Anger poems
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A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - June
© George MacDonald
1.
FROM thine, as then, the healing virtue goes
Sonnet L
© William Shakespeare
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
On Dante's Monument, 1818
© Giacomo Leopardi
Though all the nations now
Peace gathers under her white wings,
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 03
© Torquato Tasso
XXIX
This youth was one of those, who late desired
Sonnet 50: How heavy do I journey on the way
© William Shakespeare
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that case and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!"
Paradise Lost : Book II.
© John Milton
High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
the adventures (from frederick and the enchantress dance drama)
© Rg Gregory
his home in ruins
his parents gone
frederick seeks
to reclaim his throne
A Story Of Doom: Book VI.
© Jean Ingelow
"Now to-day
One cometh, yea, an harmless man, a fool,
Who boasts he hath a message from our God,
And lest that you, for bravery of heart
And stoutness, being angered with his prate,
Should lift a hand, and kill him, I am here."
wimborne minster
© Rg Gregory
though there's not much faith left
and very little snow
this scene of wimborne minster
still makes its christmas show
Passion
© Archibald Lampman
As a weed beneath the ocean,
As a pool beneath a tree
Answers with each breath or motion
An imperious mastery;
the rest home
© Rg Gregory
professor piebald
(the oldest man in the home) was meek
at the same time ribald
he clothed his matter (so to speak)
6th April 1651 L'Amitie: To Mrs. M. Awbrey
© Katherine Philips
Soule of my soule! my Joy, my crown, my friend!
A name which all the rest doth comprehend;
How happy are we now, whose sols are grown,
By an incomparable mixture, One:
L'Amitie: To Mrs. M. Awbrey.
© Katherine Philips
Soule of my soule! my Joy, my crown, my friend!
A name which all the rest doth comprehend;
How happy are we now, whose sols are grown,
By an incomparable mixture, One:
The Rich Boys Christmas
© Ellis Parker Butler
And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho he has all that wealth can buy.
New England Magazine
© Ellis Parker Butler
Upon Bottle Miche the autre day
While yet the nuit was early,
Je met a homme whose barbe was grey,
Whose cheveaux long and curly.
The Round Table or, King Arthur's Feast
© Thomas Love Peacock
His speech was cut short by a general dismay;
For William the Second had fainted away,
At the smell of some New Forest venison before him;
But a tweak on the nose, Arthur said, would restore him.
