Envy poems
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Love: To A Little Girl
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
When we all lie still
Where churchyard pines their funeral vigil keep,
The Sea of Death
© Thomas Hood
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lulld sublime
To everlasting rest,and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.
The Candidate
© Charles Churchill
This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
To the Memory of My Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare
© Benjamin Jonson
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto III
© Richard Savage
Ye traytors, tyrants, fear his stinging lay!
Ye pow'rs unlov'd, unpity'd in decay!
But know, to you sweet-blossom'd Fame he brings,
Ye heroes, patriots, and paternal kings!
To Mr. H. Lawes, On His Airs
© Patrick Kavanagh
Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
First taught our English music how to span
Book Of Suleika - Suleika 03
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ZEPHYR, for thy humid wing,
Oh, how much I envy thee!
Lines from a Plutocratic Poetaster to a Ditch-digger
© Edwin Morgan
Sullen, grimy, labouring person,
As I passed you in my car,
Land
© Agha Shahid Ali
For Christopher Merrill
Swear by the olive in the God-kissed land—
There is no sugar in the promised land.
Sonnet 69: Oh Joy, Too High For My Low Style
© Sir Philip Sidney
Oh joy, too high for my low style to show:
Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state than me:
Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see
What oceans of delight in me do flow.
A Holocaust
© Francis Thompson
'No man ever attained supreme knowledge, unless his heart had been
torn up by the roots.'
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 16
© Alfred Tennyson
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
The Bushman
© Anonymous
When the merchant lies down, he can scarce go to sleep
For thinking of his merchandise upon the fatal deep;
His ships may be cast away or taken in a war,
So him alone we'll envy not, who true bushmen are.
Paradise Lost: Book I (1674)
© Patrick Kavanagh
So spake th' Apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare:
And him thus answer'd soon his bold Compeer.
Under The Rose
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
One hidden summer morn
Under the rose I was born.
On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of Colchester
© Patrick Kavanagh
Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
Naucratia; Or Naval Dominion. Part III.
© Henry James Pye
Arm'd in her cause, on Chalgrave's fatal plain,
Where sorrowing Freedom mourns her Hambden slain,
Say, shall the moralizing bard presume
From his proud hearse to tear one warlike plume,
Because a Cæsar or a Cromwell wore
An impious wreath, wet with their country's gore?
