Car poems
/ page 258 of 738 /
The Triumph of the People
© Henry Lawson
LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled
By the workers new religion, which is oldest in the world;
And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,
For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.
Instead of Sitting Wrapped up in Flannel
© Thomas Love Peacock
Instead of sitting wrapped up in flannel
With rheumatism in every joint,
The Soldier's Return to His Home
© Robert Bloomfield
My untried muse shall no high tone assume,
Nor strut in arms - farewell, my cap and plume!
Niagara
© Jose Maria de Heredia y Campuzano
My lyre! give me my lyre! My bosom feels
The glow of inspiration. Oh how long
Have I been left in darkness since this light
Last visited my brow, Niagara!
Thou with thy rushing waters dost restore
The heavenly gift that sorrow took away.
The Task: Book I. -- The Sofa
© William Cowper
I sing the Sofa. I who lately sang
Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe
The Boy In Church
© Robert Graves
'Gabble-gabble . . . brethren . . . gabble-gabble!'
My window glimpses larch and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer of thanksgiving or damnation.
'Bound for the Lord-Knows-Where'
© Henry Lawson
'Where are you going with your horse and bike,
And the townsfolk still at rest?
Bluebeard
© Harry Graham
Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name
Is one that children cannot stand;
Yet once I used to be so tame
I'd eat out of a person's hand;
So gentle was I wont to be
A Curate might have played with me.
The Little Country Bus
© Edgar Albert Guest
Theres no lock upon your door,
And the polish that you wore
The Cure
© Rudyard Kipling
To-day? God knows where he may lie-
His Cross of weathered beads above him:
But one not worthy to untie
His shoe-string, prays you read-and love him!
Skin Stealer
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
This evening I unzipped my skin
And carefully unscrewed my head,
Exactly as I always do
When I prepare myself for bed.
Christmas Tree
© John Frederick Nims
This seablue fir that rode the mountain storm
Is swaddled here in splints of tin to die.
Sofas around in chubby velvet swarm;
Onlooking cabinets glitter with flat eye;
Here lacquer in the branches runs like rain
And resin of treasure starts from every vein.
A Complaint On The Miseries Of Life
© James Thomson
I loathe, O Lord, this life below,
And all its fading fleeting joys;
'Tis a short space that's fill'd with woe,
Which all our bliss by far outweighs.
The Missionary - Canto First
© William Lisle Bowles
Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky:
We perish, or we leave our country free;
Father, our blood for Chili and for thee!
The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield,
And shook the dust indignant from the shield.
Then spoke:--
To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm -- thus wert not thou;--
My baffled looks did fear yet dread
The Ranger
© John Greenleaf Whittier
ROBERT RAWLIN!--Frosts were falling
When the ranger's horn was calling
Through the woods to Canada.
The Diamond Hitch
© Arthur Chapman
When camp is moved, at break of day,
Then comes old Packer Bill--a king
The Shepherds Calendar - July (2nd version)
© John Clare
July the month of summers prime
Again resumes her busy time
Scythes tinkle in each grassy dell
Where solitude was wont to dwell
