All Poems

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3210

The Slave Dealer

© Thomas Pringle

From ocean's wave a Wanderer came,
With visage tanned and dun:
His Mother, when he told his name,
Scarce knew her long-lost son;
So altered was his face and frame
By the ill course he had run.

Sonnet XLIV: Cloud and Wind

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Love, should I fear death most for you or me?

Yet if you die, can I not follow you,

Patriotism

© Edgar Albert Guest

I think my country needs my vote,

I know it doesn't need my throat,

Lines,

© John Kenyon

WRITTEN IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT AN INN IN SWITZERLAND.

The Complaint Of Prometheus

© Aeschylus

PROMETHEUS (alone)

O holy Aether, and swift-winged Winds,

For A Venetian Pastoral By Giorgione (In the Louvre)

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

WATER, for anguish of the solstice:nay,

But dip the vessel slowly,nay, but lean

Sonnet 41: Having This Day My Horse

© Sir Philip Sidney

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance

Guided so well that I obtain'd the prize,

Dressing The Doll

© William Brighty Rands

THIS is the way we dress the Doll:
You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,
But this is the way we dress the Doll.

Chorus

Sonnet. "Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee"

© Frances Anne Kemble

Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee

In that dim world whither our spirits stray,

No News From The War

© Augusta Davies Webster

"IS she sitting in the meadow
Where the brook leaps to the mill,
Leaning low against the poplar,
Dreamily and still?

She knelt and kneeling drank the scent of limes,
Blown round the slow blind by a vesperal gust,
Till the room swam. So the lime-incense blew
Into her life as once it had in his,
Though how and when and with what ageless charge
Of sorrow and deep joy how could she know?

Our Canadian Woods In Early Autumn

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

I have passed the day mid the forest gay,

In its gorgeous autumn dyes,

The Tree-Toad

"'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad,

"I've twittered far rain all day;

Vulcan's Song: In Making Of The Arrows

© John Lyly

MY shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply
Our Lemnian hammers lustily.
By my wife's sparrows,
I swear these arrows
Shall singing fly
Through many a wanton's eye.

Dawn

Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.

There is a calm for those who weep,

There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.

This World

Thy world is made to fit thine own,
A nursery for thy children small,
The playground-footstool of thy throne,
Thy solemn school-room, Father of all!
When day is done, in twilight's gloom,
We pass into thy presence-room.