Dreams poems

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Good-Night

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

THE lark is silent in his nest,

The breeze is sighing in its flight,

The Bechuana Boy

© Thomas Pringle

I sat at noontide in my tent,

And looked across the Desert dun,

Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;
The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;
And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!

An Evening Song To She Who Exists By My Name

© Daniil Ivanovich Kharms

Daughter of the daughter of the daughters of the daughter Pe

foreto the apple you ate of yee

The Lust Of The World

© Madison Julius Cawein

SINCE Man first lifted up his eyes to hers
And saw her vampire beauty, which is lust,
All else is dust
Within the compass of the universe.

The Mary (A Sea-Side Sketch)

© Thomas Hood

Lov'st thou not, Alice, with the early tide
To see the hardy Fisher hoist his mast,
And stretch his sail towards the ocean wide,
Like God's own beadsman going forth to cast

The Song Of Hiawatha XV: Hiawatha's Lamentation

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In those days the Evil Spirits,

All the Manitos of mischief,

To Meet, Or Otherwise

© Thomas Hardy

Whether to sally and see thee, girl of my dreams,

Or whether to stay

The Covered Bridge

© Madison Julius Cawein

There, from its entrance, lost in matted vines,--

Where in the valley foams a water-fall,---

Richborough Castle

© Edith Nesbit

THESE three grey walls are still stout and strong,

Though the fourth wide wall has crumbled away

The Island: Canto I.

© George Gordon Byron

I.

The morning watch was come; the vessel lay

Song Of The Spirits Of Spring

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

Wafted o'er purple seas,

From The Portuguese

© Edith Nesbit

And they from the village of youth
Run by our doorsteps laughing,
Calling, to shew each other
The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan,
The new rose, the new lover.

Can't

Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken;

Doing more harm here than slander and lies;

"Dearest, dearest"

Dearest, dearest,
Bother the slow hours
That hold and keep me
From the leafy bowers

Dawnlight On The Sea

When I kneel down the dawn is only breaking;
Sleep fetters still the brown wings of the lark;
The wind blows pure and cool, for day is waking,
But stars are scattered still about the dark.