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The Waggoner - Canto Third
© William Wordsworth
RIGHT gladly had the horses stirred,
When they the wished-for greeting heard,
The whip's loud notice from the door,
That they were free to move once more.
"The Undying One" - Canto II
© Caroline Norton
'Neath these, and many more than these, my arm
Hath wielded desperately the avenging steel--
And half exulting in the awful charm
Which hung upon my life--forgot to feel!
The Seven Isles
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I dream of western waters, and of the Seven Isles,
And of mornings when they appear
Flowering out of the mist on a sea of smiles,
Warm and familiar and near.
Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter V
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Griselda's madness lasted forty days,
Forty eternities! Men went their ways,
And suns arose and set, and women smiled,
And tongues wagged lightly in impeachment wild
Tale XVI
© George Crabbe
cause -
This creature frights her, overpowers, and awes."
Six weeks had pass'd--"In truth, my love, this
To ------ On The Various Styles Of Poetry
© Thomas Parnell
I hate ye vulgar with untunefull ears
Soules uninspird & negligent of verse
Hence ye prophane be farr removd away
While to my powr I woud my friend repay
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 08:
© Conrad Aiken
Wind blows. Snow falls. The great clock in its tower
Ticks with reverberant coil and tolls the hour:
At the deep sudden stroke the pigeons fly . . .
The fine snow flutes the cracks between the flagstones.
We close our coats, and hurry, and search the sky.
Bruno The Hunter
© William Henry Drummond
You never hear tell, Marie, ma femme,
Of Bruno de hunter man,
Wit' hees wild dogs chasin' de moose an' deer,
Every day on de long, long year,
Off on de hillside far an' near,
An' down on de beeg savane?
'If my head hurt a hair's foot'
© Dylan Thomas
'If my head hurt a hair's foot
Pack back the downed bone. If the unpricked ball of my breath
Bump on a spout let the bubbles jump out.
Sooner drop with the worm of the ropes round my throat
Than bully ill love in the clouted scene.
Widderins Race. Australian.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"A HORSE amongst ten thousand! on the verge,
The extremest verge of equine life he stands;
Yet mark his action, as those wild young colts
Freed from the stock-yard gallop whinnying up;
See how he trots towards them,--nose in air,
Tail arched, and his still sinewy legs out-thrown
Sleep
© Archibald Lampman
If any man, with sleepless care oppressed,
On many a night had risen, and addressed
St. Luke
© John Keble
Two clouds before the summer gale
In equal race fleet o'er the sky:
Two flowers, when wintry blasts assail,
Together pins, together die.
The Borough. Letter XIV: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Life Of Blaney
© George Crabbe
ground:
He gave employ that might for bread suffice,
Correct his habits and restrain his vice.
Here Blaney tried (what such man's miseries
Transformation: Sonnet
© Sri Aurobindo
I am no more a vassal of flesh,
A slave to Nature and her leaden rule;
I am caught no more in the senses narrow mesh.
My soul unhorizoned widens to measureless sight,
My body is Gods happy living tool,
My spirit a vast sun of deathless light.
Torso of an Archaic Apollo
© Rainer Maria Rilke
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beasts fur:
The Garden of Prosperine
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever;
My Lady Nature and her Daughters
© John Henry Newman
Bird and beast of every sort
Hath its antic and its sport;
Chattering brook, and dancing gnat,
Subtle cry of evening bat,
Moss uncouth, and twigs grotesque,
These are Nature's picturesque.
Autumn
© Samuel Johnson
Alas! with swift and silent pace,
Impatient time rolls on the year;
The Seasons change, and Nature's face
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.
The Brother Of Mercy
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Piero Luca, known of all the town
As the gray porter by the Pitti wall
Where the noon shadows of the gardens fall,
Sick and in dolor, waited to lay down
His last sad burden, and beside his mat
The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat.
John
© Edgar Bowers
Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measure
That living in the future gives a farm-
