Cool poems
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A Story of the Sea-Shore
© George MacDonald
It was a simple tale, a monotone:
She climbed one sunny hill, gazed once abroad,
Then wandered down, to pace a dreary plain;
Alas! how many such are told by night,
In fisher-cottages along the shore!
Seasons Of The Soul
© Allen Tate
Attor porsi la mano un poco avante,
e colsi un ramicel da un gran pruno;
e U tronco suo gridd: Perchd mi schiante?
The Task : Complete
© William Cowper
In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
Seeing Off a Friend
© Xue Tao
Tender reeds,
Overnight frost touched the marsh;
The cool moon
And mountain,
In haze softens lines too harsh,
A Garden Song
© Henry Austin Dobson
HERE in this sequester'd close
Bloom the hyacinth and rose,
Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Here, without a pang, one sees
Ranks, conditions, and degrees.
The First Fan
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WHEN rose the cry "Great Pan is dead!"
And Jove's high palace closed its portal,
The fallen gods, before they fled,
Sold out their frippery to a mortal.
Accolon Of Gaul: Part II
© Madison Julius Cawein
"She comes! her presence, like a moving song
Breathed soft of loveliest lips and lute-like tongue,
Sways all the gurgling forests from their rest:
I fancy where her rustling foot is pressed,
So faltering, love seems timid, but how strong
That darling love that flutters in her breast!
Love In Disguise
© Thomas Parnell
To stifle Passion is no easy Thing,
A Heart in Love is always on the Wing;
After The Rain [for W. D. Snodgrass]
© Anthony Evan Hecht
The barbed-wire fences rust
As their cedar uprights blacken
Amours De Voyage, Canto III
© Arthur Hugh Clough
- domus Albuneae resonantis,
Et praeceps Anio, et Tibuni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis
The Library
© George Crabbe
When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,
Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;
Greek Religion
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Thou art become, oh Echo! a voice, an inanimate image;
Where is the palest of maids, dark--tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half--opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
Quickly repeated the words that burst on her lonely recesses,
Low in a love--lorn tone, too deep--distracted to answer?
The Door Of Humility
© Alfred Austin
ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;
How A Princess Was Wooed From Habitual Sadness
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
In days of old the King of Saxe
Had singular opinions,
John Keats
© Adelaide Crapsey
Eternity. Thou shalt
Pass sleeping, nor know
When sleeping ceases. Yet still
A little while thy breathing lasts,
Gradual is fainter: I
must listen close - the end."
