All Poems
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Song for a Fishing Party near Burlington, on the Delaware, in 1776
© Odell Jonathan
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
On our Thirty-ninth Wedding-day, 6th of May, 1810
© Odell Jonathan
Twice nineteen years, dear Nancy, on this dayComplete their circle, since the smiling MayBeheld us at the altar kneel and joinIn holy rites and vows, which made thee mine
Ode for the New Year
© Odell Jonathan
When rival Nations first descried,Emerging from the boundless MainThis Land by Tyrants yet untried,On high was sung this lofty strain:Rise Britannia beaming far!Rise bright Freedom's morning star!
Molly Odell on her Birthday
© Odell Jonathan
Amidst the rage of civil strife,The orphan's cries, the widow's tears,This day my rising dawn of lifeHas measured five revolving years.
Ode
© O'Shaughnessy Arthur
We are the music makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams,Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; --World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams:Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever, it seems
A White Rose
© O'Reilly John Boyle
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love;Oh, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
The Useless Ones
© O'Reilly John Boyle
Poets should not reason: Let them sing!Argument is treason -- Bells should ring.
Living
© O'Reilly John Boyle
To toil all day and lie worn-out at night;To rise for all the years to slave and sleep,And breed new broods to do no other thingIn toiling, bearing, breeding -- life is thisTo myriad men, too base for man or brute
The Cry of the Dreamer
© O'Reilly John Boyle
I am tired of planning and toiling In the crowded hives of men;Heart-weary of building and spoiling, And spoiling and building again
Villanelle of Ye Young Poet's First Villanelle to his Ladye and Ye Difficulties Thereof
© O'Neill Eugene
To sing the charms of Rosabelle,To pour my soul out at her feet,I try to write this villanelle.
To Winter
© O'Neill Eugene
"Blow, blow, thou winter wind." Away from here,And I shall greet thy passing breath Without a tear.
A Regular Sort of a Guy
© O'Neill Eugene
He fights where the fighting is thickest And keeps his high honor clean;From finish to start, he is sturdy of heart, Shunning the petty and mean;With his friends in their travail and sorrow, He is ever there to stand by,And hark to their plea, for they all know that he Is a regular sort of a guy
"It's Great When You Get In"
© O'Neill Eugene
They told me the water was lovely, That I ought to go for a swim,The air was maybe a trifle cool, "You won't mind it when you get in"So I journeyed cheerfully beach-ward, And nobody put me wise,But everyone boosted my courage With an earful of jovial lies
The Dance at McDougall's
© O'Hagan Thomas
In a little log house near the rim of the forest With its windows of sunlight, its threshold of stone,Lived Donald McDougall, the quaintest of Scotchmen, And Janet his wife, in their shanty, alone:By day the birds sang them a chorus of welcome, At night they saw Scotland again in their dreams;They toiled full of hope 'mid the sunshine of friendship, Their hearts leaping onward like troutlets in streams, In the little log home of McDougall's
Voice of the Twentieth Century
© Robert Norwood
Voice of our Century, whose heart is broken,Weeping for those who will not come again--Lord Christ! hast thou been crucified in vain?--Challenge the right of every Tyrant's token:The fist of mail; the sceptre; ancient, oakenCoffers of gold for which thy sons are slain;The pride of place, which from the days of CainHath for the empty right of Power spoken!
Be like a trumpet blown from clouds of doomAgainst whatever seeks to bind on earth;Bring from the blood of battle, from the wombOf women weeping for their dead, the birthOf better days with banishment of wrong,Love in all hearts, on every lip--a song
A Song of Workers
© Robert Norwood
Hail to the hodmen,The builders of houses!Hail to the navviesLaying pipes for pure water!Hail to the minersPrisoned in pits,Cleaving the coal,Dauntless of death from the gases!
Darwin
© Robert Norwood
Eternal night and solitude of space;Breath as of vapour crimsoning to flame;Far constellations moving in the sameInvariable order and the paceThat times the sun, or earth's elliptic raceAmong the planets: Life--dumb, blind and lame--Creeping from form to form, until her shameBlends with the beauty of a human face!
Death can not claim what Life so hardly wonOut of her ancient warfare with the Void--O Man! whose day is only now begun,Go forth with her and do what she hath done;Till thy last enemy--Death--be destroyed,And earth outshine the splendour of the sun
