Once, and but once again I dare to raise
A voice which thou in spirit still may'st hear,
Now that thy bridal bed becomes a bier,
Now that thou canst not blush at thine own praise!

Euphelia

© Helen Maria Williams

As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear,
On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar,
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear,
And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore.

Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country by Lola Haskins: American Life in Poetry #64 Ted Kooser, U.S.

Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.

Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country

Question [1]

© Langston Hughes

When the old junk man Death

Comes to gather up our bodies

Spring In Canada

© William Wilfred Campbell

SEASON of life's renewal, love's rebirth,
And all hope's young espousals; in your dream,
I feel once more the ancient stirrings of Earth.

The Cloak

© Ezra Pound

Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf
Till the rose-time will be over,
Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?
Think'st thou that the Dark House
Will find thee such a lover
As I? Will the new roses miss thee?

The Death Of Day

© Richard Monckton Milnes

Full of hours, the Day is falling
Where its brethren lie,--
A stern and royal voice is calling
The beautiful to die.

The Helot

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

Low the sun beat on the land,
Red on vine and plain and wood;
With the wine-cup in his hand,
Vast the Helot herdsman stood.

Plaint

© Ebenezer Elliott

Dark, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.

Orpheus

© Emma Lazarus

ORPHEUS.
LAUGHTER and dance, and sounds of harp and lyre,
Piping of flutes, singing of festal songs,
Ribbons of flame from flaunting torches, dulled

The Passionate Pilgrim

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me bath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

Eclogue The Second

SPRYTES of the bleste, the pious Nygelle sed,

Poure owte yer pleasaunce onn mie fadres hedde.

The Immortality Of Rome

``Urbi et Orbi,''--mystic euphony,
What depth of Christian meaning lies in Thee!
How, from this world apart, this world above,
Selected by a special will of Love,

To Winter In The Midst Of His Reign

Thou grim physician, armed with septic shears,

Thou that dissemblest even in death's repose

The Lady of the Lake: Canto VI. - The Guardroom

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there 's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!