Cool poems
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The Woman of Samaria
© George MacDonald
In the hot sun, for water cool
She walked in listless mood:
When back she ran, her pitcher full
Forgot behind her stood.
In The Country English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
Here I get him closest to my heart -
As close is the earth beneath my feet
Mountain Moss
© Henry Kendall
IT LIES amongst the sleeping stones,
Far down the hidden mountain glade;
And past its brink the torrent moans
For ever in a dreamy shade.
One Hundred and Three
© Henry Lawson
They shut a man in the four-by-eight, with a six-inch slit for air,
Twenty-three hours of the twenty-four, to brood on his virtues there.
And the dead stone walls and the iron door close in as an iron band
On eyes that followed the distant haze far out on the level land.
Definition of Poetry
© Boris Pasternak
It's a whistle blown ripe in a trice,
It's the cracking of ice in a gale,
It's a night that turns green leaves to ice,
It's a duel of two nightingales.
The Forest Pool
© Edith Nesbit
LEAN down and see your little face
Reflected in the forest pool,
Tall foxgloves grow about the place,
Forget-me-nots grow green and cool.
Look deep and see the naiad rise
To meet the sunshine of your eyes.
First Day Of Summer
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Sweetest of all delights are the vainest, merest;
Hours when breath is joy, for the breathing's sake.
Summer awoke this morning, and early awake
I rose refreshed, and gladly my eyes saluted
The Cloud Messenger - Part 02
© Kalidasa
Your naturally beautiful reflection will gain entry into the clear waters of the
Gambhira River, as into a clear mind. Therefore it is not fitting that you, out
of obstinancy, should render futile her glances which are the darting leaps of
little fish, as white as night-lotus flowers.
New Morality
© George Canning
But say,-indignant does the Muse retire,
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a Poet's charge to claim.
Music's Duel
© Richard Crashaw
Now westward Sol had spent the richest beams
Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the streams
De Bell Of St. Michel
© William Henry Drummond
Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel,
For if you do, I can't stay here, you know dat very well,
No matter how I close ma ear, I can't shut out de soun',
It rise so high 'bove all de noise of dis beeg Yankee town.
My Chinee Cook.
© James Brunton Stephens
THEY who say the bush is dull are not so very far astray,
For this eucalyptic cloisterdom is anything but gay;
To Kasbek
© Mikhail Lermontov
With winged footsteps now I hasten
Unto the far cold North away,
Kasbek,--thou watchman of the East,
To thee, my farewell greetings say!
The Turn O The Days
© William Barnes
O the wings o' the rook wer a-glitterèn bright,
As he wheel'd on above, in the zun's evenèn light,
Lara. A Tale
© George Gordon Byron
Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.
"The last alternative befits me best,
And thus I answer for mine absent guest."
Spring On Mattagmi
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Far in the east the rain-clouds sweep and harry,
Down the long haggard hills, formless and low,
The Mountain Of The Lovers
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I.
LOVE scorns degrees! the low he lifteth high,
The high he draweth down to that fair plain
Whereon, in his divine equality,
From North Wales: To The Mother
© George MacDonald
When the summer gave us a longer day,
And the leaves were thickest, I went away:
Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue,
Was that summer-ramble from London and you.
Madonna Of The Evening Flowers
© Amy Lowell
Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes.
