All Poems
/ page 7 of 3210 /Always on the Train
© Ruth Stone
Writing poems about writing poems
is like rolling bales of hay in Texas.
To Any Reader
© Robert Louis Stevenson
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
The Land of Nod
© Robert Louis Stevenson
From breakfast on through all the day
At home among my friends I stay,
But every night I go abroad
Afar into the land of Nod.
The High-Toned Old Christian Woman
© Wallace Stevens
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
The Comedian As The Letter C
© Wallace Stevens
379 Trinket pasticcio, flaunting skyey sheets,
380 With Crispin as the tiptoe cozener?
381 No, no: veracious page on page, exact.
A High-Toned Old Christian Woman
© Wallace Stevens
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
from Amoretti: Sonnet 67
© Edmund Spenser
Like as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escap'd away,
Amoretti XXII: This Holy Season
© Edmund Spenser
This holy season, fit to fast and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclin'd:
Amoretti LXXV: One Day I Wrote Her Name
© Edmund Spenser
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call you Fair
© Edmund Spenser
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
Amoretti LXXIV: Most Happy Letters
© Edmund Spenser
Most happy letters, fram'd by skilful trade,
With which that happy name was first design'd:
Amoretti LXVIII: Most Glorious Lord of Life
© Edmund Spenser
Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:
Amoretti LXVII: Like as a Huntsman
© Edmund Spenser
Like as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escap'd away,
A Hymn Of Heavenly Beauty
© Edmund Spenser
Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought,
Through contemplation of those goodly sights,
God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop
© Robert Southey
The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet,
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.