Dreams poems
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When You See Millions Of The Mouthless Dead
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
When you see millions of the mouthless dead
Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
Say not soft things as other men have said,
That you'll remember. For you need not so.
Rhyme Against Living
© Dorothy Parker
If wild my breast and sore my pride,
I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
I think, "How lucky are the dead!"
The Book Of Joyous Children
© James Whitcomb Riley
Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds and flowers
The City at the End of Things
© Archibald Lampman
Beside the pounding cataracts
Of midnight streams unknown to us
'Tis builded in the leafless tracts
And valleys huge of Tartarus.
The Jackdaw Of Rheims
© Richard Harris Barham
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there;
Absolution II
© Edith Nesbit
UNBIND thine eyes, with thine own soul confer,
Look on the sins that made thy life unclean,
The Old Wooden Cradle
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
No more to its motion o'er sleep's fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.
Sordello: Book the Fourth
© Robert Browning
Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case;
The lady-city, for whose sole embrace
From the Commemoration Ode
© Harriet Monroe
WASHINGTON
WHEN dreaming kings, at odds with swift paced time,
The Sluggard
© Isaac Watts
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again."
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head.
The Child Of The Islands - Winter
© Caroline Norton
I.
ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;
Lines To My Father
© Countee Cullen
The many sow, but only the chosen reap;
Happy the wretched host if Day be brief,
That with the cool oblivion of sleep
A dawnless Night may soothe the smart of grief.
Why We Tell Stories
© Lisel Mueller
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
Sly Dick
© Thomas Chatterton
Sharp was the frost, the wind was high
And sparkling stars bedeckt the sky
Reading The Brothers Grimm To Jenny
© Lisel Mueller
Jenny, your mind commands
kingdoms of black and white:
you shoulder the crow on your left,
the snowbird on your right;
Delicatessen
© Joyce Kilmer
Why is that wanton gossip Fame
So dumb about this man's affairs?
Why do we titter at his name
Who come to buy his curious wares?
Lines For A Prologue
© Archibald MacLeish
These alternate nights and days, these seasons
Somehow fail to convince me. It seems
I have the sense of infinity!
The Vanishers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Sweetest of all childlike dreams
In the simple Indian lore
Still to me the legend seems
Of the shapes who flit before.
Ode Written in Spring
© John Logan
No longer hoary winter reigns,
No longer binds the streams in chains,
