Dreams poems
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February Morning
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Peacefully fresh, O February morn,
Thy winds come to me: quiet the light slants
Through silver--bosomed clouds, that slowly borne
Across the wide heath, endlessly advance.
Bush Justice
© Charles Harpur
A Dealer, bewitched by gain-promising dreams
Settled down near my Station, to trade with my Teams,
The Dark Angel
© Lionel Pigot Johnson
DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
Self
© Madison Julius Cawein
A Sufi debauchee of dreams
Spake this:--From Sodomite to Peri
Earth tablets us; we live and are
Man's own long commentary.
The Monk
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN in my narrow cell I lie,
The long day's penance done at last,
I see the ghosts of days gone by,
And hear the voices of the past.
The House Of Dust: Part 02: 11:
© Conrad Aiken
Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares
With purple lights in the canyoned street.
The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares . . .
The trodden grass in the park is covered with white,
The streets grow silent beneath our feet . . .
The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night.
The Poor, Poor Country
© John Shaw Neilson
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
The Last Review
© Henry Lawson
Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet
And Im weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.
Jean De Breboeuf
© Virna Sheard
As Jean de Breboeuf told his rosary
At sundown in his cell, there came a call!--
Clear as a bell rung on a ship at sea,
Breaking the beauty of tranquillity--
Down from the heart of Heaven it seemed to fall:
Winter
© Czeslaw Milosz
The pungent smells of a California winter,
Grayness and rosiness, an almost transparent full moon.
I add logs to the fire, I drink and I ponder.
Within and Without: Part I: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
Robert.
Head in your hands as usual! You will fret
Your life out, sitting moping in the dark.
Come, it is supper-time.
The Death Of Admiral Blake
© Sir Henry Newbolt
Laden with spoil of the South, fulfilled with the glory of achievement,
And freshly crowned with never-dying fame,
Sweeping by shores where the names are the names of the victories of England,
Across the Bay the squadron homeward came.
The Colonists
© Katharine Tynan
To men now of her blood and race
England's a little garden place,
Dear as a woman is, and she
The Queen of every loyalty.
I Took His Dreams
© Margaret Widdemer
I TOOK his dreams from him,
Boy-dreams of gold and red,
I gave him sorrows dim,
White grief, instead, . . .
And for a little space
Joy in my careless face.
Tirocinium; or, a Review of Schools
© William Cowper
It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
Epitaph For A Shepherdess
© Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
Beloved maidens! Playful and carefree,
You sing, you dance and frolic in the glades.
