Car poems
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An Apology Written For My Son To The Reverend Mr. Sampson,
© Mary Barber
With Joy your Summons we obey,
And come to celebrate this Day.
Yet I, alas! despair to please;
For you require exalted Lays:
A Successful Dad
© Edgar Albert Guest
OTHERS may laugh at my feeble endeavor
To capture life's prizes, and others may sneer;
The Dream Of Pio Nono
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IT chanced that while the pious troops of France
Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached,
What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands
(The Hur and Aaron meet for such a Moses),
Written For My Son, In A Bible Which Was Presented To Him.
© Mary Barber
Welcome, thou sacred, solemn Guest,
Who com'st to guide me to the Blest.
O Fountain of eternal Truth,
Thou gracious Guardian of my Youth!
The Prairie-Grass Dividing
© Walt Whitman
THE prairie-grass dividing-its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
Cymru
© George Essex Evans
Dim in the mist of ages, seeking a resting-place,
Broke on the shores of Britain the wave of an Aryan race.
The Song Of Hiawatha XIX: The Ghosts
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
Shooting
© Henry James Pye
The Monarch hears, and with reluctant eyes
Gives the consent his boding heart denies;
His brow a placid guise dissembling wears,
While Reason vainly combats stronger fears.
Testamentum Amoris
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I cannot raise my eyelids up from sleep,
But I am visited with thoughts of you;
Slumber has no refreshment half so deep
As the sweet morn, that wakes my heart anew.
The Woman Who Went To Hell [An Irish Legend]
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Young Dermod stood by his mother's side,
And he spake right stern and cold;
Now, why do you weep and wail," he said,
And joy from my bride withhold ?
Dad's a Millionaire
© Henry Clay Work
Hurrah! hurrah! now give us a rousing song-
Good bye! good bye! to poverty, want and care;
The fortune's come, we've waited for so long,
And Dad's a millionaire!
"No, I'm not Byron: I am, yet,"
© Mikhail Lermontov
I am not Byron--yet I am
One fore-elected, yet one more
Unknown, world-hunted wanderer,
A Russian in my mood and mind.
A Christmas Colloquy
© John Crowe Ransom
ANN:
Father, what will there be for me
To-morrow on the Christmas tree?
Have you told Santa what to bring,
My pony, my doll, and everything?
To Mr. Edward Howard on His New Utopia
© Charles Sackville
Thou damn'd antipodes to common sense!
Thou foil to Flecknoe! Prithee tell from whence
Quan l'herba fresqu'el.h folha
© Bernard de Ventadorn
Can l'erba fresch'e.lh folha par
e la flors boton'el verjan
A Dream
© Boris Pasternak
I dreamt of autumn in the window's twilight,
And you, a tipsy jesters' throng amidst. '
And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,
My heart returned to settle on your wrist.
On Mr. Howard's Account Of Lazarettos
© William Lisle Bowles
Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,
The path of good right onward hast pursued;
