Children poems
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Hymn For The House Of Worship At Georgetown, Erected In Memory Of A Mother
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all
In temples which thy children raise;
Our work to thine is mean and small,
And brief to thy eternal days.
Bread And Jam
© Edgar Albert Guest
I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books
The poems that we have to learn on valleys, hills an' brooks;
I'd write of things that children like an' know an' understand,
An' when the kids recited them the folks would call them grand.
If I'd been born a Whittier, instead of what I am,
I'd write a poem now about a piece of bread an' jam.
To D, Dead By Her Own Hand
© Howard Nemerov
That was a life ago. And now youve gone,
Who would no longer play the grown-ups game
Where, balanced on the ledge above the dark,
You go on running and you dont look down,
Nor ever jump because you fear to fall.
The Deserter
© Boris Vian
Mr. President
I'm writing you a letter
that perhaps you will read
If you have the time.
As It Begins With A Brush Stroke On A Snare Drum
© Larry Levis
The plaza was so still in that moment two years ago that
everything was clear,
As if it had been preserved beneath a kind of lacquered
stillness, &, for a while,
I did not even notice the pigeons lifting above the sad tiles
of churches,
The Lord of Burleigh
© Alfred Tennyson
IN her ear he whispers gaily,
'If my heart by signs can tell,
Brother Of All, With Generous Hand
© Walt Whitman
Brother of all, with generous hand,
Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul,
A thought to launch in memory of thee,
A burial verse for thee.
The Borough. Letter II: The Church
© George Crabbe
"WHAT is a Church?"--Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure, and meek;
Requiem
© Anna Akhmatova
Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected -
I shared all this with my own people
There, where misfortune had abandoned us.
[1961]
The Fan : A Poem. Book III.
© John Gay
Learn hence, ye wives; bid vain suspicion cease,
Lose not in sulien discontent your peace.
For when fierce love to jealousy ferments,
A thousand doubts and fears the soul invents,
No more the days in pleasing converse flow,
And nights no more their soft endearments know.
The Black Knight
© Johann Ludwig Uhland
'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness.
Thus began the King and spake:
"So from the halls
Of ancient hofburg's walls,
A luxuriant Spring shall break."
The Rites Of Darkness
© Kenneth Patchen
The sleds of the children
Move down the right slope.
To the left, hazed in the tumbling air,
A thousand lights smudge
Within the branches of the old forest,
Like colored moons in a well of milk.
The Factories
© Margaret Widdemer
I have shut my little sister in from life and light
(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair),
Children Of Love
© Harold Monro
The holy boy
Went from his mother out in the cool of the day
Over the sun-parched fields
And in among the olives shining green and shining grey.
Drunken Morning
© Arthur Rimbaud
Oh, my Beautiful! Oh, my Good!
Hideous fanfare where
yet I do not stumble!
Oh, rack of enchantments!
Chanting The Square Deific
© Walt Whitman
But as the seasons, and gravitation-and as all the appointed days,
that forgive not,
I dispense from this side judgments inexorable, without the least
remorse.
