Anger poems
/ page 8 of 65 /Paradise Lost : Book IX.
© John Milton
No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
Hero And Leander: The First Sestiad
© Christopher Marlowe
On Hellespont, guilty of true-love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf X. -- Raud The Strong
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
Molly Maguire at Monmouth
© William Taylor Collins
On the bloody field of Monmouth
Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne.
Don Pedrillo
© Emma Lazarus
Not a lad in Saragossa
Nobler-featured, haughtier-tempered,
Than the Alcalde's youthful grandson,
Donna Clara's boy Pedrillo.
Elegy XIV: Julia
© John Donne
Hark, news, O envy ; thou shalt hear descried
My Julia ; who as yet was ne'er envied.
The Muses Threnodie: Second Muse
© Henry Adamson
Then thus, quod I, good Gall, I pray thee show,
For cleerly all antiquities yee know:
What mean these skonses, and these hollow trenches,
Throughout these fallow fields and yonder inches?
And these great heaps of stones like piramids,
Doubtless all these ye knew, that so much reads;
Miriam
© John Greenleaf Whittier
But over Akbar's brows the frown hung black,
And, turning to the eunuch at his back,
"Take them," he said, "and let the Jumna's waves
Hide both my shame and these accursed slaves!"
His loathly length the unsexed bondman bowed
"On my head be it!"
The Deportation
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
In vain, in vain, in vain!
Conqueror, you are conquered: though you grind
These bodies, heel on neck; and though you twist
Alfred And Janet
© Robert Bloomfield
At thirteen she was all that Heaven could send,
My nurse, my faithful clerk, my lively friend;
Last at my pillow when I sunk to sleep,
First on my threshold soon as day could peep:
I heard her happy to her heart's desire,
With clanking pattens, and a roaring fire.
Not Love
© Augusta Davies Webster
I HAVE not yet I could have loved thee, sweet;
Nor know I wherefore, thou being all thou art,
The engrafted thought in me throve incomplete,
The Journey
© Charles Churchill
Some of my friends (for friends I must suppose
All, who, not daring to appear my foes,
Quitting Again
© Eugene Field
The hero of
Affairs of love
By far too numerous to be mentioned,
And scarred as I'm,
It seemeth time
That I were mustered out and pensioned.
Italy : 49. The Feluca
© Samuel Rogers
Day glimmered; and beyond the precipice
(Which my mule followed as in love with fear,
Or as in scorn, yet more and more inclining
To tempt the danger where it menaced most)
The Wanderers Return
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
An old heart's mourning is a hideous thing,
And weeds upon an aged weeper cling
Like night upon a grave. The city there,
Gaunt as a woman who has once been fair,
On The Death Of The Bishop Of Ely. Anno Aet. 17. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
My lids with grief were tumid yet,
And still my sullied cheek was wet
Righteous Wrath
© Henry Van Dyke
There are many kinds of anger, as many kinds of fire;
And some are fierce and fatal with murderous desire;