All Poems
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The Modern Saint
© Matthew Prior
Her time with equal prudence Silvia shares,
First writes her billet-doux, then says her prayers,
Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth
© Ovid
The End of the Sixth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
Porth Ceiriad Bay
© Benjamin Jonson
Descended to the shore, odd how we left
the young girl with us to herself, and went
straight to examine the stratified cliffs,
forgot her entirely in our interest.
Noel
© Katharine Tynan
I sang a song upon Christmas day
And the feet of many going one way,
The word the golden voice did say:
Gloria in Excelsis!
Laocoon
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
A GNARLED and massive oak log, shapeless, old,
Hewed down of late from yonder hillside gray,
Grotesquely curved, across our hearthstone lay;
About it, serpent-wise, the red flames rolled
A Woman
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O you that facing the mirror darkly bright
In the shadowed corner, loiter shyly fond,
To ask of your own sad eyes a comfort slight,
Before you brave the pathless world beyond;
The Dainty Virtue
© Gamaliel Bradford
She fled me through the meadow,
She fled me o'er the hill.
With such a fling she fled, oh,
She may be flying still.
Maternity
© Harriet Monroe
After the months of torpor,
Weakness and ache and strain,
After this day's deep drowning
In stormy seas of pain
To feel your hand, my baby,
Upon my bosom lain!
Leaving the Matter Open: A Tale By Homer Wilbur, A.M.
© James Russell Lowell
Meanwhile, South's swine increasing fast;
His farm became too small at last;
So, having thought the matter over,
And feeling bound to live in clover
And never pay the clover's worth,
He said one day to Brother North:--
You've seen Balloons setHaven't You?
© Emily Dickinson
You've seen Balloons setHaven't You?
So stately they ascend
It is as Swansdiscarded You,
For Duties Diamond
Tintagel
© Muriel Stuart
DEAD man! will you ride with me,
As you rode that night of yore,
Will you ride with me, once more
To Tintagel by the sea?
Bums On Waking
© James Dickey
Bums, on waking,
Do not always find themselves
In gutters with water running over their legs
And the pillow of the curbstone
Turning hard as sleep drains from it.
Mostly, they do not know
To The Water-nymphs Drinking At The Fountain
© Robert Herrick
Reach with your whiter hands to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
As To Some Lovely Temple, Tenantless
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Your body was a temple to Delight;
Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,
Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;
Here might I hope to find you day or night,
And here I come to look for you, my love,
Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.
June
© Archibald Lampman
Long, long ago, it seems, this summer morn
That pale-browed April passed with pensive tread
Memory
© William Ellery Channing
I hear thy solemn anthem fall,
O richest song, upon my ear,
That clothes thee in thy golden pall,
As this wide sun flows on the mere.
