Car poems
/ page 277 of 738 /
Baloo Loo For Jenny
© Robert Graves
Sing baloo loo for Jenny
And where is she gone?
Away to spy her mother's land,
Riding all alone.
A Thaw
© Peter McArthur
THE farm-house fire is dull and black,
The trailing smoke rolls white and low
From the Medea of Euripides
© Samuel Johnson
The rites derived from ancient days
With thoughtless reverence we praise,
A Preference
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'D rather be considered dull
Than use my brain denouncing things;
Wildflowers And Hot-House Plants
© Henrik Johan Ibsen
"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
The Shipwrecked Sailor
© Harry Kemp
There blossomed into golden day another rosy morn:
The ship-wrecked sailor woke, and watched again, of hope forlorn,
From his high, purple-misted peak, a rag about his hip:
His only dream, his native land - his only prayer, a ship!
Homer's Battle Of The Frogs And Mice. Book II
© Thomas Parnell
When rosy-finger'd Morn had ting'd the Clouds,
Around their Monarch-Mouse the Nation crouds,
Slow rose the Monarch, heav'd his anxious Breast,
And thus, the Council fill'd with Rage, addrest.
Abdul Abulbul Amir
© William Percy French
The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah,
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Saturday Night
© Mary Colborne-Veel
Saturday night in the crowded town;
Pleasure and pain going up and down,
To Octavia, the Infant Daughter of the Late John Larking, esq.
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Full many a gloomy month hath passed,
On flagging wing, regardless by,
Tu Voz Profetica
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Juran por Cristo, venerables dueñas,
De quien llora en el vientre de la madre
Conoce del futuro; tú gemiste
Antes de que nacieras, y por eso
Tus artes de gitana me iluminan
En los discursos de tu voz profética.
The Mountain Maid
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Half seated on a mossy crag,
Half crouching in the heather;
Constance
© Madison Julius Cawein
Beyond the orchard, in the lane,
The crested red-bird sings again--
The Breasts of Mnasidice
© Pierre Louys
Carefully she opened her tunic with one
hand and offered me her warm soft breasts as
one offers a pair of living pigeons to the
goddess. 'Love them well,' she said to me,
To The Returned Girls
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Will you read my little pome,
O you girls returnéd home
From a summertime of sport
At the Jolliest Resort,
From a Heated Term of joys
Far from urban dust and noise?
Weighing The Baby
© Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
"How many pounds does the baby weigh -
Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe?"
