Dreams poems
/ page 187 of 232 /
Longing
© Matthew Arnold
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Helen In Hollywood
© Judy Grahn
She writes in red red lipstick
on the window of her body,
long for me, oh need me!
Parts her lips like a lotus.
To cinna
© Eugene Field
Cinna, the great Venusian told
In songs that will not die
How in Augustan days of old
Your love did glorify
An Exile's Death
© Victor Marie Hugo
Of what does this poor exile dream?
His garden plot, his dewy mead,
Perchance his tools, perchance his team,
But ever of murdered France indeed;
The stoddards
© Eugene Field
When I am in New York, I like to drop around at night,
To visit with my honest, genial friends, the Stoddards hight;
Their home in Fifteenth street is all so snug, and furnished so,
That, when I once get planted there, I don't know when to go;
A cosy cheerful refuge for the weary homesick guest,
Combining Yankee comforts with the freedom of the west.
The shut-eye train
© Eugene Field
Come, my little one, with me!
There are wondrous sights to see
As the evening shadows fall;
In your pretty cap and gown,
The Columbiad: Book VII
© Joel Barlow
He spoke; his moving armies veil'd the plain,
His fleets rode bounding on the western main;
O'er lands and seas the loud applauses rung,
And war and union dwelt on every tongue.
The dreams
© Eugene Field
Two dreams came down to earth one night
From the realm of mist and dew;
One was a dream of the old, old days,
And one was a dream of the new.
The Dinkey Bird
© Eugene Field
In an ocean, 'way out yonder,
(As all sapient people know)
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
Whither children love to go;
The cunnin' little thing
© Eugene Field
When baby wakes of mornings,
Then it's wake, ye people all!
For another day
Of song and play
Sicilian Lullaby
© Eugene Field
Hush, little one, and fold your hands;
The sun hath set, the moon is high;
The sea is singing to the sands,
And wakeful posies are beguiled
By many a fairy lullaby:
Hush, little child, my little child!
Seein' things
© Eugene Field
I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice,
An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice!
I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed,
For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said,
Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light,
An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!
Hauntings
© Rupert Brooke
So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams,
Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men,
Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible,
And light on waving grass, he knows not when,
And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.
Little Willie
© Eugene Field
When Willie was a little boy,
No more than five or six,
Right constantly he did annoy
His mother with his tricks.
Little miss brag
© Eugene Field
Little Miss Brag has much to say
To the rich little lady from over the way
And the rich little lady puts out a lip
As she looks at her own white, dainty slip,
Krinken
© Eugene Field
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur
© Lewis Carroll
"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school?
Ah, well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic -
A very simple rule.
