All Poems

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He wore, I think, a chasuble, the day when first we met;
A stole and snowy alb likewise,--I recollect it yet.
He called me "daughter," as he raised his jeweled hand to bless;
And then, in thrilling undertones, he asked, "Would I confess?"

Holy Baptisme (II)

© George Herbert

Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancie
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.

The Price

© Arthur Symons

Pity all faithless women who have loved. None knows
How much it hurts a woman to do wrong to love.
The mother who has felt the child within her move,
Shall she forget her child, and those ecstatic throes?

Elegy In A Botanic Gardens

© Kenneth Slessor

THE smell of birds' nests faintly burning
Is autumn. In the autumn I came
Where spring had used me better,
To the clear red pebbles and the men of stone

In Fisherrow

© William Ernest Henley

A hard north-easter fifty winters long

Has bronzed and shrivelled sere her face and neck;

A Post-Impression

© Alfred Noyes

He sat with his foolish mouth agape at the golden glare of the sea,
And his wizened and wintry flaxen locks fluttered around his ears,
And his foolish infinite eyes were full of the sky's own glitter and glee,
As he dandled an old Dutch Doll on his knee and sang the song of the spheres.

The First Song

© Richard Francis Burton

A POET writ a song of May

That checked his breath awhile;

To John C. Freemont

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THY error, Frémont, simply was to act

A brave man's part, without the statesman's tact,

Oxford In WarTime

© Robert Laurence Binyon

What alters you, familiar lawn and tower,
Arched alley, and garden green to the gray wall
With crumbling crevice and the old wine--red flower,
Solitary in summer sun? for all

Olympia XI

© Pindar

OLYMPIA Xl-FOR AGESIDAMUS OF THE WESTWIND LOCRIANS:
WINNER IN THE BOYS BOXING MATCH

Brotherhood

© Edwin Markham

The crest and crowning of all good,
Life's final star, is brotherhood;
For it will bring again to Earth
Her long-lost Poesy and Mirth;

The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto XI.

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

II
This learn'd I, watching where she danced,
Native to melody and light,
And now and then toward me glanced,
Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight.

When Winter Comes

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

RAIN at Muchalat, rain at Sooke,

And rain, they say, from Yale to Skeena,

The Perfect Sacrifice

I place an offering at thy shrine,
From taint and blemish clear,
Simple and pure in its design,
Of all that I hold dear.

Midnight

The moon shines white and silent
On the mist, which, like a tide
Of some enchanted ocean,
O'er the wide marsh doth glide,
Spreading its ghost-like billows
Silently far and wide.

Since We Must Die

Though we must die, I would not die

When fields are brown and bleak,

To Death

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur mocks the woe
Which props the column of unnatural state!
You the plainings, faint and low,
From Miserys tortured soul that flow,
Shall usher to your fate.