Dreams poems
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Evening Hymn
© George MacDonald
O God, whose daylight leadeth down
Into the sunless way,
Who with restoring sleep dost crown
The labour of the day!
Emile Bronte
© Arthur Symons
This was a woman young and passionate,
Loving the Earth, and loving mot to be
The Bronze David Of Donatello
© Randall Jarrell
To so much strength, those overborne by it
Seemed girls, and death came to it like a girl,
Came to it, through the soft air, like a bird-
So that the boy is like a girl, is like a bird
Standing on something it has pecked to death.
My Queen of Dreams
© Philip Joseph Holdsworth
In the warm flushed heart of the rose-red west,
When the great sun quivered and died to-day,
The Dunciad: Book III.
© Alexander Pope
But in her Temple's last recess inclos'd,
On Dulness' lap th' Anointed head repos'd.
Sleep by Todd Davis: American Life in Poetry #136 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Here's a fine seasonal poem by Todd Davis, who lives and teaches in Pennsylvania. It's about the drowsiness that arrives with the early days of autumn. Can a bear imagine the future? Surely not as a human would, but perhaps it can sense that the world seems to be slowing toward slumber. Who knows?
Sleep
Fourth Sunday After Epiphany
© John Keble
They know the Almighty's power,
Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower,
Song III
© Edith Nesbit
WE loved, my love, and now it seems
Our love has brought to birth
Friendship, the fairest child of dreams,
The rarest gift of earth.
A Threnody
© Madison Julius Cawein
The rainy smell of a ferny dell,
Whose shadow no sunray flaws,
When Autumn sits in the wayside weeds
Telling her beads
Of haws.
The Curse
© John Donne
Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows
Who is my mistress, wither by this curse ;
The Little Left Hand - Act III
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Interior of a Church--Davis, Bradshaw, and others.
Davis. The sword of the Lord and the sword of Gideon!
It was good To see the red--coats run before our multitude.
We broke them by sheer numbers--
To A Lady, With Falconer's 'Shipwreck'
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Oh! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice;
Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;
The Wail Of The Waiter
© Marcus Clarke
All day long, at Scott's or Menzies', I await the gorging crowd,
Panting, penned within a pantry, with the blowflies humming loud,
In A Spring Garden
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHEN Heaven was stormy, Earth was cold,
And sunlight shunned the wold and wave,--
Thought burrowed in the churchyard mould,
And fed on dreams that haunt the grave:--
Merlin And Vivien
© Alfred Tennyson
A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.
The School-Boy
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
So ran my lines, as pen and paper met,
The truant goose-quill travelling like Planchette;
Too ready servant, whose deceitful ways
Full many a slipshod line, alas! betrays;
Hence of the rhyming thousand not a few
Have builded worse--a great deal--than they knew.
The Soul Of April
© Bliss William Carman
OVER the wintry threshold
Who comes with joy to-day,
So frail, yet so enduring,
To triumph o'er dismay?
In Ampezzo
© Trumbull Stickney
Only once more and not again-the larches
Shake to the wind their echo, "Not again,"-
We see, below the sky that over-arches
Heavy and blue, the plain
