Children poems
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A Friend's Song for Simoisius
© Louise Imogen Guiney
The breath of dew, and twilight's grace,
Be on the lonely battle-place;
And to so young, so kind a face,
The long, protecting grasses cling!
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
The Maid-Martyr
© Jean Ingelow
Her face, O! it was wonderful to me,
There was not in it what I look'd for-no,
I never saw a maid go to her death,
How should I dream that face and the dumb soul?
The Secret Pool
© Roderic Quinn
I KNOW a pool unknown to men,
Whose green and shadowed secrecy
I share alone with bird and tree,
And there, when I am sick at heart
His Apologies
© Rudyard Kipling
Master, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou hast forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee . . .
Art Thou content with Thy Servant? He is very comfy with Thee.
Greatest of beings! Source of life!
© George Dyer
Greatest of beings! Source of life!
Sovereign of air, and earth, and sea!
All nature feels thy power, and all
A silent homage pays to Thee.
Laudamus
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save!
He is righteous whether He save or slay -
The Tasmanian Aborigine's Lament
© Anonymous
Fair island of my birth, thy distant rocks
Call forth the tenderest feelings of my heart;
Although the sight of thee my yearning mocks,
For cruel waves thee from my children part.
Ah! White man, why---Oh! Why thy childhood's home
Did'st thou abandon, to drive us from ours?
The Coming Era
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THEY tell us that the Muse is soon to fly hence,
Leaving the bowers of song that once were dear,
Her robes bequeathing to her sister, Science,
The groves of Pindus for the axe to clear.
The Disgrace Of Poverty
© Edgar Albert Guest
The lady what comes up to our house t' wash
Is awfully poor, an' she's got
Trivia ; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London : Book II.
© John Gay
Of Walking the Streets by Day.
Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful lays
The Dunciad: Book II.
© Alexander Pope
Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd,
With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round,
Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit,
Throned on seven hills, the Antichrist of wit.
The Fever-Dream
© Caroline Norton
IT was a fever-dream; I lay
Awake, as in the broad bright day,
But faint and worn I drew my breath
Like those who wait for coming death;
Our Country
© Edgar Albert Guest
God grant that we shall never see
Our country slave to lust and greed;
Nightmare For Future Reference
© Stephen Vincent Benet
"Not like this," he said. "I can show you the curve.
It looks like the side of a mountain, going down.
And faster, the last three months yes, a good deal faster.
I showed it to Lobenheim and he was puzzled.
It makes a neat problem yes?" He looked at me.
The Front Seat
© Edgar Albert Guest
When I was but a little lad I always liked to ride,
No matter what the rig we had, right by the driver's side.
Nightmare At Noon
© Stephen Vincent Benet
But do not call it loud. There is plenty of time.
There is plenty of time, while the bombs on London fall
And turn the world to wind and water and fire.
There is time to sleep while the fire-bombs fall on London,
They are stubborn people in London.
Here We Are!
© Edgar Albert Guest
Here we are, Britain! the finest and best of us
Taking our coats off and rolling our sleeves,
Ode On Venice
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
Laurance - [Part 1]
© Jean Ingelow
I.
He knew she did not love him; but so long
As rivals were unknown to him, he dwelt
At ease, and did not find his love a pain.
