Car poems
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Rebecca Who Slammed Doors for Fun and Perished Miserably
© Hilaire Belloc
A trick that everyone abhors
In little girls is slamming doors.
A wealthy banker's little daughter
Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
(By name Rebecca Offendort),
Was given to this furious sport.
Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803
© William Wordsworth
THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,
Picture of Twilight
© Caroline Norton
Oh, Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting heaven with earth,
Our Humming-Bird
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AH, well I know the reason why
They called her by that graceful name:
She seems a creature born with wings,
O'er which a rainbow spirit flings
Message From Abroad
© Allen Tate
Paris, November 1929
Their faces are bony and sharp but very red, although
their ancestors nearly two hundred years have dwelt
by the miasmal banks of tidewaters where malarial fever
makes men gaunt and dosing with quinine shakes them
as with a palsy. Traveller to America (1799).
As weary pilgrim, now at rest
© Anne Bradstreet
As weary pilgrim, now at rest,
Hugs with delight his silent nest
The Ballad Of William Sycamore [1790-1871]
© Stephen Vincent Benet
My father, he was a mountaineer,
His fist was a knotty hammer;
He was quick on his feet as a running deer,
And he spoke with a Yankee stammer.
The Bride Of The Nile - Act III
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
(Enter Barix and Boïlas conversing.)
Barix. I always said it, Boïlas, it must come at last,
The day of annexation. Things have moved on fast,
Faster than we quite thought a week or two ago.
The mills of Rome grind slowly--quite absurdly slow.
It comes to the same thing.
Sonnet LIV.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
THE SLEEPING WOODMAN.
Written in April, 1790.
YE copses wild, where April bids arise
The vernal grasses, and the early flowers;
Regrets
© Alice Meynell
As, when the seaward ebbing tide doth pour
Out by the low sand spaces,
The parting waves slip back to clasp the shore
With lingering embraces,--
Carmen Triumphale
© Henry Timrod
Go forth and bid the land rejoice,
Yet not too gladly, O my song!
Breathe softly, as if mirth would wrong
The solemn rapture of thy voice.
An Imperfect Revolution
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
They crowded weeping from the teacher's house,
Crying aloud their fear at what he taught,
Solitude
© John Henry Newman
There is in stillness oft a magic power
To calm the breast, when struggling passions lower;
Marmion: Introduction to Canto I
© Sir Walter Scott
November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear:
The Beech Tree's Petition
© Thomas Campbell
O leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXXI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The booths were shut. The Fair was at an end,
And the crowd gone with multitudinous feet
Noisily home, or lingering still to spend
At Café doors or at the turn of the street
An Old Contemptible
© William Henry Ogilvie
Along the road the ceaseless motors thrust,
Shrieking discordant warning and harsh blame.
Then, suddenly, proud stepping through the dust,
Comes what I '11 call for want of better name
One of the Old Contemptibles.
To Mrs. King, On Her Kind Present To The Author, A Patchwork Counterpane Of Her Own Making
© William Cowper
The Bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Must sure be quickened by a call
Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair
Who deigns to deck his bed.
