Car poems
/ page 131 of 738 /
Nauhaught, The Deacon
© John Greenleaf Whittier
NAUHAUGHT, the Indian deacon, who of old
Dwelt, poor but blameless, where his narrowing Cape
A King's Soliloquy [On the Night of His Funeral]
© Thomas Hardy
From the slow march and muffled drum,
And crowds distrest,
And book and bell, at length I have come
To my full rest.
The Princess: A Medley: Come down, O Maid
© Alfred Tennyson
Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang)
Stanzas To A Lady, On Leaving England
© George Gordon Byron
'Tis done -- and shivering in the gale
The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
And whistling o'er the bending mast,
Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast;
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.
Miss Edith Makes It Pleasant For Brother Jack
© Francis Bret Harte
"Crying!" Of course I am crying, and I guess you would be crying,
too,
Ballade 2
© Eustache Deschamps
Prince, it's clear a spice like clove
can drop its guard. It won't be busted.
There's just one thing these people serve:
Always, never asking, mustard.
The Fairy Queen Sleeping. By Stothard
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
She lay upon a bank, the favourite haunt
Of the spring wind in its first sunshine hour,
To the Earl of Warwick, On the Death of Mr. Addison
© Thomas Tickell
. If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid;
Lines Written In A Lady's Album
© Joseph Rodman Drake
GRANT me, I cried, some spell of art,
To turn with all a lover's care,
That spotless page, my Eva's heart,
And write my burning wishes there.
The Canterbury Tales; PROLOGUE
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Whan that Aprille, with hise shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
Hope
© William Cowper
Ask what is human life -- the sage replies,
With disappointment lowering in his eyes,
To Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders
© John Donne
THOU, whose diviner soul hath caused thee now
To put thy hand unto the holy plough,
Battle Of Hastings - II
© Thomas Chatterton
OH Truth! immortal daughter of the skies,
Too lyttle known to wryters of these daies,
The Female Martyr
© John Greenleaf Whittier
"BRING out your dead!" The midnight street
Heard and gave back the hoarse, low call;
Serenade
© Oscar Wilde
O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
