All Poems

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Al Aaraaf: Part 1

© Edgar Allan Poe

PART I
O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day

LArt DAimer

© André Marie de Chénier

FRAGMENT I

Ah! tremble que ton âme à la sienne livrée
Ne s'en puisse arracher sans être déchirée.

LEAN down and see your little face
Reflected in the forest pool,
Tall foxgloves grow about the place,
Forget-me-nots grow green and cool.
Look deep and see the naiad rise
To meet the sunshine of your eyes.

First Day Of Summer

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Sweetest of all delights are the vainest, merest;
Hours when breath is joy, for the breathing's sake.
Summer awoke this morning, and early awake
I rose refreshed, and gladly my eyes saluted

Hector The Collector

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring. Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,

A Parable - III

© James Russell Lowell

An ass munched thistles, while a nightingale

From passion's fountain flooded all the vale.

The Fishermen

© Emile Verhaeren

The spot is flaked with mist, that fills,
Thickening into rolls more dank,
The thresholds and the window-sills,
And smokes on every bank.

Morning In The Hospital Solarium

© Sylvia Plath

Sunlight strikes a glass of grapefruit juice,
flaring green through philodendron leaves
in this surrealistic house
of pink and beige, impeccable bamboo,

In Praise Of Johnny Applseed

© Vachel Lindsay

But he left their wigwams and their love.
By the hour of dawn he was proud and stark,
Kissed the Indian babes with a sigh,
Went forth to live on roots and bark,
Sleep in the trees, while the years howled by--

The Size

© George Herbert

Content thee, greedie heart.
Modest and moderate joyes to those, that have
Title to more hereafter when they part,
Are passing brave.
Let th' upper springs into the low
Descend and fall, and thou dost flow.

To Roses in the Bosom of Castara

© William Habington

YE blushing virgins happy are
In the chaste nunnery of her breasts-
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.

The Cloud Messenger - Part 02

© Kalidasa

Your naturally beautiful reflection will gain entry into the clear waters of the
Gambhira River, as into a clear mind. Therefore it is not fitting that you, out
of obstinancy, should render futile her glances which are the darting leaps of
little fish, as white as night-lotus flowers.

Colors

My skin is kind of sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white.
My eyes are greyish blueish green,
But I'm told they look orange in the night.

Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLIV

We came at last, alas! I see it yet,
With its open windows on the upper floor,
To a certain house still stirring, with lights set,
And just a chink left open of the door.

New Morality

But say,-indignant does the Muse retire,
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a Poet's charge to claim.