All Poems
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Addiction
© Moritz Albert Frank
I wish we could control this revoltingwant of control: these peoplewith their spongy eyes, their mouthsof trembling shoehorns, billhooks for penisesand bear traps for vulvas
Life's Fate
© Julia A Moore
The world is filled with trouble; This world is filled with woe;We poor mortals can not shun it, Wherever we may go
Air -- "Belle Mahone"
© Julia A Moore
Once there was a lady fair, With black eyes and curly hair,She has left this world of care, Sweet Carrie Munro.
Town Eclogues: Wednesday; The Tête à Tête
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
DANCINDA. " NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain" To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;" If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move," Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."
The Dean’s Provocation for Writing the Dressing-Room
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
The Doctor, in a clean starch'd band,His golden snuff box in his hand,With care his diamond ring displays,And artful shows its various Rays;While grave he stalks down -- StreetHis dearest -- to meet
The Virgin
© Harold Monro
Arms that have never held me; lips of himWho should have been for me; hair most beloved,I would have smoothed so gently; steadfast eyes,Half-closed, yet gazing at me through the dusk;And hands
Suburb
© Harold Monro
Dull and hard the low wind creaksAmong the rustling pampas plumes.Drearily the year consumesIts fifty-two insipid weeks.
Midnight Lamentation
© Harold Monro
When you and I go downBreathless and cold,Our faces both worn backTo earthly mould,How lonely we shall be!What shall we do,You without me,I without you?
Lovers in a London Shadow
© Harold Monro
You two, who woo, take record of to-night;(This corner, that arc-light):For you may never feel againSuch joyful pain.
The Earth for Sale
© Harold Monro
How perilous life will become on earthWhen the great breed of man has covered all
Bitter Sanctuary
© Harold Monro
Clients have left their photos there to perish.She watches through green shutters those who pressTo reach unconsciousness.
There was was a girl of Lahore
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was a girl of Lahore,The same shape behind as before; As no one knew where To offer a chair,She had to sit down on the floor.
There was a young lady named Laura
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There was a young lady named Laura,Who went to the wilds of Angora, She came back on a goat With a beautiful coat,And notes of the fauna and flora.
There once was an old monk of Basing
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was an old monk of Basing,Whose salads were something amazing; But he told his confessor That NebuchadnezzarHad given him hints upon grazing.
There once was an old man of Lyme
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
There once was an old man of LymeWho married three wives at a time, When asked, "Why a third?" He replied, "One's absurd!And bigamy, sir, is a crime.
The Inquest
© Money-Coutts Francis Burdett
Not labour kills us; no, nor joy: The incredulity and frown,The interference and annoy, The small attritions wear us down.
Epitaph
© Money-Coutts Francis Burdett
Once I learnt in wilful hour How to vex him; still I keep,Now unwilfully, my power: Every day he comes to weep.
Verses Wrote on her Death-Bed at Bath, to her Husband, in London
© Mary Monck
THOU, who dost all my worldly thoughts employ,Thou pleasing source of all my earthly joy :Thou tend'rest husband, and thou best of friends,To thee this first, this last adieu I send
