Dreams poems
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A Dedication - To K.S.G.
© Henry Timrod
Fair Saxon, in my lover's creed,
My love were smaller than your meed,
Hymn from a Watermelon Pavilion
© Edwin Muir
You dweller in the dark cabin,
To whom the watermelon is always purple,
Whose garden is wind and moon,
The Ghost of Heaven
© Carolyn Forche
Sleep to sleep through thirty years of night,
a child herself with child,
for whom we searched
An Indian Wind Song
© Peter McArthur
THE wolf of the winter wind is swift,
And hearts are still and cheeks are pale,
Over and Over Tune
© Ioanna Carlsen
You could grow into it,
that sense of living like a dog,
loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin,
able to exist only for the sake of existing.
Monday In Whitsun-Week
© John Keble
Since all that is not Heaven must fade,
Light be the hand of Ruin laid
Upon the home I love:
With lulling spell let soft Decay
Steal on, and spare the giant sway,
The crash of tower and grove.
Five Visions of Captain Cook
© Kenneth Slessor
Two chronometers the captain had,
One by Arnold that ran like mad,
One by Kendal in a walnut case,
Poor devoted creature with a hangdog face.
Basho's Death Poem
© Matsuo Basho
Sick on my journey,
only my dreams will wander
these desolate moors
My Mother-Land
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Death! What of death?--
Can he who once drew honorable breath
In liberty's pure sphere,
Foster a sensual fear,
When death and slavery meet him face to face,
Years Of The Modern
© Walt Whitman
YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform'd!
Your horizon rises-I see it parting away for more august dramas;
Synopsis for a German Novella
© John Fuller
The Doctor is glimpsed among his mulberry trees.
The dark fruits disfigure the sward like contusions.
He is at once aloof, timid, intolerant
Of all banalities of village life,
And yet is stupefied by loneliness.
Kisses
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Cupid, if storying legends tell aright,
Once framed a rich elixer of delight.
A chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fixed,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mixed:
Flight
© Boris Pasternak
Yesterday my wife held me here
as I thrashed and moaned, her hand
in my foaming mouth, and my son
saw what he was warned he might.
Failure
© George Essex Evans
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,
And the breath of the mountains went with him;
Thanatopsis
© William Cullen Bryant
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.
