Car poems
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Unofficial
© Edith Nesbit
ONE morning, my heart can remember,
I sat dreaming there,
In the 'governor's' chair
In the office. The month was November,
And the weather a subject for prayer.
The Figure-Head
© Herman Melville
The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped,
(Named from the carven pair at prow,)
He so smart, and a curly head,
She tricked forth as a bride knows how:
Pretty stem for the port, I trow!
The Author's Early Life
© Julia A Moore
I will write a sketch of my early life,
It will be of childhood day,
Memorias Del Circo
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Los circos trashumantes,
De lamido perrillo enciclopédico
Y desacreditados elefantes,
Me enseñaron la cómica friolera
Y las magnas tragedias hilarantes.
A Thanksgiving Poem
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
The sun hath shed its kindly light,
Our harvesting is gladly o'er
Our fields have felt no killing blight,
Our bins are filled with goodly store.
At Her Window
© Henry Kendall
There, where the plopping of the guttered rain
Sounds like a heavy footstep in the dark,
Where every shadow thrown by flickering light
Seems like her husband halting at the door,
I say a woman sits, and waits, and sits,
Then trims her fire, and comes to wait again.
Within and Without: Part V: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
Julian.
A heart that knows what thou canst never know,
Fair angel, blesseth thee, and saith, farewell.
Pippa Passes: Part IV: Night
© Robert Browning
Thanks, friends, many thanks! I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared?Benedicto benedicatur . . . ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather: but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 't was full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go! [To the Intendant]
Not you, Ugo! [The others leave the apartment]
I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo.
Inspiration.
© Robert Crawford
There's a wind that sweeps through the day and night,
And like the lightning goes,
But none have heard the sound of its wings,
And none know whither it blows;
The Family's Homely Man
© Edgar Albert Guest
And always it's the homely man that happens in to mend
The little toys the youngsters break, for he's the children's friend.
And he's the one that sits all night to watch beside the dead,
And sends the worn-out sorrowers and broken hearts to bed.
The family wouldn't be complete without him night or day,
To smooth the little troubles out and drive the cares away.
The Men Who Live It Down
© Henry Lawson
I have sinned, but as a man might; like a man Ill rise again
From long nights of mental torture, from long days of care and pain.
Pass me by with eyes averted, with a shrug or with a frown,
But their heads shall bow in ashes long ere my head shall go down!
The Pick by Cecilia Woloch : American Life in Poetry #236 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Cecilia Woloch teaches in California, and when she’s not with her students she’s off to the Carpathian Mountains of Poland, to help with the farm work. But somehow she resisted her wanderlust just long enough to make this telling snapshot of her father at work.
The Pick
I watched him swinging the pick in the sun,
Domestic Peace
© Anne Brontë
Why should such gloomy silence reign,
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want, have entered here?
Aerophorion
© Henry James Pye
When bold Ambition tempts the ingenuous mind
To leave the beaten paths of life behind,
The Moor
© Ralph Hodgson
The world's gone forward to its latest fair
And dropt an old man done with by the way,
An Essay On The Different Stiles Of Poetry
© Thomas Parnell
I hate the Vulgar with untuneful Mind,
Hearts uninspir'd, and Senses unrefin'd.
Hence ye Prophane, I raise the sounding String,
And Bolingbroke descends to hear me sing.
To The Boy
© Edgar Albert Guest
I have no wish, my little lad,
To climb the towering heights of fame.
Evangeline: Part The First. III.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;
Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green
© Robert Burns
Now spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
