Car poems
/ page 430 of 738 /
The Peasant Girl Of The Rhone
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
There is but one place in the world:
Thither where he lies buried!
Anon
English Eclogues I - The Old Mansion-House
© Robert Southey
STRANGER.
Old friend! why you seem bent on parish duty,
Breaking the highway stones,--and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard methinks for age like yours.
Song.In early days
© Louisa Stuart Costello
In early days thy fondness taught
My soul its endless love to know;
Thy image waked in every thought,
Nor fear'd my tongue to tell thee so.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 09
© William Langland
"Sire Dowel dwelleth,' quod Wit, "noght a day hennes
In a castel that Kynde made of foure kynnes thynges.
City Without a Name
© Czeslaw Milosz
1
Who will honor the city without a name
If so many are dead and others pan gold
Or sell arms in faraway countries?
The Master-Cook
© Rudyard Kipling
With us there rade a Maister-Cook that came
From the Rochelle which is neere Angouleme.
Grammers Shoes
© William Barnes
I do seem to zee Grammer as she did use
Vor to show us, at Chris'mas, her weddèn shoes,
Why Sit'st Thou By That Ruin'd Hall?
© Sir Walter Scott
"Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it pass'd away?"-
Resolution and Independence
© André Breton
There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
Pro Femina
© John Betjeman
But we need dependency, cosseting, and well-treatment.
So do men sometimes. Why don’t they admit it?
We will be cows for a while, because babies howl for us,
Be kittens or bitches, who want to eat grass now and then
For the sake of our health. But the role of pastoral heroine
Is not permanent, Jack. We want to get back to the meeting.
Last August Hours Before the Year 2000
© Naomi Shihab Nye
What a drama to keep thinking the last summer
the last birthday
before the calendar turns to zeroes.
My neighbor says anything we plant
in September takes hold.
She’s lining pots of little grasses by her walk.
Aileen
© Henry Kendall
A splendid sun betwixt the trees
Long spikes of flame did shoot,
When turning to the fragrant South,
With longing eyes and burning mouth,
I stretched a hand athwart the drouth,
And plucked at cooling fruit.
Epitaph
© Elinor Wylie
For this she starred her eyes with salt
And scooped her temples thin,
Until her face shone pure of fault
From the forehead to the chin.
The Young Rebel
© Alice Guerin Crist
The sun is setting behind the range,
His golden rays pour down
On a little figure, childish and strange,
Bending over a volume worn,
Whose green-clad cover, dusty and torn,
Bears a harp without a crown.
Poem For A Lady Whose Voice I Like
© Nikki Giovanni
so he said: you ain’t got no talent
if you didn’t have a face
you wouldn’t be nobody
Declining Days
© Henry Francis Lyte
Why do I sigh to find
Life's evening shadows gathering round my way?
The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind
Unhinging day by day?
Walking
© Thomas Traherne
To walk abroad is, not with eyes,
But thoughts, the fields to see and prize;
Else may the silent feet,
Like logs of wood,
Move up and down, and see no good
Nor joy nor glory meet.
