Children poems
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Ode
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
O tenderly the haughty day
Fills his blue urn with fire;
One morn is in the mighty heaven,
And one in our desire.
The Captivity
© Oliver Goldsmith
FIRST PROPHET.
AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.
Birth And Death.
© Robert Crawford
I who have known thee, Birth, must know Death too:
As old, old men their children's children fold
In their gaunt arms, and though their blood be cold
Feel their own youth burn in them as they view
Pensive On Her Dead Gazing, I Heard The Mother Of All
© Walt Whitman
PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-
Sic Vita
© Henry David Thoreau
A nosegay which Time clutched from out
Those fair Elysian fields,
With weeds and broken stems, in haste,
Doth make the rabble rout
That waste
The day he yields.
Mnemosyne
© Trumbull Stickney
I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.
Children
© Bert Leston Taylor
Sometimes our welcome has no tongue;
Children are often in the way.
We tolerate them while they are young,
And do not always share their play.
Famam Librosque Cano
© Ezra Pound
A book is known by them that read
That same. Thy public in my screed
Is listed. Well! Some score years hence
Behold mine audience,
As we had seen him yesterday.
Madrigal 1
© William Henry Drummond
This life which seems so fair
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
The Borough. Letter IX: Amusements
© George Crabbe
aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
The Ring And The Book - Chapter VII - Pompilia
© Robert Browning
There,
Strength comes already with the utterance!
I will remember once more for his sake
The sorrow: for he lives and is belied.
Could he be here, how he would speak for me!
Dream Song 134: Sick at 6 & sick again at 9
© John Berryman
Sick at 6 & sick again at 9
was Henry's gloomy Monday morning oh.
Still he had to lecture.
They waited, his little children, for stricken Henry
to rise up yet once more again and come oh.
They figured he was a fixture,
The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version
© Andrew Lang
Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,
Doun by the hill of Banochie,
Dream Song 74: Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry
© John Berryman
Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry
did will not bear thought.
Feeling no pain,
Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter
explaining how bad it had been
in this world.
Dream Song 101: A shallow lake, with many waterbirds
© John Berryman
A shallow lake, with many waterbirds,
especially egrets: I was showing Mother around,
An extraordinary vivid dream
of Betty & Douglass, and Donâhis mother's estate
was on the grounds of a lunatic asylum.
He showed me around.
Saturday Night in the Parthenon
© Kenneth Patchen
Tiny green birds skate over the surface of the room.
A naked girl prepares a basin with steaming water,
Dream Song 16: Henry's pelt was put on sundry walls
© John Berryman
Henry's pelt was put on sundry walls
where it did much resemble Henry and
them persons was delighted.
Especially his long & glowing tail
by all them was admired, and visitors.
They whistled: This is it!
Dream Song 43: 'Oyez, oyez!' The Man Who Did Not Deliver
© John Berryman
'Oyez, oyez!' The Man Who Did Not Deliver
is before you for his deliverance, my lords.
He stands, as charged
for This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by
publishingers for Them. I doubt he'll make
old bones.
Dream Song 172: Your face broods
© John Berryman
Your face broods from my table, Suicide.
Your force came on like a torrent toward the end
of agony and wrath.
You were christened in the beginning Sylvia Plath
and changed that name for Mrs Hughes and bred
and went on round the bend
