin Jonson
How blest art thou, canst love the countrey, Wroth,
Whether by choyce, or fate, or both!
The Boy's Adventure
© Edgar Albert Guest
"Dear Father," he wrote me from Somewhere in France,
Where he's waiting with Pershing to lead the advance,
Monody On The Death Of Dr. Warton
© William Lisle Bowles
Oh! I should ill thy generous cares requite
Thou who didst first inspire my timid Muse,
Lines Written Extempore On Mr. Harleys Being Stabbed, And Addressed To His Physician, 1710-11
© Jonathan Swift
On Britain Europe's safety lies,
Britain is lost if Harley dies:
Harley depends upon your skill:
Think what you save, or what you kill.
A Wish (I)
© Frances Anne Kemble
Let me not die for ever! when I'm gone
To the cold earth; but let my memory
Home-Sick. Written In Germany
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
'Tis sweet to him, who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.
This Bread I Break
© Dylan Thomas
This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wine at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.
Song of the Sannyasin
© Swami Vivekananda
There is but OneThe FreeThe KnowerSelf!
Without a name, without a form or stain.
In Him is Maya dreaming all this dream.
The witness, He appears as nature, soul.
Know thou art That, Sannyasin bold! Say
"Om Tat Sat, Om!"
Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 01 - Summer
© Kalidasa
"Oh, dear, this utterly sweltering season of the highly rampant sun is drawing nigh, and it will always be good enough to go on taking daytime baths, as the lakes and rivers will still be with plenteous waters, and at the end of the day, nightfall will be pleasant with fascinating moon, and in such nights Love-god can somehow be almost mollified…[who tortured us in the previous vernal season… but now without His sweltering us, we can happily enjoy the nights devouring cool soft drinks and dancing and merrymaking in outfields…]
"Oh, beloved one, somewhere the moon shoved the blackish columns of night aside, somewhere else the palace-chambers with water [showering, sprinkling and splashing] machines are highly exciting, and else where the matrices of gems, [like coolant pearls and moon-stone, etc.,] are there, and even the pure sandalwood is liquefied [besides other coolant scents,] thus this season gets an adoration from all the people…
"The beloved ones will enjoy the summer's clear late nights while they are atop the rooftops of buildings that are delightful and fragranced well, while they savour the passion intensifiers like strong drinks and while the ladylove's face suspires the bouquets of those drinks together with melodious instrumental and vocal music…
"The women are ameliorating the heat of their lovers with their chicly silken coolant fineries gliding onto their rotund fundaments, for they are knotted loosely, and on those silks glissading are their golden cinctures with their dangling tassels that are unfastened on and off, and with their buxom bosoms that are bedaubed with sandal-paste and semi-covered with pearly strings and golden lavalieres, and with their locks of hair that are sliding onto their faces, which locks are fragrant with bath-time emulsions, which are just applied before their oil bath…
The Prophetic Bard's Oration: From A Faun's Holiday
© Robert Nichols
For Pan, the Unknown God, rules all.
He shall outlive the funeral,
Change, and decay, of many Gods,
Until he, too, lets fall his rods
Of viewless power upon that minute
When Universe cowers at Infinite!
Accountability
© William Stafford
Cold nights outside the taverns in Wyoming
pickups and big semis lounge idling, letting their
Idyll V. The Battle of the Bards
© Theocritus
COMETAS.
Goats, from a shepherd who stands here, from Lacon, keep away:
Sibyrtas owns him; and he stole my goatskin yesterday.
The Last Song Of Camoens
© William Lisle Bowles
The morning shone on Tagus' rocky side,
And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide,
