Fear poems
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What A Sick Woman Does
© Edgar Albert Guest
ACONVALESCIN' woman does the strangest sort o' things,
An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;
Alone
© Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Wind blew, light drew them all.
New songs revive their mornings.
Only I, small bird, am forsaken
under the Shekhinas wing.
To D, Dead By Her Own Hand
© Howard Nemerov
That was a life ago. And now youve gone,
Who would no longer play the grown-ups game
Where, balanced on the ledge above the dark,
You go on running and you dont look down,
Nor ever jump because you fear to fall.
And Now In Accents Deep And Low
© Washington Allston
And now, in accents deep and low,
Like voice of fondly-cherish'd woe,
The Dark, Blue Sea
© George Gordon Byron
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
The Bride Of The Nile - Act II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Belkís. I cannot do these sums
So long before the date. In the meanwhile talk to me.
I want to be amused. Life will go drearily
If we are to be like this. Let us play at something--chess,
Or draughts, or dominoes. Ask me a thing to guess--
An intellectual game.
To the Queen at Oxford
© Henry King
Great Lady! That thus quite against our use,
We speak your welcome by an English Muse,
And in a vulgar tongue our zeales contrive,
Is to confess your large prerogative,
Homer's Hymn To Castor And Pollux
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove,
Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love
With mighty Saturns Heaven-obscuring Child,
On Taygetus, that lofty mountain wild,
In Camp (Camp-ey)
© Jibanananda Das
Here on the edge of the forest I pitched camp.
All night long in pleasant southern breezes
By the moon's light
I listen to the call of a doe in heat.
To whom is she calling?
The Borough. Letter II: The Church
© George Crabbe
"WHAT is a Church?"--Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure, and meek;
Ode
© Benjamin Jonson
To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that Noble Pair, Sir Lucius
Cary and Sir Henry Morison.
To my honoured Friend Mr. George Sandys
© Henry King
It is, Sir, a confest intrusion here
That I before your labours do appear,
Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim
Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.
The Promise
© Robert Laurence Binyon
What wonder of what hope do you enfold,
Whose eyes are all filled with futurity?
What shape of more than beauty would you mould
With desire's strength out of the dim to--be?
Requiem
© Anna Akhmatova
Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected -
I shared all this with my own people
There, where misfortune had abandoned us.
[1961]
The Wedding Day
© Alaric Alexander Watts
The last! the last! the last!
Oh, by that little word,
How many thoughts are stirred! ~ CAROLINE SOUTHEY.
The Fan : A Poem. Book III.
© John Gay
Learn hence, ye wives; bid vain suspicion cease,
Lose not in sulien discontent your peace.
For when fierce love to jealousy ferments,
A thousand doubts and fears the soul invents,
No more the days in pleasing converse flow,
And nights no more their soft endearments know.
The Black Knight
© Johann Ludwig Uhland
'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness.
Thus began the King and spake:
"So from the halls
Of ancient hofburg's walls,
A luxuriant Spring shall break."
Julia, or the Convent of St. Claire
© Amelia Opie
Stranger, that massy, mouldering pile,
Whose ivied ruins load the ground,
Reechoed once to pious strains
By holy sisters breathed around.
The Song of the Tempest
© Sir Walter Scott
Stern eagle of the far north-west,
Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt,
