Best poems
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¡Torres de Dios Poetas! (With English Translation)
© Rubén Dario
Torres de Dios Poetas!
Pararrayos celestes,
que resistís las duras tempestades,
como crestas escuetas,
como picos agrestes,
rompeolas de las eternidades!
Kinmont Willie
© Andrew Lang
O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?
Submission
© George Herbert
But that thou art my wisdome, Lord,
And both mine eyes are thine,
My minde would be extreamly stirr'
For missing my designe.
Magnificence
© John Skelton
What I say herke a worde.
Fansy.
Do away I say the deuylles torde.
Counterfet coun.
The Progress Of Refinement. Part I.
© Henry James Pye
Rous'd by those honors cull'd by Glory's hand
To dress the Victor on the Olympic sand,
With active toil each ardent stripling tries
To bind his forehead with the immortal prize;
Hence strength and beauty deck the Grecian race,
And manly labor gives them manly grace.
Colin Clouts Come Home Againe
© Edmund Spenser
Colin Clouts Come Home Againe
THe shepheards boy (best knowen by that name)
The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Vain dream! degraded Rome! thy noon is o'er,
Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more.
It sleeps with those, the sons of other days,
Who fix'd on thee the world's adoring gaze;
Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high,
More blest, ere darkness quench'd its beam, to die!
Tale VII
© George Crabbe
view,
A useful lass,--you may have more to do."
Dreadful were these commands; but worse than
Hymn XIII. Open thine eyes, my soul, and see
© John Austin
Open thine eyes, my soul, and see
Once more the light returns to thee:
To The Memory Of Heber
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
If it be sad to speak of treasures gone,
Of sainted genius call'd too soon away,
Of light, from this world taken, while it shone
Yet kindling onward to the perfect day;
How shall our grief, if mournful these things be,
Flow forth, oh, Thou of many gifts! for thee?
Song. Despair
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest.--
Eclogue The Third
© Thomas Chatterton
Botte whether, fayre mayde do ye goe,
O where do ye bend yer waie?
I wile knowe whether you goe,
I wylle not be asseled naie.
Sonnet XXV. The Seceders 2.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
YET what were love, and what were toil and thought,
And what were life, bereft of Poesy?
Who lingers in a garden where the bee
By no rich beds of fragrant flowers is caught
Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Hard the task imposed;
Yet doffed his robe, and swift obeyed, the king
Wrapped in a servant's mantle. If a Prince
For safety play the boor, then happier, sure,
The peasant's lot than lordship of the world.
O Night Of Nights! O Night
© Jean Ingelow
"Let us now go even unto Bethlehem."
O Night of nights! O night
Poem Of Poverty
© Millosh Gjergj Nikolla
Poverty's child is raised in the shadows
Of great mansions, too high for imploring voices to reach
To disturb the peace and quiet of the lords
Sleeping in blissful beds beside their ladies.
Nathan The Wise - Act III
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
And when this moment comes,
And when this warmest inmost of my wishes
Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then?
