Car poems
/ page 305 of 738 /
Light
© Allen Tate
Last night I fled until I came
To streets where leaking casements dripped
Stale lamplight from the corpse of flame;
A nervous window bled.
Elegy
© Chidiock Tichborne
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
Epistle To A Friend, In Answer To Some Lines Exhorting The Author To Be Cheerful, And To Banish Care
© George Gordon Byron
'OH! banish care'--such ever be
The motto of thy revelry!
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights
Renew those riotous delights,
The Home Builders
© Edgar Albert Guest
The world is filled with bustle and with selfishness and greed,
It is filled with restless people that are dreaming of a deed.
Charms of Precedence - A Tale
© William Shenstone
"Sir, will you please to walk before?"-
"No, pray, Sir-you are next the door."-
Old Letters --- English translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
I found some old letters today
You had secretly treasured them like toys
The White Bull
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
"Already a chorus rings out in the city,
A jubilant ditty,
And every guitar
Vibrates to the names of Pedro and Pilar;
And the strings and voices are soulless and dull
That sound not the name of the bold white bull!"
A New Heaven (To-On Active Service)
© Wilfred Owen
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' breasts a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
Sun-Dial, In The Churchyard Of Bremhill
© William Lisle Bowles
So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,
Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day,
The pleasing pictures of the present fade,
And like a summer vapour steal away!
To The Art of Edgar Degas
© David Campbell
Beachcomber on the shores of tears
Limning the gestures of defeat
In dancers, whores, and opera-stars
The lonely, lighted various street
Sonnet VIII
© Caroline Norton
TO MY BOOKS.
SILENT companions of the lonely hour,
Friends, who can never alter or forsake,
Who for inconstant roving have no power,
Rip Van Winkle. Canto I.
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip,
Of the paternal block a genuine chip,âÂ
A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap;
He, like his grandsire, took a mighty nap,
Whereof the story I propose to tell
In two brief cantos, if you listen well.
"Florence kneels down to say her prayers"
© Lesbia Harford
Florence kneels down to say her prayers
At night.
I wonder what she says and why she cares
To pray at night.
On Shepherds' Pipes
© William Henry Drummond
O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night!
Night to blest days in which a sun doth rise
The Borough. Letter III: The Vicar--The Curate
© George Crabbe
THE VICAR.
WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space,
Fireflies
© Rabindranath Tagore
My fancies are fireflies,
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
