Car poems
/ page 176 of 738 /
December 23, 1879
© George MacDonald
A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere;
They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and above the
air;
But to-night they have shut their doors, they have shut their shining
windows fair,
And I am left in a desert world, with an aching as if of care.
The Sang O' The Auld Fowk
© George MacDonald
Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour,
As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor,
The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae,
And little cared we for the burn or the brae.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto II.
© George Gordon Byron
1
Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war:
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!
Verses Written In An Album
© Thomas Hood
Far above the hollow
Tempest, and its moan,
Singeth bright Apollo
In his golden zone,
The Princes' Quest - Part the Fifth
© William Watson
So, being risen, the Prince in brief while went
Forth to the market-place, where babblement
Rise, lovers
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Rise, lovers, that we may go towards heaven; we have seen this world, so let us go to that world.
No, no, for thought these two gardens are beautiful and fair, let us pass beyond these two, and go to that Gardener.
Let us go prostrating to the sea like a torrent, then let us go foaming upon the face of the sea.
Let us journey from this street of mourning to the wedding feast, let us go from this saffron face to the face of the Judas tree blossom.
Be Kind to the Little Ones
© Julia A Moore
Air - "He Folds Them on His Bosom''
Be kind to all little ones,
Staying At Ed's Place
© May Swenson
I like being in your apartment, and not disturbing anything.
As in the woods I wouldn't want to move a tree,
or change the play of sun and shadow on the ground.
Pretence. Part II - The Library
© John Kenyon
From such a world, all touch, all ear, all eye,
What marvel, then, if proud Abstraction fly;
Amid Hercynian shades pursue his theme,
And leave the land of Locke to gold and steam?
Girl At Her Devotions. By Newton
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
SHE was just risen from her bended knee,
But yet peace seem'd not with her piety;
Ode To A Mountain-Torrent (From The German Of Stolberg)
© George Borrow
How lovely art thou in thy tresses of foam,
And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill,
When yelling thou rollest thee down from thy home,
Mid the boom of the echoing forest and hill.
Ballade Of The Dead Cities
© Andrew Lang
Prince, all thy towns and cities must
Decay as these, till all their crime,
And mirth, and wealth, and toil are thrust
Where are the cities of old time.
I Am With Terrorism
© Nizar Qabbani
We are accused of terrorism:
if we wrote about the ruins of a homeland
torn, weak...
a homeland with no address
and an nation with no names
Ghost Of The Beautiful Past
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Ghost of the beautiful past, of the days long gone, of a queen, of a fair sweet woman.
Ghost with the passionate eyes, how proud, yet not too proud to have wept, to have loved, since to love is human.
Angel in fair white garments, with skirts of lawn, by the autumn wind on the pathway fluttered,
Always close by the castle wall and about to speak. But the whisper dies on her lips unuttered.
The four Monarchyes, the Assyrian being the first, beginning under Nimrod, 131. Years after the Floo
© Anne Bradstreet
When time was young, & World in Infancy,
Man did not proudly strive for Soveraignty:
On The Sea's Bosom
© Swami Vivekananda
In blue sky floats a multitude of clouds --
White, black, of many shades and thicknesses;
An orange sun, about to say farewell,
Touches the massed cloud-shapes with streaks of red.
The Nobly Born
© James Russell Lowell
Who counts himself as nobly born
Is noble in despite of place;
And honors are but brands to one
Who wears them not with nature's grace.
Song
© William Cullen Bryant
Dost thou idly ask to hear
At what gentle seasons
Nymphs relent, when lovers near
Press the tenderest reasons?
Seasons Of The Soul
© Allen Tate
Attor porsi la mano un poco avante,
e colsi un ramicel da un gran pruno;
e U tronco suo gridd: Perchd mi schiante?
