Cool poems
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Story Of Mrs. W-
© Dorothy Parker
My garden blossoms pink and white,
A place of decorous murmuring,
Where I am safe from August night
And cannot feel the knife of Spring.
The Four Seasons : Spring
© James Thomson
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
Clair de Lune
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Powder and scent and silence. The young dwarf
Shoulders his lute. The moon is Levantine.
It settles its pearl in every glass of wine.
Harlequin is already at the wharf.
The Widows House
© William Barnes
I went hwome in the dead o' the night,
When the vields wer all empty o' vo'k,
Sonnet
© Elizabeth Bishop
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
The Ruined Mill
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is the ruined water-mill
With its rotten wheel, that stands as still
Tamar
© Robinson Jeffers
Grass grows where the flame flowered;
A hollowed lawn strewn with a few black stones
And the brick of broken chimneys; all about there
The old trees, some of them scarred with fire, endure the sea
wind.
The Last Elegy Of The Third Book Of Tibullus
© Henry James Pye
Propitious Bacchus comeso round thy brow
Be with the mystic vine the ivy wove;
New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream
© George MacDonald
I have not any fearful tale to tell
Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw,
The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey
© Hannah More
VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
From Evangeline
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Father, I thank thee!
The Bulletin Hotel
© Henry Lawson
Tis a big soft-hearted spider in a land where life is grim,
And a web of great good-nature that brings worn-out flies to him:
Tis the club of many lost souls in the wide Westralian hell,
And the stage of many Mitchells is the Bulletin Hotel.
King Volmer and Elsie
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.
The Year Outgrows the Spring
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet,
And clasps the summer with a new delight,
Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.
Hush!
© Julia Caroline (Ripley) Dorr
Oh, hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms!
The sunset glory fadeth in the west;
Artemis In Sierra
© Francis Bret Harte
Halt! Here we are. Now wheel your mare a trifle
Just where you stand; then doff your hat and swear
Never yet was scene you might cover with your rifle
Half as complete or as marvelously fair.
