Age poems

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From “Evangeline”

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,  
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
  “Father, I thank thee!”

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Children’s Children

© William Barnes

Oh! if my ling'rèn life should run,

  Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten,

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The Last Ditch

© Edith Nesbit

LOVE, through your varied views on Art
  Untiring have I followed you,
Content to know I had your heart
  And was your Art-ideal, too.

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The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido

© Robert Browning

YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,

Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:

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Our Abode In Arby Wood

© William Barnes

Though ice do hang upon the willows

  Out bezide the vrozen brook,

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River Road

© Stanley Kunitz

That year of the cloud, when my marriage failed,

I slept in a chair, by the flagstone hearth,

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Last before America

© Louis MacNeice

A spiral of green hay on the end of a rake:
The moment is sweat and sun-prick---children and old women
Big in a tiny field, midgets against the mountain,
So toy-like yet so purposed you could take
This for the Middle Ages.

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Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth

© George Gordon Byron

If from great nature's or our own abyss

  Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,

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Eternal

© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

I’m in the days’ embracing limits,
Where even skies are ever gray,
Look through the ages, live in minutes,
And wait for Holy Saturday;

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The Pleasures of Memory - Part I.

© Samuel Rogers

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Still'd is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke,
When round the ruins of their antient oak

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Auld Maitland

© Andrew Lang

There lived a king in southern land,
King Edward hight his name;
Unwordily he wore the crown,
Till fifty years were gane.

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Love's History

© George MacDonald

Love, the baby,
Crept abroad to pluck a flower:
One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;
One said, Wait the hour.

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The House Of Fame

© Geoffrey Chaucer

BOOK I  Incipit liber primus.


 God turne us every dreem to gode!

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A Sicilian Idyll

© Thomas Sturge Moore

Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.

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The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Third

© William Lisle Bowles

My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought

  That the dark tide of time might one day close,

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Hymn For The Celebration At The Laying Of The Cornerstone Of Harvard Memorial Hall, Cambridge, Octob

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

NOT with the anguish of hearts that are breaking
Come we as mourners to weep for our dead;
Grief in our breasts has grown weary of aching,
Green is the turf where our tears we have shed.

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Lethe

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

A DUMB, dark region through whose desolate heart
Creeps a dull river with a stagnant flood;
Its skies are sombre-hued, and dreary clouds,
No wind hath ever stirred, hang low and dim

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The Island: Canto I.

© George Gordon Byron


I.

The morning watch was come; the vessel lay

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The Kalevala - Rune XXIX

© Elias Lönnrot

THE ISLE OF REFUGE.


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A Vision Of Christ

© George Essex Evans

Then from the purple dark I saw arise,
  Silent, the pale form of the Nazarene,
With deathless light of message in His eyes,
  And that vast human pity in His mien,
Purer than purest depths of summer skies,
Not less unfathomed and not less serene.