Car poems
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Red Riding Hood
© John Greenleaf Whittier
On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,
Ridged oer with many a drifted heap;
Boadicea
© Alfred Tennyson
While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries
Burnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess,
Far in the East Boadicea, standing loftily charioted,
Mad and maddening all that heard her in her fierce volubility,
Girt by half the tribes of Britain, near the colony Camulodune,
Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters o'er a wild confederacy.
The Resurrection
© Giacomo Leopardi
I thought I had forever lost,
Alas, though still so young,
The tender joys and sorrows all,
That unto youth belong;
The Cardinal And His Lady
© Karle Wilson Baker
The redbird is the core of fire at the heart of by still living;
And his little lady is the soft ashes covering the half-seen embers."
A Song Of England
© Alfred Noyes
There is a song of England that none shall ever sing;
So sweet it is and fleet it is
On a Fair Morning as I Came by the Way
© Thomas Morley
On a fair morning, as I came by the way,
Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May,
When a sweet love sings his lovely lay,
And every bird upon the bush bechirps it up so gay.
Sweet Meat Has Sour Sauce; Or, The Slave-Trader In The Dumps
© William Cowper
Tis a curious assortment of dainty regales,
To tickle the Negroes with when the ship sails,
Fine chains for the neck, and a cat with nine tails,
Which nobody, &c.
Stopped Dead
© Sylvia Plath
A squeal of brakes.
Or is it a birth cry?
And here we are, hung out over the dead drop
Uncle, pants factory Fatso, millionaire.
And you out cold beside me in your chair.
Vis Medicatrix Naturae
© Alfred Austin
When Faith turns false and Fancy grows unkind,
And Fortune, more from fickleness than spite,
The Prophecy Of Famine
© Charles Churchill
Still have I known thee for a silly swain;
Of things past help, what boots it to complain?
Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite;
No sky is heavy, if the heart be light:
Patience is sorrow's salve: what can't be cured,
So Donald right areads, must be endured.
The Rosicrucian
© Madison Julius Cawein
Was it her soul? or the sapphire fire
That sang like the note of a seraph's lyre?
Out of her mouth there fell no word-
She spake with her soul, as a flower speaketh.
The Change-Worker
© Edgar Albert Guest
A feller don't start in to think of himself, an'
the part that he's playin' down here,
The Old Play
© Kenneth Slessor
I
IN an old play-house, in an old play,
In an old piece that has been done to death,
We dance, kind ladies, noble friends.
The Philosopher
© Emily Jane Brontë
Enough of thought, philosopher!
Too long hast thou been dreaming
Unlightened, in this chamber drear,
While summer's sun is beaming!
Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain
Concludes thy musings once again?
The Lady of the Lake: Canto III. - The Gathering
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store
The Ships Of Saint John
© Bliss William Carman
Frenchman and Britisher and Dane,
Yankee, Spaniard and Portugee,
And many a home ship back again
With her stories of the sea.
What Sayest Thou, Traveller
© Paul Verlaine
What sayst thou, traveller, of all thou saw'st afar?
On every tree hangs boredom, ripening to its fall,
Didst gather it, thou smoking yon thy sad cigar,
Black, casting an incongruous shadow on the wall?
