Fear poems
/ page 161 of 454 /Timor Mortis
© John Daniel Logan
'For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother . . . . .
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here.'
Fighting McGuire
© William Percy French
Now, Giibbon has told the story of old,
Of the Fall of the Roman Empire,
The Roll Of Roly Poly Roy
© Carolyn Wells
Once on a time a lad I knew--
His sister called him Bubby;
'The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12
© Publius Vergilius Maro
WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quelld,
The Change
© Abraham Cowley
LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips for ever stray
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But, oh, He never went within.
Sinne
© George Herbert
Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round!
Parents first season us: then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
To The End
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Because the storm has stript us bare
Of all things but the thing we are,
Because our faith requires us whole,
And we are seen to the very soul,
Rejoice! From now all meaner fears are fled.
Don Juan: Canto The Third
© George Gordon Byron
The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
The Ice Palace
© William Cowper
Less worthy of applause, though more admired,
Because a novelty, the work of man,
English Eclogues IV - The Sailor's Mother
© Robert Southey
WOMAN.
Sir for the love of God some small relief
To a poor woman!
Ode To The Spirit Of The Earth In Autumn
© George Meredith
The crimson-footed nymph is panting up the glade,
With the wine-jar at her arm-pit, and the drunken ivy-braid
Round her forehead, breasts, and thighs: starts a Satyr, and they
speed:
Hear the crushing of the leaves: hear the cracking of the bough!
And the whistling of the bramble, the piping of the weed!
The Black Virgin
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
One in thy thousand statues we salute thee
On all thy thousand thrones acclaim and claim
Upon the Kings happy return from Scotland
© Henry King
So breaks the day when the returning Sun
Hath newly through his Winter Tropick run,
As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth
From the remoter Climate of the North.
A Hymn
© Helen Maria Williams
While thee I seek, protecting Power!
Be my vain wishes still'd;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be fill'd.
To The Rev. A. A. In The Country From His Friend In London
© Horace Smith
Thou little village curate,
Come quick, and do not wait;
We'll sit and talk together,
So sweetly _tete-a-tete_.
The Progress Of A Divine: Satire
© Richard Savage
All priests are not the same, be understood!
Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.
What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;
Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;
When good, or bad, annex we to your name,
The greater honour, or the greater shame.
I Vex Me Not With Brooding On The Years
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
I vex me not with brooding on the years
That were ere I drew breath; why should I then
April
© Hilaire Belloc
The month has treacherous clouds and moves in fears.
This April shames the month itself with smiles:
In whose new eyes I know no heaven of tears,
But still serene desire and between whiles,
So great a look that even April's grace
Makes only marvel at her only face.