Car poems
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Bleinheim, a Poem
© Philips John
From low and abject themes the grov'ling museNow mounts aërial, to sing of armsTriumphant, and emblaze the martial actsOf Britain's hero; may the verse not sinkBeneath his merits, but detain a whileThy ear, O Harley, (though thy country's wealDepends on thee, though mighty Anne requiresThy hourly counsels) since with ev'ry artThy self adorn'd, the mean essays of youthThou wilt not damp, but guide, wherever found,The willing genius to the muses' seat:Therefore thee first, and last, the muse shall sing
A Farewell Entitled to the Famous and Fortunate Generals of our English Forces
© George Peele
Have done with care, my hearts, abord amain,With stretching sail to plow the swelling waves
Quia Multum Amavit
© John Payne
Just a drowned woman, with death-draggled hair And wan eyes, all a-stare;The weary limbs composed in ghastly rest, The hands together prest,Tight holding something that the flood has spared, Nor even the rough workhouse folk have dared To separate from her wholly, but untiedGently the knotted hands and laid it by her side
Long House Valley Poem
© Ortiz Simon Joseph
the valley is in northeastern Arizona where one of the largest power centers in this hemisphere is being built
A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
© John Oldham
Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,I must however his design commendOf fixing in the country: for were IAs free to choose my residence, as he;The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand
Song for a Fishing Party near Burlington, on the Delaware, in 1776
© Odell Jonathan
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
Molly Odell on her Birthday
© Odell Jonathan
Amidst the rage of civil strife,The orphan's cries, the widow's tears,This day my rising dawn of lifeHas measured five revolving years.
A Regular Sort of a Guy
© O'Neill Eugene
He fights where the fighting is thickest And keeps his high honor clean;From finish to start, he is sturdy of heart, Shunning the petty and mean;With his friends in their travail and sorrow, He is ever there to stand by,And hark to their plea, for they all know that he Is a regular sort of a guy
The Sailing of the Long-ships
© Newbolt Henry John
They saw the cables loosened, they saw the gangways cleared,They heard the women weeping, they heard the men that cheered;Far off, far off, the tumult faded and died away,And all alone the sea-wind came singing up the Bay
April on a Waggon Hill
© Newbolt Henry John
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill?Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still?'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret,But unless truth's a lie, lad, You dream of Devon yet
The Doctor Readies The Breathing Tube
© Neilson Shane
Centimetred grace: coiled like a whip,entering a place where one can sing,or choke a note. Jiggly jangly, the tripdown the throat a long tunnel, no light
My Father’s Hands
© Neilson Shane
Claim a plot of land your prison: boundariesfar as the cricks that keep a neighbour’s farmfrom creeping. The stern command to grow:plough and harrow, till and sow, months of hoe-
The Love Song of Otakar Svec
© Neilson Shane
Svec won a competition to build the then-biggest monument to Stalin in Prague. He never saw the unveiling. His wife, Vlasta, predeceased him.
We Were Boys Together
© Morris George Pope
We were boys together, And never can forgetThe school-house on the heather, In childhood where we met --The humble home, to memory dear; Its sorrows and its joys
Song of the Sewing-Machine
© Morris George Pope
I'm the Iron Needle-Woman! Wrought of sterner stuff than clay;And, unlike the drudges human, Never weary night or day;Never shedding tears of sorrow, Never mourning friends untrue,Never caring for the morrow, Never begging work to do
