Art poems
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The Sleeping Beauty
© Henry Lawson
Call that a yarn! said old Tom Pugh,
What rot! Ill lay my hat
Ill sling you a yarn worth more nor two
Such pumped-up yarns as that.
And thereupon old Tommy slew
A yarn of Lambing Flat.
The Workhouse Clock
© Thomas Hood
Father, mother, and careful child,
Looking as if it had never smiled
The Sempstress, lean, and weary, and wan,
With only the ghosts of garments on
"The Undying One" - Canto I
© Caroline Norton
"My parch'd lips strove for utterance--but no,
I could but listen still, with speechless woe:
I stretch'd my quivering arms--'Away! away!'
She cried, 'and let me humbly kneel, and pray
For pardon; if, indeed, such pardon be
For having dared to love--a thing like thee!'
Humbled And Silenced By Mercy
© John Newton
Once perishing in blood I lay,
Creatures no help could give,
But Jesus passed me in the way,
He saw, and bid me live.
The Ballad of Ahmed Shah
© Rudyard Kipling
This is the ballad of Ahmed Shah
Dealer in tats in the Sudder Bazar,
By the gate that leads to the Gold Minar
How he was done by a youth from Morar.
Admetus: To my friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson
© Emma Lazarus
He who could beard the lion in his lair,
To bind him for a girl, and tame the boar,
A Neighbours Tears
© Benjamin Tompson
O heighth! o Depthe! upon my bended knees
Who dare Expound these Wondrous Mysteries:
Athenasia
© Oscar Wilde
To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught
Of all the great things men have saved from Time,
The withered body of a girl was brought
Dead ere the world's glad youth had touched its prime,
And seen by lonely Arabs lying hid
In the dim wound of some black pyramid.
Lines On Hearing, Three Or Four Years Ago, That Constantinople Was Swallowed Up By An Earthquake;
© Amelia Opie
A Report, though false, at that time generally believed.
A Man Perishing in the Snow: From Whence Reflections are Raised on the Miseries of Life.
© James Thomson
As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,
All winter drives along the darken'd air;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain
Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,
To The Lord Chancellor
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mothers bosomPriestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!
An Heroical Epistle of Hudibras to Sidrophel
© Samuel Butler
Ecce Iterum Crispinus. -
WELL! SIDROPHEL, though 'tis in vain
Of The Nature Of Things: Book IV - Part 05 - The Passion Of Love
© Lucretius
This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us:
From this, engender all the lures of love,
The Queen Of Hearts
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we
Play cards together, you invariably,
However the pack parts,
Still hold the Queen of Hearts?
At The Commencement Dinner
© James Russell Lowell
'Tis a dreadful oppression, this making men speak
What they're sure to be sorry for all the next week;
Some poor stick requesting, like Aaron's, to bud
Into eloquence, pathos, or wit in cold blood,
As if the dull brain that you vented your spite on
Could be got, like an ox, by mere poking, to Brighton.
The Return Of Ulysses
© Richard Monckton Milnes
The Man of wisdom and endurance rare,
A sundry--coloured and strange--featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,--the oars' sweet--echoed play,
Spring
© Samuel Johnson
Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd
Forbears the long-continued strife;
And Nature, on her naked breast,
Delights to catch the gales of life.
