Art poems
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Poet's Tale; Lady Wentworth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt.
A widower and childless; and he felt
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom,
That like a presence haunted every room;
For though not given to weakness, he could feel
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal.
Of Clementina
© Walter Savage Landor
In Clementinas artless mien
Lucilla asks me what I see,
And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?
Altarwise By Owl-Light
© Dylan Thomas
Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies;
Mummy's Curse
© Charles Simic
Befriending an eccentric young woman
The sole resident of a secluded Victorian mansion.
She takes long walks in the evening rain,
And so do I, with my hair full of dead leaves.
Request to a Year
© Judith Wright
If the year is meditating a suitable gift,
I should like it to be the attitude
of my great- great- grandmother,
legendary devotee of the arts,
The Testament Of Cressida
© Robert Henryson
Ane doolie sessoun to ane cairful dyte
Suld correspond, and be equivalent.
Soup Song
© Russell Edson
Perhaps not so much captured, as allowed to gather
itself from its stream; the way it falls that the drain
would have it.
The Columbiad: Book X
© Joel Barlow
From that mark'd stage of man we now behold,
More rapid strides his coming paths unfold;
His continents are traced, his islands found,
His well-taught sails on all his billows bound,
His varying wants their new discoveries ply,
And seek in earth's whole range their sure supply.
Pearls
© Bernadette Geyer
And so I look back
still thinking of her
with painful heart,
this clench of inner flesh.
To a Poet
© Claude McKay
There is a lovely noise about your name,
Above the shoutings of the city clear,
More than a moment's merriment, whose claim
Will greater grow with every mellowed year.
The Duellist - Book III
© Charles Churchill
Ah me! what mighty perils wait
The man who meddles with a state,
The Dance To Death. Act I
© Emma Lazarus
This play is dedicated, in profound veneration and respect, to the
memory of George Eliot, the illustrious writer, who did most among
the artists of our day towards elevating and ennobling the spirit
of Jewish nationality.
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Italy : 43. The Bag Of Gold
© Samuel Rogers
I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * and, I
should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table,
and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming
countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see
An Indian at the Burial-Place of his Fathers.
© William Cullen Bryant
It is the spot I came to seek,--
My fathers' ancient burial-place
Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,
Withdrew our wasted race.
It is the spot--I know it well--
Of which our old traditions tell.
Beauty. Part II
© Henry James Pye
Of all that Nature's rural prospects yield,
The chrystal fountain and the flow'ry field,
The Nightingale
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
Gratiana Dancing and Singing
© Richard Lovelace
See! with what constant motion
Even and glorious, as the sunne,
Gratiana steeres that noble frame,
Soft as her breast, sweet as her voyce,
That gave each winding law and poyze,
And swifter then the wings of Fame.
Every Thing
© Harold Monro
The Kettle puffed a tentacle of breath : --
' Pooh! I have boiled his water, I don't know
Why; and he always says I boil too slow,
He never calls me "Sukie, dear," and oh,
I wonder why I squander my desire
Sitting submissive on his fire.'
