Car poems
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At The Gate Of The Convent
© Alfred Austin
Beside the Convent Gate I stood,
Lingering to take farewell of those
To whom I owed the simple good
Of three days' peace, three nights' repose.
Song Of The Wandering Jew
© William Wordsworth
THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.
A Manchester Poem
© George MacDonald
'Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad.
The cloud has fallen, and filled with fold on fold
The chimneyed city; and the smoke is caught,
And spreads diluted in the cloud, and sinks,
A black precipitate, on miry streets.
And faces gray glide through the darkened fog.
Speckled Trout by Ron Rash: American Life in Poetry #28 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Although this poem by North Carolina native Ron Rash may seem to be just about trout fishing, it is the first of several poems Rash has written about his cousin who died years ago. Indirectly, the poet gives us clues about this loss. By the end, we see that in passing from life to death, the fish's colors dull; so, too, may fade the memories of a cherished life long lost.
With Dog And Gun
© Edgar Albert Guest
Out in the woods with a dog an' gun
Is my idea of a real day's fun.
The Author's Farewell to the Bushmen
© Henry Lawson
Some carry their swags in the Great North-West,
Where the bravest battle and die,
The Wisdom Of Merlyn
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.
The Valediction
© William Cowper
Farewell, false hearts! whose best affections fail,
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale;
Kings Chapel
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is it a weanling's weakness for the past
That in the stormy, rebel-breeding town,
Swept clean of relics by the levelling blast,
The Trapeze Performer
© Stephen Vincent Benet
Over the sheer abyss so deadly-near,
He falls, like wine to its appointed cup,
Turns like a wheel of fireworks, and is mine.
Battering hands acclaim our triumph clear.
And steadfast muscles draw my sonnet up
To the firm iron of the fourteenth line.
Geraldine
© Madison Julius Cawein
Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine--
I never dreamed you would forget.
X: And Must I Sing?
© Benjamin Jonson
And must I sing? what subject shall I chuse?
Or whose great name in Poets heaven use?
For the more countenance to my active Muse?
Mi Corazon Amerita...
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Mi corazón leal, se amerita en la sombra.
Yo lo sacara al día, como lengua de fuego
que se saca de un ínfimo purgatorio a la luz;
y al oírlo batir su cárcel, yo me anego
y me hundo en ternura remordida de un padre
que siente, entre sus brazos, latir un hijo ciego.
Found Wanting
© Carolyn Wells
There lived a wondrous sculptor once, a genius in his way,
Named Phidias Praxiteles Canova Merryday.
He sat within his studio and said, "I really must
Begin a Rhodian anaglyptic ceroplastic bust.
Love and Age
© Thomas Love Peacock
I play'd with you 'mid cowslips blowing,
When I was six and you were four;
Alas! Where Have All The Years Gone
© Walther von der Vogelweide
Alas! Where have all the years gone?
Did I dream my life, or is it real?
