Car poems
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Corn
© Sidney Lanier
I wander to the zigzag-cornered fence
Where sassafras, intrenched in brambles dense,
Contests with stolid vehemence
The march of culture, setting limb and thorn
As pikes against the army of the corn.
Sonnet. To Generall Goring, After The Pacification At Berwi
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Now the peace is made at the foes rate,
Whilst men of armes to kettles their old helmes translate,
And drinke in caskes of honourable plate.
Clover
© Sidney Lanier
Inscribed to the Memory of John Keats.Dear uplands, Chester's favorable fields,
My large unjealous Loves, many yet one --
A grave good-morrow to your Graces, all,
Fair tilth and fruitful seasons!
A Dedication. To Charlotte Cushman.
© Sidney Lanier
As Love will carve dear names upon a tree,
Symbol of gravure on his heart to be,So thought I thine with loving text to set
In the growth and substance of my canzonet;But, writing it, my tears begin to fall --
This wild-rose stem for thy large name's too small!Nay, still my trembling hands are fain, are fain
Nine From Eight
© Sidney Lanier
I was drivin' my two-mule waggin,
With a lot o' truck for sale,
Towards Macon, to git some baggin'
(Which my cotton was ready to bale),
The Shepherd's Tree
© John Clare
Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,
Like to a warrior's destiny! I love
To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,
And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;
Evening Primrose
© John Clare
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
May
© John Clare
Come queen of months in company
Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
And twittering swallows chimney song
Remembrances
© John Clare
Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away
A Fable
© James Russell Lowell
Two fellers, Isrel named and Joe,
One Sundy mornin' 'greed to go
Agunnin' soon 'z the bells wuz done
And meetin' finally begun,
So'st no one wouldn't be about
Ther Sabbath-breakin' to spy out.
November
© John Clare
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;
And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a face
Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon,
When done the journey of her nightly race,
The Nightingale's Nest
© John Clare
Up this green woodland-ride let's softly rove,
And list the nightingale she dwells just here.
Hush ! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear
The noise might drive her from her home of love ;
The Parisian Orgy
© Arthur Rimbaud
O cowards! There she is!
Pile out into the stations!
The sun with its fiery lungs blew clear
the boulevards that, one evening,
the Barbarians filled.
Christmass
© John Clare
Christmass is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
Een want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi a holly bough
A Short Song of Congratulation
© Samuel Johnson
LONG-EXPECTED one and twenty
Ling'ring year at last has flown,
Pomp and pleasure, pride and plenty
Great Sir John, are all your own.
I Am
© John Clare
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied, stifled throes
And yet I am, and livelike vapors tossed
Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken
© Henry Francis Lyte
Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave and follow Thee.
Destitute, despised, forsaken, Thou from hence my all shall be.
Perish every fond ambition, all Ive sought or hoped or known.
Yet how rich is my condition! God and heaven are still mine own.
The Revolution At Market-Hill
© Jonathan Swift
From distant regions Fortune sends
An odd triumvirate of friends;
Where Phoebus pays a scanty stipend,
Where never yet a codling ripen'd:
