Car poems
/ page 181 of 738 /
The Door Of Humility
© Alfred Austin
ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;
Knoledge, Acquayntance, Resort, Fauour With Grace
© John Skelton
Knoledge, acquayntance, resort, fauour with grace;
Delyte, desyre, respyte wyth lyberte;
If I were to Own
© Edward Thomas
f I were to own this countryside
As far as a man in a day could ride,
The Prayer
© Arthur Symons
Dear, if I might love better for your sake,
I would not care though you should love me less;
I love you more than to consent to take
Happiness and not give you happiness.
Sonnet IV: Thou Hast Thy Calling
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
Sonnet V
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
'Tis hard to love not, whilst to love
Be sad joy, if by lust misled,
Thoughts too sweetly gaze on things
That perforce must change and decay.
Fragment of a Ballad
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
Many a mile over land and sea
Unsummoned my love returned to me;
I remember not the words he said
But only the trees moaning overhead.
A Haunted Room
© John Hay
In the dim chamber whence but yesterday
Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand;
The Happiest Man In England
© William Henry Ogilvie
The happiest man in England rose an hour before the dawn;
The stars were in the purple and the dew was on the lawn;
At Malvern
© William Lisle Bowles
I shall behold far off thy towering crest,
Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray
Christmas Day
© John Keble
What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o'er th' expanse of Heaven?
In waves of light it thrills along,
Th' angelic signal given -
"Glory to God!" from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir;
Lord Of Himself
© Sir Henry Wotton
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill.
The Staff and Scrip
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Who rules these lands? the Pilgrim said.
Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.
Sonnet XXXVI.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,
Rest for a moment of the sultry hours,
And though his path through thorns and roughness lay,
Pluck the wild rose, or woodbine's gadding flowers,
The Hall And The Wood
© William Morris
Twas in the water-dwindling tide
When July days were done,
Sir Rafe of Greenhowes, gan to ride
In the earliest of the sun.
