Experience poems
/ page 25 of 36 /
The Vicissitudes Experienced In The Christian Life
© William Cowper
I suffer fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.
Prothalamion
© Horace Smith
Go, like St. Simon, on your lonely tower,
Wish to make all men good, but want the power.
Freedom you'll have, but still will lack the thrall,--
The bond of sympathy, which binds us all.
Children and wives are hostages to fame,
But aids and helps in every useful aim.
Le Mendiant
© André Marie de Chénier
C'était quand le printemps a reverdi les prés.
La fille de Lycus, vierge aux cheveux dorés,
The Cathedral
© James Russell Lowell
Far through the memory shines a happy day,
Cloudless of care, down-shod to every sense,
Italy : 4. The Great St. Bernard
© Samuel Rogers
Night was again descending, when my mule,
That all day long had climbed among the clouds,
Higher and higher still, as by a stair
Let down from heaven itself, transporting me,
To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias
© Alfred Tennyson
. OLD FITZ, who from your suburb grange,
Where once I tarried for a while,
An Essay on Man: Epistle II
© Alexander Pope
Superior beings, when of late they saw
A mortal Man unfold all Nature's law,
Admir'd such wisdom in an earthly shape,
And showed a Newton as we shew an Ape.
Weary Of The World, And With Heaven Most Dear
© Thomas Kingo
Farewell, world, farewell
As thrall here Im weary and no more will dwell,
The March Into Viriginia
© Herman Melville
But some who this blithe mood present,
As on in lightsome files they fare,
Shall die experienced ere three days are spent -
Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;
Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,
The throe of Second Manassas share.
To Linger in a Garden Fair
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
MIRTH, Spring, to linger in a garden fair,
What more has earth to give? All ye that wait,
Where is the Cup-bearer, the flagon where?
When pleasant hours slip from the hand of Fate,
AN ELEGY Upon my Best Friend L. K. C.
© Henry King
Should we our Sorrows in this Method range,
Oft as Misfortune doth their Subjects change,
And to the sev'ral Losses which befall,
Pay diff'rent Rites at ev'ry Funeral;
Vertumnus and Pomona : Ovid's Metamorphoses, book 14 [v. 623-771]
© Alexander Pope
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign;
Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train,
Beauty. Part III.
© Henry James Pye
'Tis in the mind that Beauty stands confess'd,
In all the noblest pride of glory dress'd,
Where virtue's rules the conscious bosom arm,
There to our eyes she spreads her brightest charm:
There all her rays, with force collected, shine,
Proclaim her worth, and speak her race divine.
Paradise Lost : Book VIII.
© John Milton
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while
Staff Nurse:Old Style
© William Ernest Henley
The greater masters of the commonplace,
REMBRANDT and good SIR WALTER-only these
Camping Out by Edwin Grant Burrows: American Life in Poetry #23 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
In this fine poem about camping by Washington poet E. G. Burrows, vivid memories of the speaker's father, set down one after another, move gracefully toward speculation about how experiences cling to us despite any efforts to put them aside. And then, quite suddenly, the father is gone, forever. But life goes on, the coffee is hot, and the bird that opens the poem is still there at its close, singing for life.
Camping Out
I watched the nesting redstart
when we camped by Lake Winnepesaukee.
The tent pegs pulled out in soft soil.
Rain made pawprints on the canvas.
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10:
© Conrad Aiken
From time to time, lifting his eyes, he sees
The soft blue starlight through the one small window,
The moon above black trees, and clouds, and Venus,
And turns to write . . . The clock, behind ticks softly.
At The Birth Of An Age
© Robinson Jeffers
V
GUDRUN (standing this side of the closing curtains; 'with Chrysothemis.
Carling has left her, going
Neighbors in October by David Baker: American Life in Poetry #5 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
Though many of us were taught that poems have hidden meanings that must be discovered and pried out like the meat from walnuts, a poem is not a puzzle, but an experience. Here David Baker makes a gift to us through his deft description of an ordinary scene. Reading, we accept the experience of a poem and make it a part of our lives, just as we would take in the look of a mountain we passed on a trip. The poet's use of the words "we" and "neighbors" subtly underline the fact that all of us are members of the human community, much alike, facing the changing seasons together.
