Age poems
/ page 107 of 145 /
Consolatorium, Ad Parentes
© William Strode
Lett her parents then confesse
That they beleeve her happinesse,
Which now they question. Thinke as you
Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you:
An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great London Benefactor, And His Executor
© William Strode
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly
Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity
Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme
Thousands out of the grave: though cold hee seeme
Moonlight
© John Kenyon
Not alway from the lessons of the schools,
Taught evermore by those who trust them not,
American Feuillage
© Walt Whitman
Whoever you are! how can I but offer you divine leaves, that you also
be eligible as I am?
How can I but, as here, chanting, invite you for yourself to collect
bouquets of the incomparable feuillage of These States?
The Four Ages of Man
© Anne Bradstreet
1.1 Lo now! four other acts upon the stage,
1.2 Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age.
1.3 The first: son unto Phlegm, grand-child to water,
1.4 Unstable, supple, moist, and cold's his Nature.
Of the Four Ages of Man
© Anne Bradstreet
Lo, now four other act upon the stage,
Childhood and Youth, the Many and Old age:
The first son unto phlegm, grandchild to water,
Unstable, supple, cold and moist's his nature
The Art Of War. Book I.
© Henry James Pye
I'll paint the cruel arm from Bayonne nam'd,
Where savage art a new destruction fram'd,
Their powers combin'd where fire and steel impart,
And point a double wound at every heart.
Contemplations
© Anne Bradstreet
1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
2 When Ph{oe}bus wanted but one hour to bed,
3 The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
4 Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
The Sky Watcher
© William Wilfred Campbell
Black rolls the phantom chimney-smoke
Beneath the wintry moon;
Elegy IV. Anno Aet. 18. To My Tutor, Thomas Young, Chaplain Of The English Merchants Resident At Ham
© William Cowper
Hence, my epistle--skim the Deep--fly o'er
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore!
The Dilettante And The Critic.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
A BOY a pigeon once possess'd,
In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd;
He loved it well, and in boyish sport
Its food to take from his mouth he taught,
And in his pigeon he took such pride,
That his joy to others he needs must confide.
Hans Sachs' Poetical Mission.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.
What Matters It?
© George Frederick Cameron
What matters it the spot we fill
On Earth's green sod when all is said?
When feet and hands and heart are still
And all our pulses quieted?
When hate or love can kill nor thrill,
When we are done with life and dead?
Ballad Of The Banished And Returning Count.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Goethe began to write an opera called Lowenstuhl,
founded upon the old tradition which forms the subject of this Ballad,
but he never carried out his design.]
The Spagnoletto. Act IV
© Emma Lazarus
Night. RIBERA'S bedroom. RIBERA discovered in his dressing-gown,
seated reading beside a table, with a light upon it. Enter from
an open door at the back of the stage, MARIA. She stands
irresolute for a moment on the threshold behind her father,
watching him, passes her hand rapidly over her brow and eyes,
and then knocks.
Original Preface.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
In addition to those portions of Goethe's poetical works which
are given in this complete form, specimens of the different other
classes of them, such as the Epigrams, Elegies, &c., are added,
as well as a collection of the various Songs found in his Plays,
making a total number of about 400 Poems, embraced in the present
volume.
My Goddess.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
But unto us he
Hath his most versatile,
Most cherished daughter
Granted,--what joy!
The Wanderer's Storm-song.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
When he sleepeth on the rock,--
Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
In the forest's midnight hour.
Mahomet's Song.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[This song was intended to be introduced in
a dramatic poem entitled Mahomet, the plan of which was not carried
out by Goethe. He mentions that it was to have been sung by Ali
towards the end of the piece, in honor of his master, Mahomet, shortly
before his death, and when at the height of his glory, of which
it is typical.]
Starting From Paumanok
© Walt Whitman
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced-stars, rain, snow,
my amaze;
Having studied the mocking-bird's tones, and the mountainhawk's,
And heard at dusk the unrival'd one, the hermit thrush from the
swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.
