Famous poems
/ page 7 of 40 /Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Sicilian's Tale; The Bell of Atri
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds,
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds,
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all,
To starve and shiver in a naked stall,
And day by day sat brooding in his chair,
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.
Mostly Slavonic
© Henry Lawson
But they never dreamed, the brainless, boors that used to sneer and scoff,
That the dreamy lad beside themknown as Dutchy Mickyloff
Was a genius and a poet, and a Manno matter which
Was the Czar of all the Russias!Peter Michaelovich.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
To Joseph Jefferson
© Henry Van Dyke
May 4th, 1898.To-day, fishing down the Swiftwater, I found Joseph Jefferson on a big rock in the middle of the brook, casting the fly for trout. He said he had fished this very stream three-and-forty years ago; and near by, in the Paradise Valley, he wrote his famous play.Leaf from my Diary.
We met on Nature's stage,
St. Ignatius Loyola At The Chapel Of Our Lady Of Montserrat
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Tis midnight, and solemn darkness broods
In a lonely, sacred fane
The First Part: Sonnet 14 - Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
© William Henry Drummond
Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
Sebethus, nor the flood into whose streams
The Diverting History Of John Gilpin, Showing How He Went Farther Than He Intended, And Came Safe Ho
© William Cowper
John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
Les Phares (The Beacons)
© Charles Baudelaire
Rubens, fleuve d'oubli, jardin de la paresse,
Oreiller de chair fraîche où l'on ne peut aimer,
Mais où la vie afflue et s'agite sans cesse,
Comme l'air dans le ciel et la mer dans la mer;
The Rival Curates
© William Schwenck Gilbert
List while the poet trolls
Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,
Who had a cure of souls
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.
The Joys We Miss
© Edgar Albert Guest
There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways
Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays.
We seldom miss the earthly great-the famous men that life has known-
But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.
The Poet's Dead
© Mikhail Lermontov
He's slain - and taken by the grave
Like that unknown, but happy bard,
Victim of jealousy wild,
Of whom he sang with wondrous power,
Struck down, like him, by an unyielding hand.
At The Saturday Club
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I start; I wake; the vision is withdrawn;
Its figures fading like the stars at dawn;
Crossed from the roll of life their cherished names,
And memory's pictures fading in their frames;
Yet life is lovelier for these transient gleams
Of buried friendships; blest is he who dreams!
Pharsalia - Book IV: Caesar In Spain. War In The Adriatic Sea. Death Of Curio.
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Should mix with ours, the vanquished. Destiny
Has run for us its course: one boon I beg;
Bid not the conquered conquer in thy train."
Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth
© Ovid
The End of the Sixth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
On The Pleasures Of College Life
© George Moses Horton
With tears I leave these academic bowers,
And cease to cull the scientific flowers;
With tears I hail the fair succeeding train,
And take my exit with a breast of pain.
An Interview With Miles Standish
© James Russell Lowell
I sat one evening in my room,
In that sweet hour of twilight
Paradiso (English)
© Dante Alighieri
The glory of Him who moveth everything
Doth penetrate the universe, and shine
In one part more and in another less.
The Royal Mails
© Ralph Hodgson
For all its flowers and trailing bowers,
Its singing birds and streams,
Yarrow Visited
© William Wordsworth
And is this -Yarrow? -This the stream
Of which my fancy cherished