Fear poems

/ page 338 of 454 /

Order by :

1
. . .
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
. . .
454

NOT my enemies ever invade me-no harm to my pride from them I fear;
But the lovers I recklessly love-lo! how they master me!
Lo! me, ever open and helpless, bereft of my strength!
Utterly abject, grovelling on the ground before them.

The Duellist - Book III

© Charles Churchill

Ah me! what mighty perils wait

The man who meddles with a state,

Psalm LXXXV. (85)

© John Milton

Thy Land to favour graciously
Thou hast not Lord been slack,
Thou hast from hard Captivity
Returned Jacob back.

The Dance To Death. Act I

© Emma Lazarus

This play is dedicated, in profound veneration and respect, to the
memory of George Eliot, the illustrious writer, who did most among
the artists of our day towards elevating and ennobling the spirit
of Jewish nationality.

The Worldling

© John Newton

My barns are full, my stores increase,
And now, for many years,
Soul, eat and drink, and take thine ease,
Secure from wants and fears.

In Commendation Of Musick

© William Strode

When whispering straynes doe softly steale

With creeping passion through the hart,

The Improvisatore

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore ; here he comes. Kate has a favour
to ask of you, Sir ; it is that you will repeat the ballad [Believe me if
all those endearing young charms.--EHC's ? note] that Mr. ____ sang so
sweetly.

A Voice On The Wind

© Madison Julius Cawein

I

She walks with the wind on the windy height

Italy : 43. The Bag Of Gold

© Samuel Rogers

I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * and, I
should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table,
and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming
countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see

In Praise of Mandragora

© Muriel Stuart

O, MANDRAGORA, many sing in praise
Of life, and death, and immortality,-
Of passion, that goes famished all her days,-
Of Faith, or fantasy;
Thou, all unpraised, unsung, I make this rhyme to thee.

To William Wordsworth

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Friend of the Wise ! and Teacher of the Good !
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)

An Indian at the Burial-Place of his Fathers.

© William Cullen Bryant

It is the spot I came to seek,--
My fathers' ancient burial-place
Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,
Withdrew our wasted race.
It is the spot--I know it well--
Of which our old traditions tell.

The Nightingale

No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!

Human Life

If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,

The Captivity

FIRST PROPHET.
AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.

How Rumplestilz Held Out In Vain For A Bonus

The Moral is: All said and done,
There's nothing new beneath the sun,
And many times before, a title
Was incapacity's requital!

Fears In Solitude

[Image][Image][Image][Image][Image] May my fears,
My filial fears, be vain ! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree : which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.