Cool poems

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An Orchard Dance

© Norman Rowland Gale

All work is over at the farm

And men and maids are ripe for glee;

The Cry Eternal

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

To hear this lone and this most stricken call
Of all earth's prayers that pierce the eternal height
And by the closéd doors of Heaven fall
What woman's heart can bear it through the night?

By and By

© Anonymous

Was the parting very bitter?
Was the hand clasped very tight?
Is a storm of tear-drops falling
From a face all sad and white?

The Brave Days To Be.

© Arthur Henry Adams

I looked far in the future; down the dim
Echoless avenue of silent years,
And through the cold grey haze of Time I saw
The fair fulfilment of my spacious dream.

Our Mother Pocahontas

© Vachel Lindsay

She sings of lilacs, maples, wheat,
Her own soil sings beneath her feet,
Of springtime
And Virginia,
Our Mother, Pocahontas.

The Heart Of The Tree

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

WHAT does he plant who plants a tree?

He plants a friend of sun and sky;

The skies are brass and the plains are bare,
Death and ruin are everywhere -
And all that is left of the last year's flood
Is a sickly stream on the grey-black mud;
The salt-springs bubble and the quagmires quiver,
And - this is the dirge of the Darling River:

The Knight in Disguise

© Vachel Lindsay

Is this Sir Philip Sidney, this loud clown,
The darling of the glad and gaping town?

The Ideal

© Charles Harpur

Spirit of Dreams! When many a toilsome height

Shut paradise from exiled Adams sight,

Welcome To Egypt

© Mathilde Blind

Spake the grave Arab, as his flashing glance
Swept the large, luminous verdure's dewy sheen,
Sedately, with a bronze-like countenance:
"Nehârak Saîd! Lo, this happy day,
My country decks herself in sumptuous green,
And smiling welcome, Lady, bids you stay."

The Swifts (1)

© Boris Pasternak

The swifts have no strength any more to retain,
To check the light-blue evening coolness.
It burst from their breasts, from their throats, under strain
And flows out of hand in its fullness.

The Wild Knight

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

_A dark manor-house shuttered and unlighted, outlined against a pale
sunset: in front a large, but neglected, garden. To the right, in the
foreground, the porch of a chapel, with coloured windows lighted. Hymns
within._

Metempsycosis

© John Donne

THE
PROGRESSE
OF THE SOULE.

The Way Through the Woods.

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know

Two Months

June
No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in,
And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down
Full on the bosom of the tortured Town,

Tomlinson

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square,
And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair --
A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away,
Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way:

How To Paint A Water Lily

© Ted Hughes

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.

Song of the Wise Children

When the darkened Fifties dip to the North,
And frost and the fog divide the air,
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth,
Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!