Famous poems
/ page 38 of 40 /
The Cudgelled And Contented Cuckold
© Jean de La Fontaine
OUR thoughtless rambler pleasures always sought:
From Rome this spark had num'rous pardons brought;
But,--as to virtues (this too oft we find),
He'd left them,--with his HOLINESS behind!
Joconde
© Jean de La Fontaine
THE king, surpris'd, expressed a wish to view
This brother, form'd by lines so very true;
We'll see, said he, if here his charms divine
Attract the heart of ev'ry nymph, like mine;
And should success attend our am'rous lord,
To you, my friend, full credit we'll accord.
Let Me Die a Youngman's Death
© Roger McGough
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
Transformations
© George William Russell
WHAT miracle was it that made this grey Rathgar
Seem holy earth, a leaping-place from star to star?
I know I strode along grey streets disconsolate,
Seeing nowhere a glimmer of the Glittering Gate,
Kinship
© George William Russell
IN summer time, with high imaginings
Of proud Crusaders and of Paynim kings,
The children crowned themselves with famous names,
And fought there, building up their merry games,
Their mimic war, from old majestic things.
On Behalf of Some Irishmen not Followers of Tradition
© George William Russell
THEY call us aliens, we are told,
Because our wayward visions stray
From that dim banner they unfold,
The dreams of worn-out yesterday.
Sonnet XXIX
© Edmund Spenser
See how the stubborne damzell doth depraue
my simple meaning with disdaynfull scorne:
and by the bay which I vnto her gaue,
accoumpts my selfe her captiue quite forlorne.
Sonnet LI
© Edmund Spenser
DOe I not see that fayrest ymages
Of hardest Marble are of purpose made?
for that they should endure through many ages,
ne let theyr famous moniments to fade.
Sonnet XLIIII
© Edmund Spenser
When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece,
thrugh stubborn pride amongst the[m]selues did iar
forgetfull of the famous golden fleece,
then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar.
Sonnet LXIX
© Edmund Spenser
THe famous warriors of the anticke world,
Vsed Trophees to erect in stately wize:
in which they would the records haue enrold,
of theyr great deeds and valarous emprize.
Astrophel
© Edmund Spenser
Yet as they been, if any nycer wit
Shall hap to heare, or couet them to read:
Thinke he, that such are for such ones most fit,
Made not to please the liuing but the dead.
And if in him found pity euer place,
Let him be moou'd to pity such a case.
Ruins of Rome, by Bellay
© Edmund Spenser
1 Ye heavenly spirits, whose ashy cinders lie
Under deep ruins, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never die
Through your fair verses, ne in ashes rest;
The Shepheardes Calender: October
© Edmund Spenser
The dapper ditties, that I wont devise,
To feede youthes fancie, and the flocking fry,
Delighten much: what I the bett for thy?
They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise.
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe flye:
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise?
The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto IV (excerpts)
© Edmund Spenser
CANTO IIII
To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa
guides the faithfull knight,
Where brothers death to wreak Sansjoy
doth chalenge him to fight.
Monadnoc
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
I heard and I obeyed,
Assured that he who pressed the claim,
Well-known, but loving not a name,
Was not to be gainsaid.
Ode To William H. Channing
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Though loth to grieve
The evil time's sole patriot,
I cannot leave
My buried thought
For the priest's cant,
Or statesman's rant.
The Silent Shearer
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Weary and listless, sad and slow,
Without any conversation,
Was a man that worked on The Overflow,
The butt of the shed and the station.
Johnsons Antidote
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,
Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp;
Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes,
Mixes up among the doughboys half-a-dozen poison-snakes:
"Ave Ceasar"
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Long ago the Gladiators,
When the call to combat came,
Marching past the massed spectators,
Hailed the Emp'ror with acclaim!
Uncle Bill
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Enough! I now must end my song,
My needless anguish, why prolong?
From what I've said, you'll own, I'm sure,
That Uncle Bill was pretty "pure",
So, rowdies all, your glasses fill,
And -- drink it standing -- "Uncle Bill"."
