Dreams poems listing on Poemine.com [ page 58 of 232 ]

Una

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

Roving, roving, as it seems,
Una lights my clouded dreams;
Still for journeys she is dressed;
We wander far by east and west.

Last Words

© Sylvia Plath

I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus

With tigery stripes, and a face on it

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto II.

© George Gordon Byron

1
Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war:
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!

The Princes' Quest - Part the Fifth

© William Watson

So, being risen, the Prince in brief while went

Forth to the market-place, where babblement

Pretence. Part II - The Library

© John Kenyon

From such a world, all touch, all ear, all eye,
What marvel, then, if proud Abstraction fly;
Amid Hercynian shades pursue his theme,
And leave the land of Locke to gold and steam?

Dreams

© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

By the hut, left by people and heaven,
Where the fences black remnants are steeping,
The ragged beggar and black old raven,
Were discussing the dreams of the sleeping.

The four Monarchyes, the Assyrian being the first, beginning under Nimrod, 131. Years after the Floo

© Anne Bradstreet

When time was young, & World in Infancy,

Man did not proudly strive for Soveraignty:

The Task : Complete

© William Cowper

In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.

I mean to write with all my strength (It lately has been sadly waning) A ballad of enormous length - Some parts of which will need explaining. 1 Because (unlike the bulk of men Who write for fame or public ends) I turn a lax and fluent pen To talking of my private friends. 2 For no one, in our long decline, So dusty, spiteful and divided, Had quite such pleasant friends as mine, Or loved them half as much as I did. [1 But do not think I shall explain To any great extent. Believe me, I partly write to give you pain, And if you do not like me, leave me.] [2 And least of all can you complain, Reviewers, whose unholy trade is, To puff with all your might and main Biographers of single ladies.] . . . The Freshman ambles down the High, In love with everything he sees, He notes the very Midland sky, He sniffs a more than Midland breeze. "Can this be Oxford? This the place (He cries) "of which my father said The tutoring was a damned disgrace, The creed a mummery, stuffed and dead? "Can it be here that Uncle Paul Was driven by excessive gloom, To drink and debt, and, last of all, To smoking opium in his room? "Is it from here the people come, Who talk so loud, and roll their eyes, And stammer? How extremely rum! How curious! What a great surprise! "Some influence of a nobler day Than theirs (I mean than Uncle Paul's) Has roused the sleep of their decay, And flecked with light their ancient walls. "O! dear undaunted boys of old, Would that your names were carven here, For all the world in stamps of gold, That I might read them and revere. "Who wrought and handed down for me This Oxford of the larger air, Laughing, and full of faith, and free, With youth resplendent everywhere?" Then learn: thou ill-instructed, blind, Young, callow, and untutored man, Their private names were . . .3 Their club was called REPUBLICAN. [3 Never mind.] . . . Where on their banks of light they lie, The happy hills of Heaven between, The Gods that rule the morning sky Are not more young, nor more serene Than were the intrepid Four that stand, The first who dared to live their dream. And on this uncongenial land To found the Abbey of Theleme. We kept the Rabelaisian plan: 4 We dignified the dainty cloisters With Natural Law, the Rights of Man, Song, Stoicism, Wine and Oysters. The library was most inviting: The books upon the crowded shelves Were mainly of our private writing: We kept a school and taught ourselves. We taught the art of writing things On men we still should like to throttle: And where to get the Blood of Kings At only half a crown a bottle. [4 The plan forgot (I know not how, Perhaps the Refectory filled it), To put a chapel in; and now We're mortgaging the rest to build it.] . . . Eheu Fugaces! Postume! (An old quotation out of mode); My coat of dreams is stolen away My youth is passing down the road. The wealth of youth, we spent it well And decently, as very few can. And is it lost? I cannot tell: And what is more, I doubt if you can. The question's very much too wide, And much too deep, and much too hollow, And learned men on either side Use arguments I cannot follow. They say that in the unchanging place, Where all we loved is always dear, We meet our morning face to face And find at last our twentieth year... They say (and I am glad they say) It is so ; and it may be so: It may be just the other way, I cannot tell. But this I know: From quiet homes and first beginning, Out to the undiscovered ends, There's nothing worth the wear of winning, But laughter and the love of friends. . . . But something dwindles, oh! my peers, And something cheats the heart and passes, And Tom that meant to shake the years Has come to merely rattling glasses. And He, the Father of the Flock, Is keeping Burmesans in order, An exile on a lonely rock That overlooks the Chinese border. And One (Myself I mean no less), Ah! will Posterity believe it Not only don't deserve success, But hasn't managed to achieve it. Not even this peculiar town Has ever fixed a friendship firmer, But - one is married, one's gone down, And one's a Don, and one's in Burmah. . . . And oh ! the days, the days, the days, When all the four were off together: The infinite deep of summer haze, The roaring charge of autumn weather! . . . I will not try the reach again,
I will not set my sail alone, To moor a boat bereft of men
At Yarnton's tiny docks of stone.

Paracelsus: Part I: Paracelsus Aspires

© Robert Browning

Scene.- Würzburg; a garden in the environs. 1512.
Festus, Paracelsus, Michal.

The Nomades

© James Russell Lowell

What Nature makes in any mood
To me is warranted for good,
Though long before I learned to see
She did not set us moral theses,
And scorned to have her sweet caprices
Strait-waistcoated in you or me.

Fancies Are But Streams

© Thomas Dekker

Fancies are but streams

Of vain pleasure:

Musa

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

O MY lost beauty!--hast thou folded quite

Thy wings of morning light

The Sunbeam

Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
A joy thou art, and a wealth to all!
A bearer of hope unto land and sea:â
Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee?

Seeing Off a Friend

© Xue Tao

Tender reeds,
Overnight frost touched the marsh;
The cool moon
And mountain,
In haze softens lines too harsh,

Patria (French & English)

(Musique de Beethoven)
Là-haut qui sourit ?
Est-ce un esprit ?
Est-ce une femme ?

When There Is Peace

When there is Peace our land no more

Will be the land we knew of yore.

Hunger

Beneath the bush a wolf will howl, Spitting bright feathers
From his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself.
Waiting to be gathered, Fruits and grasses spend their hours;
The spider spinning in the hedge, Eats only flowers.
Let me sleep! Let me boil, On the altars of Solomon;
Let me soak the rusty soil, And flow into Kendron.