Car poems

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Retirement

© James Beattie

When in the crimson cloud of Even,

The lingering light decays,

Olney Hymn 47: The Hidden Life

© William Cowper

To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise Him when He grants
Beyond what I can ask.

Seeking for happiness we must go slowly;
The road leads not down avenues of haste;
But often gently winds through by ways lowly,
Whose hidden pleasures are serene and chaste.
Seeking for happiness we must take heed
Of simple joys that are not found in speed.

The Ballad Of Boh Da Thone

© Rudyard Kipling

This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne,
Who harried the district of Alalone:
How he met with his fate and the V.P.P.
At the hand of Harendra Mukerji,
Senior Gomashta, G.B.T.

What We Must Do

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

What we must do and may not do.

This is the World's whole refrain,

Town And Country

© Edith Nesbit

THE Sun tells to Trafalgar Square
His old and radiant story,
And touches in the young spring air
The pepper-pots to glory.

A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - May

© George MacDonald

1.

WHAT though my words glance sideways from the thing

The Willing Horse

© Edgar Albert Guest

I'd rather be the willing horse that people ride to death

Than be the proud and haughty steed that children dare not touch;

In A Time Of Dearth

© Amy Lowell

Before me,

On either side of me,

Extracts From An Opera

© John Keats

1.
The sun, with his great eye,
Sees not so much as I;
And the moon, all silve-proud,
Might as well be in a cloud.

The Foray Of Con ODonnell. A.D. 1495

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

The evening shadows sweetly fall

Along the hills of Donegal,

Bibliolatres

© James Russell Lowell

Bowing thyself in dust before a Book,

And thinking the great God is thine alone,

Birthday

© Li Yu

Spring flowers and autumn leaves,

will they never end?

Voices Of The Night : The Reaper And The Flowers

There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

Verses by Lady Geralda

© Anne Brontë

Its sound was music then to me;
Its wild and lofty voice
Made by heart beat exultingly
And my whole soul rejoice.

Antichrist, or the Reunion of Christendom: An Ode

Retaliation: A Poem

What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind
Should so long be to news-paper essays confin'd;
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content 'if the table he set on a roar';
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall confess'd him a wit.