All Poems

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3210

The Moon

© James Russell Lowell

So was my soul; but when 'twas full
Of unrest to o'erloading,
A voice of something beautiful
Whispered a dim foreboding,
And yet so soft, so sweet, so low,
It had not more of joy than woe;

The Revenge Of Rain-In-The-Face. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath.

The Loving Shepherdess

© Robinson Jeffers

She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.

The Song Sparrow

© Henry Van Dyke

There is a bird I know so well,

It seems as if he must have sung

The Lily

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

VIEW us, white-robed lilies,
We whose beauty's rareness
Sleeps until the bridegroom sun
Woos our virgin fairness.

Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness

© George Gordon Byron

They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;

The Poet's Dead

© Mikhail Lermontov

He's slain - and taken by the grave
Like that unknown, but happy bard,
Victim of jealousy wild,
Of whom he sang with wondrous power,
Struck down, like him, by an unyielding hand.

To The Memory Of Charles B. Storrs

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Thou hast fallen in thine armor,

Thou martyr of the Lord

For the Meeting of the Burns Club

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

Though years have clipped the eagleâs plume
That crowned the chieftainâs bonnet,
The sun still sees the heather bloom,
The silver mists lie on it;

A Dream of Waking

A child was born in sin and shame,
Wronged by his very birth,
Without a home, without a name,
One over in the earth.

The Garden

© Lola Ridge

Bountiful Givers,

I look along the years

An American Tale

"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
If pity e'er ye knew;-
An aged father's wounds to heal,
Through scenes of death I flew.

THE land lay deluged by the Moon;
The molten silver of the lake
Shimmered in many a broad lagoon
Between grey isles, whose copse and brake
Lay folded on the water's breast
Like halcyons in a floating nest.