All Poems
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The Two Voices
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Anon, another speaks, a voice of care
With sorrow laden and akin to grief,
``My son,'' it saith, ``What is my will with thee?
The burden of my sorrows thou shalt share.
With thieves thou too shalt be accounted thief,
And in my kingdom thou shalt sup with me.''
A Farewell To Secretary Shuyun At The Xietiao Villa In Xuanzhou
© Li Po
Since yesterday had to throw me and bolt,
Today has hurt my heart even more.
Sonnet V
© George Santayana
Even such a dream I dream, and know full well
My waking passes like a midnight spell,
But know not if my dreaming could break through
Into the deeps of heaven and of hell.
I know but this of all I would I knew:
Truth is a dream, unless my dream is true.
Ode Composed On A May Morning
© William Wordsworth
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
The Old Sergeant
© Forceythe Willson
COME a little nearer, Doctor,thank you,let me take the cup:
Draw your chair up,draw it closer,just another little sup!
May be you may think I m better; but I m pretty well used up:
Doctor, youve done all you could do, but I m just a going up!
Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio
© Sara Teasdale
The fountain shivers lightly in the rain,
The laurels drip, the fading roses fall,
The marble satyr plays a mournful strain
That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.
Genesis BK XVIII
© Caedmon
(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft. He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.
Remorse
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"What would you tell me, my child, my child, that once slept a babe on my breast?"
(Do the death bells toll for a passing soul?)
"O mother! my friend is dead, now I stand confessed.
I can strike the stone into flame, make the dark give light,
But I cannot give back to the tiniest bird its flight.
Words
© Sylvia Plath
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The Moral Warfare
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WHEN Freedom, on her natal day,
Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
An iron race around her stood,
Baptized her infant brow in blood;
A Night Thought
© William Wordsworth
Lo! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly
How bright her mien!
La Tejedora
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Tarde de lluvia en que se agravan
Al par que una íntima tristeza
Un desdén manso de las cosas
Y una emoción sutil y contrita que reza.
Afternoon
© Emma Lazarus
Small, shapeless drifts of cloud
Sail slowly northward in the soft-hued sky,
With blur half-tints and rolling summits bright,
By the late sun caressed; slight hazes shroud
All things afar; shineth each leaf anigh
With its own warmth and light.
Written For A Gentlewoman In Distress, To Her Grace Adelida, Dutchess Of Shrewsbury.
© Mary Barber
Might I inquire the Reasons of my Fate,
Or with my Maker dare expostulate;
Did I, in prosp'rous Days, despise the Poor,
Or drive the friendless Stranger from my Door?
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE PROTESTS, NOTWITHSTANDING, HIS LOVE
To be cast forth from the fair light of heaven
Into the outer darkness and there lie,
Through unrecorded years of agony,
The Chartre Of Pardon.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Ihesu, kyng of hie heuen a-bove, Vnto Michael my chief lieu-tenaunt,
And alle thin ássessourës wich I love,That in my seruice be perséueraunthave euermore, and to me ful pleasaunt My gretyng;and, upon the peyne of dreed,Vnto this present chartre take[th] heed.
Rubaiyat 41
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
I wish that fate would cease this carnage,
And to the lovers give their due wage.
In times of youth the rein in my hands,
Now on the saddle, I ride in old age.
The Friend Of Humanity, And The Knife-Grinder
© John Hookham Frere
"Needy Knife-grinder! whether are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-
Bleak blows the Blast;-your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: VII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I had made my round, as yet with little gain
Of undiscovered good in that gay place.
I had sought my share of pleasure, but in vain.
Laughter was not for me, and hid her face.
