Car poems
/ page 209 of 738 /
When Runnels Began To Leap And Sing
© Alfred Austin
When runnels began to leap and sing,
And daffodil sheaths to blow,
A Poem. Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The sun shall set, and heavens resplendent spheres
Gild the smooth turf unhallowed yet by tears,
But ah! how soon the evening stars will shed
Their sleepless light around the slumbering dead!
Chomei At Toyama
© Basil Bunting
Swirl sleeping in the waterfall!
On motionless pools scum appearing
disappearing!
Sonnet II: Go, Wailing Verse
© Samuel Daniel
Go, wailing verse, the infants of my love,
Minerva-like, brought forth without a Mother:
The Last Banquet Of Antony And Cleopatra
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thy foes had girt thee with their dead array,
O stately Alexandra! - yet the sound
Aspiration
© Madison Julius Cawein
God knows I strive against low lust and vice,
Wound in the net of their voluptuous hair;
God knows that all their kisses are as ice
To me who do not care.
The Blind Man Of Jericho
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
He sat by the dusty way-side,
With weary, hopeless mien,
On his furrowed brow the traces
Of care and want were seen;
With outstretched hand and with bowed-down head
He asked the passers-by for bread.
In Imitation of Cowley : The Garden
© Alexander Pope
Fain would my Muse the flow'ry Treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
The King Of Bombaria
© Sukumar Ray
… The King's old aunt- an autocrat-
Hits pumpkins with her cricket bat
While Uncle loves to dance Mazurkas
Wearing garlands strung with hookaha.
All of this, though mighty queer,
Is natural in Bombaria.
Out Of Siberia
© Katharine Lee Bates
SHAKERAGS, cripples, gaunt and dazed,
Prison-broken hosts on hosts,
The Evening Of The Holiday
© Giacomo Leopardi
The night is mild and clear, and without wind,
And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round
Thompson Of Angels
© Francis Bret Harte
It is the story of Thompson--of Thompson, the hero of Angels.
Frequently drunk was Thompson, but always polite to the stranger;
Light and free was the touch of Thompson upon his revolver;
Great the mortality incident on that lightness and freedom.
His Epitaph
© William Henry Ogilvie
On a little old bush racecourse at the back of No Mans Land,
Where the mulgas mark the furlongs and a dead log marks the stand,
The Old Dutch Oven
© Arthur Chapman
Some sigh for cooks of boyhood days, but none of them for me;
One roundup cook was best of all t was with the X-Bar-T.
And when we heard the grub-pile call at morning, noon, and night,
The old Dutch oven never failed to cook the things just right.
Sickness
© John Crowe Ransom
God plucked him back, and plucked him back,
And did his best to smoothe the pain.
The sick man said it was good to know
That God was true, if prayer was vain.
The Palace of Art
© Alfred Tennyson
And "while the world runs round and round," I said,
"Reign thou apart, a quiet king,
Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade
Sleeps on his luminous ring."
