All Poems
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Pelang
© William Henry Drummond
Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher garçon,
I t'ink of you--t'ink of you night and day--
Don't mak' no difference, seems to me
De long long tam you're gone away.
The Last Furrow
© Edwin Markham
THE SPIRIT OF EARTH with still, restoring hands,
Mid ruin moves, in glimmering chasm gropes,
Robert E. Lee
© Gamaliel Bradford
O Robert Lee, you paladin,
I wonder how my words would strike you.
I know the portrait might have been
In many, many ways more like you.
The Graveyard By The Sea
© Paul Valéry
Sure treasure, simple shrine to intelligence,
Palpable calm, visible reticence,
Proud-lidded water, Eye wherein there wells
Under a film of fire such depth of sleep --
O silence! . . . Mansion in my soul, you slope
Of gold, roof of a myriad golden tiles.
Soldier: Twentieth Century
© Isaac Rosenberg
I love you, great new Titan!
Am I not you?
Napoleon or Caesar
Out of you grew.
The Suicide's Grave
© William Schwenck Gilbert
On a tree by a river a little tomtit
Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!"
Fatal Love
© Matthew Prior
Poor Hal caught his death standing under a spout
Expecting till midnight when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And cursed was the weather that quench'd the man's flame.
Whoe'er thou art that reads these moral lines,
Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.
To The Survivors
© Henrik Johan Ibsen
NOW they sing the hero loud; --
But they sing him in his shroud.
"Thought is Surrounded by a Halo"
© Gwen Harwood
Show me the order of the world,
the hard-edge light of this-is-so
prior to all experience
and common to both world and thought,
no model, but the truth itself.
Pleasant Prophecies
© Robert Fuller Murray
A day of gladness yet will dawn,
Though when I cannot say;
Perhaps it may be Thursday week,
Perhaps some other day,
Poetic Emotion.
© Robert Crawford
The heart's throb makes the music: words are air,
A mortal breath, if no emotion thrills
The subtle syllables; and all men own
The poesy, the passion, and the power
Alberto by Warren Woessner: American Life in Poetry #118 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Our species has developed monstrous weapons that can kill not only all of us but everything else on the planet, yet when the wind rises we run for cover, as we have done for as long as we've been on this earth. Here's hoping we never have the skill or arrogance to conquer the weather. And weather stories? We tell them in the same way our ancestors related encounters with fearsome dragons. This poem by Minnesota poet Warren Woessner honors the tradition by sharing an experience with a hurricane.
The House Of Dreams
© Sara Teasdale
I built a little House of Dreams,
And fenced it all about,
But still I heard the Wind of Truth
That roared without.
In Beechwood Cemetery
© Archibald Lampman
Here the dead sleep-the quiet dead. No sound
Disturbs them ever, and no storm dismays.
Winter mid snow caresses the tired ground,
And the wind roars about the woodland ways.
She Charged Me
© Thomas Hardy
She charged me with having said this and that
To another woman long years before,
In the very parlour where we sat, -
Hymn XXI: Ye Simple Souls That Stray
© Charles Wesley
Ye simple souls that stray
Far from the path of peace,
