Dreams poems
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Winter Stars
© Sara Teasdale
I WENT out at night alone;
The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings
I bore my sorrow heavily.
The Song Of The Bower
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
SAY, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower,
Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?
To Linger in a Garden Fair
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
MIRTH, Spring, to linger in a garden fair,
What more has earth to give? All ye that wait,
Where is the Cup-bearer, the flagon where?
When pleasant hours slip from the hand of Fate,
At Midnight
© Virna Sheard
Turn Thou the key upon our thoughts, dear Lord,
And let us sleep;
Give us our portion of forgetfulness,
Silent and deep.
One Evening
© Guillaume Apollinaire
An eagle descends from this sky white with archangels
And you sustain me
Let them tremble a long while all these lamps
Pray pray for me
A Morning After Storm
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ALL night the north wind blew; the harsh north rain
Lashed like a spiteful whip at roof and sill.
Now the pale morning lowers, bewildered, chill,
Leaning her cheek against the misted pane,
Cafes In Damascus
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth
From the gardens round,
Where the clear Barrada floweth
With a lulling sound.
The Glass Jar
© Gwen Harwood
Wrapped in a scarf his monstrance stood
ready to bless, to exorcize
monsters that whispering would rise
nightly from the intricate wood
that ringed his bed, to light with total power
the holy commonplace of field and flower.
Stupid
© Raymond Carver
It's what the kids nowadays call weed. And it drifts
like clouds from his lips. He hopes no one
Heat
© Archibald Lampman
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Ode to Superstition
© Samuel Rogers
I. 1.
Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence!
Thy chain of adamant can bind
That little world, the human mind,
The Shepherds Calendar - November
© John Clare
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;
And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a face
Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon,
When done the journey of her nightly race,
To A Woman Of Malabar
© Charles Baudelaire
Your feet are as slender as hands, your hips, to me,
wide enough for the sweetest white girls envy:
to the wise artist your body is sweet and dear,
and your great velvet eyes black without peer.
An Ode - Humbly Inscribed To The Queen, On the Glorious Success of Her Majesty's Arms
© Matthew Prior
When great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome,
And sent his conquering bands to foreign wars,
What Do Poets Want With Gold?
© Archibald Lampman
What do poets want with gold,
Cringing slaves and cushioned ease;
Are not crusts and garments old
Better for their souls than these?
The Summer Pool
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
THERE is a singing in the summer air,
The blue and brown moths flutter oer the grass,
The Realm Of Rest
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
In the realm that Nature boundeth
Are there balmy shores of peace,
Where no passion-torrent soundeth,
And no storm-wind seeks release?
