Fear poems
/ page 117 of 454 /Bayard Taylor (Upon Death)
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"OFT have I fronted Death, nor feared his might!
To me immortal, this dim Finite seems
Like some waste low-land, crossed by wandering streams
Whose clouded waves scarce catch our yearning sight:
Sonnet II
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
In shame is man conceived, through pain is born,
And brief the time upon this earth he goes
In life inconstant, full of fears and woes.
He dies, a shadow by the sun forlorn.
A Child's Garden
© Rudyard Kipling
Now there is nothing wrong with me
Except - I think it's called T.B.
And that is why I have to lay
Out in the garden all the day.
In Hospital
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Nothing of itself is in the still'd mind, only
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,
Sonnet: Political Greatness
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
Lines Addressed To A Young Lady
© George Gordon Byron
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,
And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.
Despised And Rejected
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
'Friend, My Feet bleed.
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.'
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.
Don Juan: Dedication
© George Gordon Byron
Bob Southey! You're a poet-Poet-laureate,
And representative of all the race;
"I swear to you, Love, by your arrows"
© Gaspara Stampa
For theres a virtue born from suffering,
That dims and conquers the sense of pain,
So that its barely felt, seems scarcely hurting.
No! This, that torments soul and body again,
This is the real fear presaging my dying:
What if my fire be only straw and flame?
A Child-Savior
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
(A True Story)
SHE stood beside the iron road,
A little child of ten years old.
She heard two meeting thunders rolled
Consider The Ravens
© George MacDonald
But I consider further, and find
A hungry bird has a free mind;
He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow,
Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow;
This moment is his, thy will hath said it,
The next is nothing till thou hast made it.
Amours De Voyage, Canto III
© Arthur Hugh Clough
- domus Albuneae resonantis,
Et praeceps Anio, et Tibuni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis
Imploring To Be Resigned At Death
© George Moses Horton
Let me die and not tremble at death,
But smile at the close of my day,
And then, at the flight of my breath,
Like a bird of the morning in May,
Go chanting away.
The Library
© George Crabbe
When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,
Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;
The Ogre Slam-The-Door
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
There is a certain castle that is beautiful and fair,
And plants, and birds, and pretty things, fill every room and hall,
But alas! for the unhappy folks who make their dwelling there,
A dreadful ogre haunts the house and tries to kill them all.
Some day I fear will find them dead and stretched out in their gore
The victims of this ogre grim, this wicked Slam-the-door!
The Bushman
© Thomas Pringle
The Bushman sleeps within his black-browed den,
In the lone wilderness. Around him lie
The Herd And The Mavis
© George MacDonald
"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie,
"What gars ye sing sae lood?"
"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie,
The worms for my daily food."
On The Death Of Damon. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis and for Hylas dead,