All Poems
/ page 578 of 3210 /
December
© John Payne
THE roofs are dreary with the drifted rime
And in the air a stillness as of death
Poem
© Aldous Huxley
Books and a coloured skein of thoughts were mine;
And magic words lay ripening in my soul
Till their much-whispered music turned a wine
Whose subtlest power was all in my control.
Your Country Needs You
© Edgar Albert Guest
The country needs a man like you,
It has a task for you to do.
Ode For Washingtons Birthday
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
CELEBRATION OF THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION,
FEBRUARY 22, 1856
Evening Song
© Friedrich Rückert
I stood on the mountain summit,
At the hour when the sun did set;
I mark'd how it hung o'er the woodland
The evening's golden net.
Stanzas For Music: There's Not A Joy The World Can Give
© George Gordon Byron
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
Rubaiyat 29
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
I long for your hug and kiss,
I want the wine that will bliss.
Let me cut the story short,
Please return, cause you I miss.
The Meadow
© Archibald Lampman
Here when the cloudless April days begin,
And the quaint crows flock thicker day by day,
Mirage
© Ada Cambridge
Is it a will-o'-the-wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
Is it but one more dream, or are we waking
To find that dreams, at last, are coming true?
The Farm House By The River
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
The Parting And The Coming Guest
© Henry Van Dyke
Who watched the worn-out Winter die?
Who, peering through the window-pane
From Anacreon
© George Gordon Byron
I wish to tune my quivering lyre
To deed of fame and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
The Tree Of Song
© Sara Teasdale
I sang my songs for the rest,
For you I am still;
The tree of my song is bare
On its shining hill.
Reflections of a Proud Pedestrian
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I saw the curl of his waving lash,
And the glance of his knowing eye,
And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash,
As his steed went thundering by.
Impromptu (I)
© Frances Anne Kemble
You say you're glad I writeoh, say not so!
My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well;
Aikendrum
© James Hogg
Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum
He can fight the hero bright, with his heels and armour tight
And the wind of heavenly night, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Dear Doctor, I have Read your Play
© George Gordon Byron
Dear Doctor, I have read your play,
Which is a good one in its way,
Canadians
© William Henry Ogilvie
With arrows on their quarters and with numbers on their hoofs,
With the trampling sound of twenty that re-echoes in the roofs,
Today
© Edgar Albert Guest
TODAY is mine. Tomorrow may not come.
Next week, next year, I may not live to see;
