Car poems
/ page 168 of 738 /
The Making Of Friends
© Edgar Albert Guest
If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along,
If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the
strong,
If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me,
And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it
would be!
Our Little Girl
© James Whitcomb Riley
Her heart knew naught of sorrow,
Nor the vaguest taint of sin--
A Psalm Of Councel
© Joseph Furphy
Though some good folks may take it ill,
As trifling with parsonic frill,
Improvement
© Edgar Albert Guest
The joy of life is living it, or so it seems to me;
In finding shackles on your wrists, then struggling till you're free;
Scotch Drink
© Robert Burns
Let other poets raise a fracas
Bout vines, and wines, an drucken Bacchus,
An crabbit names an stories wrack us,
An grate our lug:
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
In glass or Jug.
Lycus the Centaur
© Thomas Hood
FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIUS CURIUS
(The Argument: Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur).
ER RIFUGGIO (The Refuge)
© Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
A le curte: te vòi sbrigà d'Aggnesa
Senza er risico tuo? Be', tu pprocura
D'ammazzalla vicino a quarche chiesa:
Poi scappa drento, e nun avé ppavura.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
At last I kneel in Rome, the bourne, the goal
Of what a multitude of laden hearts!
No pilgrim of them all a wearier soul
Brought ever here, no master of dark arts
Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.
© Matthew Prior
Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.
The Destroyer
© Edith Nesbit
ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
The invading army marched in splendid might
My few poor forces fled beyond control,
Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
Asoka
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Gentle as fine rain falling from the night,
The first beams from the Indian moon at full
Steal through the boughs, and brighter and more bright
The Father Of The Man
© Edgar Albert Guest
I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!
Here's summer bringin' trees to fruit,
Alaric In Italy
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Heard ye the Gothic trumpet's blast?
The march of hosts as Alaric passed?
Nina's Reply (Les Reparties De Nina)
© Arthur Rimbaud
HE - Your breast on my breast,
Eh ? We could go,
With our nostrils full of air,
Into the cool light
A Pastoral Entertainment
© James Thomson
While in heroic numbers some relate
The amazing turns of wise eternal fate;
Exploits of heroes in the dusty field,
That to their name immortal honour yield;
He found my Beingset it up
© Emily Dickinson
He found my Beingset it up
Adjusted it to place
Then carved his nameupon it
And bade it to the East
Lay Your Ears Back and Fight
© Henry Lawson
WHEN you drink of what the poets rave about as sorrers cup,
And yer mouth, in spite of laughin, gits a curve the wrong way up,
Do not whine for help or pity; never cringe at fortunes frown
Lay yer listners back and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!
