Dreams poems
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I Am
© John Clare
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied, stifled throes
And yet I am, and livelike vapors tossed
The Trumpet
© Edward Thomas
Rise up, rise up,
And, as the trumpet blowing
Chases the dreams of men,
As the dawn glowing
A Wish
© Alexander Pushkin
The days drag on, each moment multiplies
Within my wounded heart the pain and sadness
Of an unhappy love and, dark, gives rise.
To sleepless dreams, the haunting dreams of madness
Sunthin' In The Pastoral Line
© James Russell Lowell
Now I wuz settin' where I'd ben, it seemed,
An' ain't sure yit whether I rally dreamed,
Nor, ef I did, how long I might ha' slep',
When I hearn some un stompin' up the step,
An' lookirz' round, ef two an' two make four,
I see a Pilgrim Father in the door.
Song (Untitled #6)
© George Meredith
The flower unfolds its dawning cup,
And the young sun drinks the star-dews up,
At eve it droops with the bliss of day,
And dreams in the midnight far away.
Five Bells
© Kenneth Slessor
Deep and dissolving verticals of light
Ferry the falls of moonshine down. Five bells
Coldly rung out in a machine's voice. Night and water
Pour to one rip of darkness, the Harbour floats
In the air, the Cross hangs upside-down in water.
Thomas Trevelyan
© Edgar Lee Masters
Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys,
Son of the love of Tereus and Procne, slain
For the guilty passion of Tereus for Philomela,
The flesh of him served to Tereus by Procne,
Russell Kincaid
© Edgar Lee Masters
In the last spring I ever knew,
In those last days,
I sat in the forsaken orchard
Where beyond fields of greenery shimmered
Gustav Richter
© Edgar Lee Masters
After a long day of work in my hot-houses
Sleep was sweet, but if you sleep on your left side
Your dreams may be abruptly ended.
I was among my flowers where some one
Ballad of Reading Gaol II
© Oscar Wilde
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
Elegy XIII: His Parting From Her
© John Donne
SINCE she must go, and I must mourn, come night,
Environ me with darkness, whilst I write ;
The Treasure Of The Wise Man
© James Whitcomb Riley
O the night was dark and the night was late,
And the robbers came to rob him;
A Song of the Palace.
© Bai Juyi
Her tears are spent, but no dreams come.
She can hear the others singing through the night.
She has lost his love. Alone with her beauty,
She leans till dawn on her incense-pillow.
Hare Drummer
© Edgar Lee Masters
Do the boys and girls still go to Siever's
For cider, after school, in late September?
Or gather hazel nuts among the thickets
On Aaron Hatfield's farm when the frosts begin?
Isaiah Beethoven
© Edgar Lee Masters
They told me I had three months to live,
So I crept to Bernadotte,
And sat by the mill for hours and hours
Where the gathered waters deeply moving
Ariel And Caliban
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I.
Before PROSPERO'S cell. Moonlight.
ARIEL.
So Prospero is gone and I am free
The Emigrant Mother
© William Wordsworth
Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace
This Child, I chanted to myself a lay,
Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace
Such things as she unto the Babe might say:
And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed,
My song the workings of her heart expressed.
