Car poems
/ page 96 of 738 /
Poetry
© George Meredith
Grey with all honours of age! but fresh-featured and ruddy
As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard has thrice heard Chaunticlere.
Tender to tearfulness-childlike, and manly, and motherly;
Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English ground.
A Mlle Fanny de P.
© Victor Marie Hugo
Ô vous que votre âge défend,
Riez ! tout vous caresse encore.
Jouez ! chantez ! soyez l'enfant !
Soyez la fleur ; soyez l'aurore !
Two Capitals1910
© Harriet Monroe
White Moscow of the pearly towers.
And golden domes for praise
And chiming hours!
Red Moscow of the Kremlin walls,
And bloody battle ways
And fire-scarred halls!
Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophiae : Liber 2. Metrum 5
© Henry Vaughan
Happy that first white age when we
Lived by the earth's mere charity!
The Creatures In The Lord's Hands
© John Newton
The water stood like walls of brass,
To let the sons of Israel pass;
And from the rock in rivers burst
At Moses' prayer to quench their thirst.
To The Hummingbird
© Jones Very
I cannot heal thy green gold breast,
Where deep those cruel teeth have prest,
Nor bid thee raise thy ruffled crest,
And seek thy mate,
Who sits alone within thy nest,
Nor sees thy fate.
The Wife Of Asdrubal
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Bright in her hand the lifted dagger gleams,
Swift from her children's hearts the life-blood streams;
With frantic laugh she clasps them to the breast
Whose woes and passions soon shall be at rest;
Lifts one appealing, frenzied glance on high,
Then deep 'midst rolling flames is lost to mortal eye.
Claire
© Victor Marie Hugo
Quoi donc ! la vôtre aussi ! la vôtre suit la mienne !
O mère au coeur profond, mère, vous avez beau
Laisser la porte ouverte afin qu'elle revienne,
Cette pierre là-bas dans l'herbe est un tombeau !
The Lambs on the Boulder
© James Wright
I hear that the Commune di Padova has an exhibition of master-
pieces from Giotto to Mantegna. Giotto is the master of angels, and
The Carter
© William Barnes
O, I be a carter, wi' my whip
A-smackèn loud, as by my zide,
Up over hill, an' down the dip,
The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.
The Year's End
© Roderic Quinn
THE voices of the wind and wave
They sigh the Old Year's requiem;
The dead are calling from the grave
Good friends, a little space I crave
The Chalice of Circe
© Muriel Stuart
DRINK of our Cup-of the red wine that burns in it,
All the wild shames that have crusted its mouth,
Passion that twists in it, Madness that churns in it,
Fever that yearns in it, Folly that turns in it,
Drink of our Cup! It is Love, it is Youth!
First Sunday After Christmas
© John Keble
'Tis true, of old the unchanging sun
His daily course refused to run,
The pale moon hurrying to the west
Paused at a mortal's call, to aid
The avenging storm of war, that laid
Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast.
An Ode - Presented To The King, On His Majesty's Arrival In Holland, After The Queen's Death
© Matthew Prior
At Mary's tomb (sad sacred place!)
The Virtues shall their vigils keep,
And every Muse and every Grace
In solemn state shall ever weep.
The Task: Book III. -- The Garden
© William Cowper
As one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
The Aged Lover Renounceth Love
© Thomas Vaux
. I loathe that I did love,
In youth that I thought sweet;
Similes For Two Political Characters of 1819
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
As from an ancestral oak
Two empty ravens sound their clarion,
Yell by yell, and croak by croak,
When they scent the noonday smoke
Of fresh human carrion:--
