Car poems
/ page 385 of 738 /
from Venus and Adonis
© William Shakespeare
Even as the sunne with purple-colourd face,
Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne,
Rose-cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace,
Hunting he lou'd, but loue he laught to scorne,
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him,
And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him.
Sonnet XXVI: Look In My Griefs
© Samuel Daniel
Look in my griefs, and blame me not to mourn,
From care to care that leads a life so bad;
Styx
© Robert Duncan
the cold water, the black rushing gleam, the
moving down-rush, wash, gush out over
bed-rock, toiling the boulders in flood,
purling in deeps, broad flashing in falls—
The Father of My Country
© Diane Wakoski
All fathers in Western civilization must have
a military origin. The
The Song of Songs
© King Solomon
The Song of songs, which is Solomon's.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:
for thy love is better than wine.
Because of the savor of thy good ointments
thy name is as ointment poured forth,
therefore do the virgins love thee.
September, 1819
© André Breton
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
To My Old Oak Table
© Robert Bloomfield
Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend,
Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend,
The Bathers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Hither, from thirsty day
And stifling labour and the street's hot glare,
To twilight shut away
Beyond the soft roar, under hovering trees,
Unknown Woman
© Alexander Blok
Above the restaurants in the evenings
The sultry air is wild and still,
And the decaying breath of spring
Drives drunken shouting.
Wolf And Hound
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
You'll take my tale with a little salt;
But it needs none, nevertheless!
I was foiled completely - fair at fault -
Disheartened, too, I confess!
Bread, Hashish And Moon
© Nizar Qabbani
When the moon is born in the east,
And the white rooftops drift asleep
Miranda’s Drowned Book
© Debora Greger
Perhaps not world enough, but I had time
to watch a hermit crab align himself
and back into a vacant whelk and haul
the home he wore from rocky A to B.
All that watching—watching for what? A sail
blown off its course by my uncalled-for sighs?
Little Nell
© Louisa May Alcott
GLEAMING through the silent church-yard,
Winter sunlight seemed to shed
Memory
© Walter Savage Landor
THE MOTHER of the Muses, we are taught,
Is Memory: she has left me; they remain,
And shake my shoulder, urging me to sing
