Christmas poems
/ page 26 of 35 /
Ben Duggan
© Henry Lawson
Jack Denver died on Talbragar when Christmas Eve began,
And there was sorrow round the place, for Denver was a man;
Jack Denver's wife bowed down her head -- her daughter's grief was wild,
And big Ben Duggan by the bed stood sobbing like a child.
But big Ben Duggan saddled up, and galloped fast and far,
To raise the longest funeral ever seen on Talbragar.
The Fire At Ross's Farm
© Henry Lawson
The squatter saw his pastures wide
Decrease, as one by one
The farmers moving to the west
Selected on his run;
Mr Bleaney
© Philip Larkin
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,
Church Going
© Philip Larkin
Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
Preamble (A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)
© Jean Cocteau
The grain of rye
free from the prattle of grass
et loin de arbres orateurs
The Child Of The Islands - Winter
© Caroline Norton
I.
ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;
Blood Oranges
© Lisel Mueller
In 1936, a child
in Hitler's Germany,
what did I know about the war in Spain?
Andalusia was a tango
Gates and Doors
© Joyce Kilmer
(For Richardson Little Wright)There was a gentle hostler
(And blessed be his name!)
He opened up the stable
The night Our Lady came.
The Holy Grail
© Alfred Tennyson
`Then leaving the pale nun, I spake of this
To all men; and myself fasted and prayed
Always, and many among us many a week
Fasted and prayed even to the uttermost,
Expectant of the wonder that would be.
Englands Openers
© Gerald England
Bare midrifs above belt-like skirts
Bedraggled daffodils line the lanes
Belladonna is unlucky
Beyond the wooded embankment home
Big Irma
Mid-december
© Gerald England
A full moon shines
over the morning frost;
the lanes are full of late-fallen leaves;
walking across the mulch
is almost as tricky
as treading over ice.
The Christmas-Box
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find
With many a varied sweetmeat's form supplied;
Magnificat
© Edith Nesbit
THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
God's gift to her, as you to me.
Virtue is Its Own Reward
© Harry Graham
Virtue its own reward? Alas!
And what a poor one as a rule!
Be Virtuous and Life will pass
Like one long term of Sunday-School.
(No prospect, truly, could one find
More unalluring to the mind.)
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Poet's Tale; Lady Wentworth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt.
A widower and childless; and he felt
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom,
That like a presence haunted every room;
For though not given to weakness, he could feel
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal.
My Daughter at 14, Christmas Dance, 1981
© Maria Mazziotti Gillan
Panic in your face, you write questions
to ask him. When he arrives,
you are serene, your fear
unbetrayed. How unlike me you are.
At a Pantomime. By a Bilious One
© William Schwenck Gilbert
An Actor sits in doubtful gloom,
His stock-in-trade unfurled,
In a damp funereal dressing-room
In the Theatre Royal, World.
From The Short Story A Christmas Dream, And How It Came True
© Louisa May Alcott
From our happy home
Through the world we roam
One week in all the year,
Making winter spring
With the joy we bring
For Christmas-tide is here.
A Boy At Christmas
© Edgar Albert Guest
If I could have my wish to-night it would not be for wealth or fame,
It would not be for some delight that men who live in luxury claim,
But it would be that I might rise at three or four a. m. to see,
With eager, happy, boyish eyes, my presents on the Christmas tree.
Throughout this world there is no joy, I know now I am growing gray,
So rich as being just a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.
The Skeleton In The Cupboard
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Just this one day in all the year
Let all be one, let all be dear;
