Car poems
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The Drovers
© Henry Lawson
Shrivelled leather, rusty buckles, and the rot is in our knuckles,
Scorched for months upon the pommel while the brittle rein hung free;
Vlamertinghe: Passing the Chateau
© Edmund Blunden
'And all her silken flanks with garlands drest' -
But we are coming to the sacrifice.
Must those flowers who are not yet gone West?
May those flowers who live with death and lice?
The Crossing by Ruth Moose: American Life in Poetry #135 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
The road is wide
but he is called
by something
that knows him
on the other side.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright �© 2004 by Ruth Moose, whose most recent book of poetry is âThe Sleepwalker,â? Main Street Rag, 2007. Reprinted from â75 Poems on Retirement,â? edited by Robin Chapman and Judith Strasser, published by University of Iowa Press, 2007, by permission of the author and publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Infant Eyes
© Ernest Myers
Blood of my blood, bone of my bone,
Heart of my being's heart,
Strange visitant, yet very son;
All this, and more, thou art.
To The Reverend Mr. Mabell, Of Cambridge
© Mary Barber
From Noise, and Nonsense, and vain Laughte free,
I steal a thoughtful Hour, and give to thee;
To thee, Conductor of my heedless Youth,
Who taught me first to rev'rence Sense, and Truth;
Virtue to praise; and boldly Vice deride,
With all the Pomp of Fashion on her Side.
The Countess
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Over the wooded northern ridge,
Between its houses brown,
To the dark tunnel of the bridge
The street comes straggling down.
Reflections
© George Crabbe
Beware then, Age, that what was won,
If life's past labours, studies, views,
Be lost not, now the labour's done,
When all thy part is,--not to lose:
When thou canst toil or gain no more,
Destroy not what was gain'd before.
Song. Despair
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest.--
Upon The Disobedient Child
© John Bunyan
Children become, while little, our delights!
When they grow bigger, they begin to fright's.
Little and Good
© Jessie Pope
Young Thompson was a bit too short,
But hard as nails and level-headed,
A Ballad Of Sweethearts
© Madison Julius Cawein
How _can_ my heart of my hand dispose?
When Ruth and Clara, and Kate and May,
In form and feature no flaw disclose--
But who is the fairest it's hard to say.
The Origin Of The Peloponnesian War
© Aristophanes
Be not surprised, most excellent spectators,
If I that am a beggar have presumed
To claim an audience upon public matters,
Even in a comedy; for comedy
Is conversant in all the rules of justice,
And can distinguish betwixt right and wrong.
Sonnet XLI. To Tranquility
© Charlotte Turner Smith
IN this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit,
How seldom art thou found--Tranquillity!
Unless 'tis when with mild and downcast eye
By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit
Moon Over The Sea
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
The moon relinquished sharp-edge cliffs at sea line,
And with transparent gold: the waters shine;
On board of their pointed boat, this evening
The friends enjoy their heated glass of wine.
Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Hard the task imposed;
Yet doffed his robe, and swift obeyed, the king
Wrapped in a servant's mantle. If a Prince
For safety play the boor, then happier, sure,
The peasant's lot than lordship of the world.
The Captive
© John Blight
This toil-free moment moves me to dissent
there are no hours of freedom, since the mind
The Fountain
© William Wordsworth
We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.
Lines On A Friend, Who Died Of A Frenzy Fever, Induced By Calumnious Reports
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Rest, injured shade! the poor man's grateful prayer
On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear.
As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass,
And oft sit down upon its recent grass,
With introverted eye I contemplate
Similitude of soul, perhaps of -- fate!
