Dreams poems

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The Old Water Mill

© Madison Julius Cawein

Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,

Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies

Metamorphoses: Book The Ninth

© Ovid

The End of the Ninth Book.

Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands

The Rose In The Deeps Of His Heart

© William Butler Yeats

All things uncomely and broken,
All things worn-out and old,
The cry of a child by the roadway,
The creak of a lumbering cart,

The Sword Of Pain

© George Essex Evans

The Lights burn dim and make weird shadow-play,

The white walls of the ward are changed to grey,

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: LIII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

THE SAME CONTINUED
Farewell, then. It is finished. I forgo
With this all right in you, even that of tears.
If I have spoken hardly, it will show

Lady Mabel

© Alfred Austin

Side by side with Lady Mabel
Sate I, with the sunshade down;
In the distance hummed the Babel
Of the many-footed town;
There we sate with looks unstable-
Now of tenderness, of frown.

My Thoughs Go Marching Like An Armed Host

© William Stanley Braithwaite

MY thoughts go marching like an armed host

Out of the city of silence, guns and cars;

I saw in a vision once, our mother-sphere
The world, her fixed foredooméd oval tracing,
Rolling and rolling on and resting never,
While like a phantom fell, behind her pacing
The unfurled flag of night, her shadow drear
Fled as she fled and hung to her forever.

Gods Places

© Margaret Widdemer

I SAID, "I am so tired of all the old tired faces
In the crowded places,
I tire of all the weary steps that cross and beat
Down the long swift street:"
I said, "I will return into my own still room,
Thick with peace and gloom."

Retrospect: The Jests Of The Clock

© Robert Graves

He had met hours of the clock he never guessed before-
Dumb, dragging, mirthless hours confused with dreams and fear,
Bone-chilling, hungry hours when the Gods sleep and snore,
Bequeathing earth and heaven to ghosts, and will not hear,
And will not hear man groan chained to the sodden ground,
Rotting alive; in feather beds they slumbered sound.

At Twenty-One

© Madison Julius Cawein

The rosy hills of her high breasts,

Whereon, like misty morning, rests

A Legend Of Brittany - Part First

© James Russell Lowell

I

Fair as a summer dream was Margaret,

Wild Bees

© John Clare

These children of the sun which summer brings

As pastoral minstrels in her merry train

A Letter

'TIS over, Moses! All is lost!
I hear the bells a-ringing;
Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea host
I hear the Free-Wills singing.*

Aspiration

Yet we perchance, for all that flesh and mind
Of many ills be marked with many a trace,
Shall find this life more sweet more strangely kind,
Than they of that dim-hearted earthly race,
Who creep firm-nailed upon the earth's hard face,
And hear nor see not, being deaf and blind.

To Poesy

Ah, misery! what were then my lot
Amongst a race of unbelievers
Sordid men who all declare
That earthly gain alone is fair,
And they who pore on bardic lore
Deceived deceivers.