All Poems
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A Sonnet of Battle
© William Gay
RELUCTANT Morn, whose meagre radiance lies
With doubtful glimmer on the farthest hills,
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book IV - Dyuta - (The Fatal Dice)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
The madness increased, and Yudhishthir staked his brothers, and then
himself, and then the fair Draupadi, and lost! And thus the Emperor
of Indra-prastha and his family were deprived of every possession
on earth, and became the bond-slaves of Duryodhan. The old king
Dhrita-rashtra released them from actual slavery, but the five
brothers retired to forests as homeless exiles.
Porphyrion
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Yet into vacancy the troubled heart
Brings its own fullness: and Porphyrion found
The void a prison, and in the silence chains.
To Cardinal Richelieu. (From Malherbe)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thou mighty Prince of Church and State,
Richelieu! until the hour of death,
I Mustn't Forget
© Edgar Albert Guest
I mustn't forget that I'm gettin' old,
That's the worst thing ever a man can do.
The Wife Of Flanders
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Low and brown barns, thatched and repatched and tattered,
Where I had seven sons until to-day,
A little hill of hay your spur has scattered. . . .
This is not Paris. You have lost your way.
The After-Echo
© Henry Van Dyke
How long the echoes love to play
Around the shore of silence, as a wave
A Bride
© James Whitcomb Riley
"O I am weary!" she sighed, as her billowy
Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold
The Conquerors Grave
© William Cullen Bryant
WITHIN this lowly grave a Conqueror lies,
And yet the monument proclaims it not,
St. Ignatius Loyola At The Chapel Of Our Lady Of Montserrat
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Tis midnight, and solemn darkness broods
In a lonely, sacred fane
Violets
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Violets, in what pleasant earth you grew
I know not, nor what heavenly moisture stole
To tincture in your petals such dim blue
As seems a pure June midnight's scented soul:
The First Part: Sonnet 14 - Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
© William Henry Drummond
Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
Sebethus, nor the flood into whose streams
The Gentle Man
© William Carlos Williams
I feel the caress of my own fingers
on my own neck as I place my collar
and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.
The Fool Of The World: A Morality
© Arthur Symons
THE MAN. THE WORM.
DEATH, as the Fool, YOUTH.
THE SPADE. MIDDLE AGE.
THE COFFIN. OLD AGE.
The Warrior's Return
© Amelia Opie
Sir Walter returned from the far Holy Land,
And a blood-tinctured falchion he bore;
But such precious blood as now darkened his sword
Had never distained it before.
A Pin Has A Head, But Has No Hair
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
A pin has a head, but has no hair;
A clock has a face, but no mouth there;
The Dead Oread
© Madison Julius Cawein
Her heart is still and leaps no more
With holy passion when the breeze,
Her whilom playmate, as before,
Comes with the language of the bees,
Sad songs her mountain cedars sing,
And water-music murmuring.
Angelina
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
When de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel,
An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel;
Spring Came In
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
SPRING came in with a red-wing's feather
And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow--
O happy bird, can you tell me whether
In distant France they have April weather?
And little pools that are sunny and shallow?
