Car poems
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The First Flowers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
For ages on our river borders,
These tassels in their tawny bloom,
And willowy studs of downy silver,
Have prophesied of Spring to come.
Song of the Worm
© Eliza Cook
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The Waggoner - Canto Fourth
© William Wordsworth
THUS they, with freaks of proud delight,
Beguile the remnant of the night;
And many a snatch of jovial song
Regales them as they wind along;
L'Eau Dormante
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Curled up and sitting on her feet.
Within the window's deep embrasure,
Visions for the Entertainment and Instruction of Younger Minds: Happiness
© Nathaniel Cotton
Ye ductile youths, whose rising sun
Hath many circles still to run;
It Is Not Beauty I Demand
© George Darley
It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.
Arabian Nights
© Nimah Nawwab
When the call of the hudud,
Echoes through the palm fronds
Carrying in their mists,
Visions, memories:
Mareye
© Guillaume Apollinaire
Mareye était très douce étourdie et charmante
Moi je l'aimais d'Amour m'aimait-elle, qui sait?
Thinking For Berky
© William Stafford
In the late night listening from bed
I have joined the ambulance or the patrol
screaming toward some drama, the kind of end
that Berky must have some day, if she isn't dead.
The Voices
© John Greenleaf Whittier
"WHY urge the long, unequal fight,
Since Truth has fallen in the street,
Or lift anew the trampled light,
Quenched by the heedless million's feet?
Security
© William Stafford
Tomorrow will have an island. Before night
I always find it. Then on to the next island.
These places hidden in the day separate
and come forward if you beckon.
But you have to know they are there before they exist.
For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid
© William Stafford
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot--air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
Before a Midnight Breaks in Storm
© Rudyard Kipling
Before a midnight breaks in storm,
Or herded sea in wrath,
Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing
© William Stafford
The light along the hills in the morning
comes down slowly, naming the trees
white, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate.
Lives
© Arthur Rimbaud
I remember silver hours and sunlight by the rivers,
the hand of the country on my shoulder
and our carresses standing on the spicy plains.--
A flight of scarlet pigeons thunders round my thoughts.
The Yukon
© Joaquin Miller
THE moon resumed all heaven now,
She shepherded the stars below
Along her wide, white steeps of snow,
Nor stooped nor rested, where or how.
January 3
© David Lehman
The shrink says, "Everything depends
on how many stuffed animals you had
as a boy," and my mother tells me my
father was left-handed and so is my son
Vitrail
© Laurent Tailhade
Un soir de flamme et d'or hante la basilique,
Ravivant les émaux ternis et les couleurs
Ancestrales de l'édifice catholique.
Martha
© George MacDonald
With joyful pride her heart is high:
Her humble house doth hold
The man her nation's prophecy
Long ages hath foretold!
Shake The Superflux!
© David Lehman
I like walking on streets as black and wet as this one
now, at two in the solemnly musical morning, when everyone else
in this town emptied of Lestrygonians and Lotus-eaters
is asleep or trying or worrying why
