All Poems
/ page 71 of 3210 /The Ballad of Dead Ladies
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,Only heard on river and mere, -- She whose beauty was more than human?
Song
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream,Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam.
After Communion
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? Why should I call Thee Friend, Who are my Love? Or King, Who art my very Spouse above?Or call Thy sceptre on my heart Thy rod? Lo now Thy banner over me is love,All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod:For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove
Art
© Robertson William John
Art's noblest work from thingsRebellious to the trammel She wrings:Rhyme, marble, gem, enamel.
Tristesse
© Robertson James
Lost is my strength, my mirth, the joy intense Of very life, the comrades and the zest; -- All, even to my pride, that unsuppressedHad wrought my spirit to self-confidence
On Mixed Pupils
© Robertson James
I wonder, to look on some commonplace Crass carcase in calm cow-hide,What on earth, if one could see through the case, The works are doing inside!
Emeritus
© Robertson James
Crumpled and bowed, Lone in the crowd,Let him clear out for his betters! What doth it serve Once he had nerve,Once too a tincture of letters: --
Cambridge
© Robertson James
Two fitful lamps in the silent court Scarce vigour enough can musterTo throw on the nearest ivy-leaves A faint and sickly lustre
The Wreckers' Prayer
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
Give us a wrack or two, Good Lard,For winter in Tops'il Tickle bes hard,Wild grey frost creepin' like mortal sinAnd perishin' lack of bread in the bin.
The Sandbar
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
Here the black crows gather; Here the herons wadeAlong the amber shallows, Far from their willow shade
Mortality
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
A little strife--and oh! the long forgetting. A gust of cheering--and the frozen breath.A day of singing--and a night of silence. An hour for living--and an age for death.
In the Hand of the Wind
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
Lord, I am passing in the wind's lean hand: And now, of all my glory what will stand?--The echo of a love song, like thin smoke Blown down the valleys of a kindly land.
The Blind Sailor
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
."Strike me blind!." we swore. God! And I was stricken! I have seen the morning fade And noonday thicken.
Twilight on Sixth Avenue at Ninth Street
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Over the tops of the houses Twilight and sunset meet.The green, diaphanous dusk Sinks to the eager street.
Tantramar Revisited
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Summers and summers have come, and gone with the flight of the swallow;Sunshine and thunder have been, storm, and winter, and frost;Many and many a sorrow has all but died from remembrance,Many a dream of joy fall'n in the shadow of pain
The Solitary Woodsman
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
When the grey lake-water rushesPast the dripping alder-bushes, And the bodeful autumn windIn the fir-tree weeps and hushes, --
The Skater
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
My glad feet shod with the glittering steelI was the god of the wingèd heel.
The Salt Flats
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Here clove the keels of centuries ago Where now unvisited the flats lie bare