Car poems
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The Sailing Of The Long-Ships
© Sir Henry Newbolt
They saw the cables loosened, they saw the gangways cleared,
They heard the women weeping, they heard the men that cheered;
Far off, far off, the tumult faded and died away,
And all alone the sea-wind came singing up the Bay.
Prospect NSW (For Anita Cobby)
© Dale Harcombe
The hushed dark hugs the streets.
Somewhere a cat snaps the silence.
Dogs begin to bark, like a pack
moving in for the kill.
Bruise blue
© Dale Harcombe
Frail as smoke, she drifts
through the crowded train,
bringing with her
the cold ashes of poverty.
One Of The Signers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O storied vale of Merrimac
Rejoice through all thy shade and shine,
And from his century's sleep call back
A brave and honored son of thine.
The Return of Frankenstein
© Edward Field
He didn't die in the whirlpool by the mill
where he had fallen in after a wild chase
by all the people of the town.
Two Centuries
© Katharine Lee Bates
Above the tall elms' green-plumed tops, etched against low-hung, gray-hued skies,
Straight as the heaven-kissing pine, the home-bound mariner descries
The goodly spire of the old first church, reverend, serene, with old-time grace,
Symbol and sign of an inner life deep-sealed by time's slow carven trace.
The Bride of Frankenstein
© Edward Field
The Baron has decided to mate the monster,
to breed him perhaps,
in the interests of pure science, his only god.
The Farewell
© Edward Field
They say the ice will hold
so there I go,
forced to believe them by my act of trusting people,
stepping out on it,
The Grindstone
© Robert Frost
Having a wheel and four legs of its own
Has never availed the cumbersome grindstone
To get it anywhere that I can see.
These hands have helped it go, and even race;
The Generations of Men
© Robert Frost
A governor it was proclaimed this time,
When all who would come seeking in New Hampshire
Ancestral memories might come together.
And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,
The Cocoon
© Robert Frost
As far as I can see this autumn haze
That spreading in the evening air both way,
Makes the new moon look anything but new,
And pours the elm-tree meadow full of blue,
Epilogue - To the Tragedy of Cleone
© William Shenstone
Well, Ladies-so much for the tragic style-
And now the custom is to make you smile.
Place for a Third
© Robert Frost
She gave it through the screen door closed between them:
"No, not with John. There wouldn't be no sense.
Eliza's had too many other men."
To Two Sisters - On The Death Of A Younger Sister
© Samuel Rogers
Well may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Look in each other's face, and melt in tears;
Well may you shun all counsel, all relief -
Oh she was great in mind, tho' young in years!
Our Singing Strength
© Robert Frost
Well, something for a snowstorm to have shown
The country's singing strength thus brought together,
the thought repressed and moody with the weather
Was none the less there ready to be freed
And sing the wildflowers up from root and seed.
Not To Keep
© Robert Frost
They sent him back to her. The letter came
Saying... And she could have him. And before
She could be sure there was no hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her sight,
Epistle To Mrs Teresa Blount.[On Her Leaving The Town After The Coronation]
© Alexander Pope
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air,
In the Home Stretch
© Robert Frost
Never was I beladied so before.
Would evidence of having been called lady
More than so many times make me a lady
In common law, I wonder.
A Hundred Collars
© Robert Frost
Lancaster bore him--such a little town,
Such a great man. It doesn't see him often
Of late years, though he keeps the old homestead
And sends the children down there with their mother
They Were Welcome To Their Belief
© Robert Frost
Grief may have thought it was grief.
Care may have thought it was care.
They were welcome to their belief,
The overimportant pair.
