Car poems
/ page 95 of 738 /Across
© Octavio Paz
I turn the page of the day,
writing what I'm told
by the motion of your eyelashes.
The Lumbermen
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WILDLY round our woodland quarters
Sad-voiced Autumn grieves;
Thickly down these swelling waters
Float his fallen leaves.
Fragments - Lines 0237 - 0254
© Theognis of Megara
To you I have given wings, on which you may fly aloft
Above the boundless sea and all the earth
The Woodmans Daughter
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
In Gerald's Cottage by the hill,
Old Gerald and his child,
Elegy for an Old Boxer by James McKean: American Life in Poetry #80 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2
© Ted Kooser
One of poetry's traditional public services is the presentation of elegies in honor of the dead. Here James McKean remembers a colorful friend and neighbor.
A Manual, More Ancient Than The Art Of Printing, And Not To Be Found In Any Catalogue
© William Cowper
There is a book, which we may call
(Its excellence is such)
Alone a library, though small;
The ladies thumb it much.
What Man Dare Say?
© George Ade
What man dare say that he is quite immune
From charms and spells that ev'ry girl possesses ?
The Dunciad: Book I.
© Alexander Pope
The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings
The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings,
Interlude: Songs Out Of Sorrow
© Sara Teasdale
This is the spot where I will lie
When life has had enough of me,
These are the grasses that will blow
Above me like a living sea.
An heroic address to [Oxford], concerning the combined utility and dignity of military affairs and o
© Gabriel Harvey
In thy breast is noble blood, Courage animates thy brow, Mars lives in thy tongue,
Minerva strengthen thy right hand, Bellona reigns in thy body, within thee burns the fire of Mars.
Thine eyes flash fire, thy countenance shakes a spear;
who would not swear that Achilles had come to life again?
The Two Poets
© Henry Lawson
Two poets were born where the skies were fair,
To live in the land thereafter;
And one was a singer of sorrow and care,
And one was a bard of laughter.
Mrs. Effingham's Swan Song
© Muriel Stuart
I am growing old: I have kept youth too long,
But I dare not let them know it now.
Native Land
© Mikhail Lermontov
I love my native land with such perverse affection!
My better judgement has no standing here.
Not glory, won in bloody action,
nor yet that calm demeanour, trusting and austere,
nor yet age-hallowed rites or handed-down traditions;
not one can stir my soul to gratifying visions.
What Would It Be?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Now what were the words of Jesus,
And what would He pause and say,
The Sixth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
A sudden thought I raptur'd feel,
Which, as the whetstone points the steel,
Brightens my sense, and bids me warbling raise
To the soft-breathing flute, the kindred notes of praise.
A Paraphrase On The Latter Part Of The Sixth Chapter Of St Matthew
© James Thomson
When my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear:
Harry (Engaged To Be Married) To Charley (Who Is Not)
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,
You have wearily listened, I fear;