Fear poems
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Gorgon or the Wonderful Year
© Gabriel Harvey
|S+t+| Fame dispos'd to cunnycatch the world,
Vproar'd a wonderment of Eighty Eight:
The Earth addreading to be ouerwhurld,
What now auailes, quoth She, my ballance weight ?
The Circle smyl'd to see the Center feare :
The wonder was, no wonder fell that yeare.
An Address to the Steam Washing Company and Letter of Remonstrance from Bridget Jones to the Nobleme
© Thomas Hood
An Address to the Steam Washing Company
"For shamelet the linen alone!" M. W. of Windsor.
Mr. ScrubMr. Slopor whoever you be!
What the Coal-Heaver Said
© Vachel Lindsay
Out of it all there comes a flame,
A splendid widening light.
Sorrow is turned to mystery
And Death into delight.
I Heard Immanuel Singing
© Vachel Lindsay
(The poem shows the Master, with his work done, singing to free his heart in Heaven.)
I heard Immanuel singing
Within his own good lands,
I saw him bend above his harp.
Spirit Fear.
© Robert Crawford
I look with half unfriendly eyes
Into the casual eyes I meet,
As if my spirit feared surprise,
Dim-memoried with some old defeat.
The Illinois Village
© Vachel Lindsay
O you who lose the art of hope,
Whose temples seem to shrine a lie,
Whose sidewalks are but stones of fear,
Who weep that Liberty must die,
Not Dead
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
To J.A.D.
HERE, at the sweetest hour of this sweet day,
Here in the calmest woodland haunt I know,
Benignant thoughts around my memory play,
We Meet at the Judgment and I Fear It Not
© Vachel Lindsay
Though better men may fear that trumpet's warning,
I meet you, lady, on the Judgment morning,
With golden hope my spirit still adorning.
The Master of the Dance
© Vachel Lindsay
A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.
IA master deep-eyed
Ere his manhood was ripe,
He sang like a thrush,
The City That Will Not Repent
© Vachel Lindsay
Dance then, wild guests of 'Frisco,
Yellow, bronze, white and red!
Dance by the golden gateway
Dance, tho' he smite you dead!
The Death Of Stephen
© John Newton
As some tall rock amidst the waves,
The fury of the tempest braves;
While the fierce billows toiling high,
Break at its foot and murm'ring die:
This, My Song, Is Made For Kerensky
© Vachel Lindsay
Hail the Russian picture around the little box:
Exiles,
Troops in files,
Generals in uniform,
Mujiks in their smocks,
And holy maiden soldiers who have cut away their locks.
How beautiful the Earth is still
© Emily Jane Brontë
How beautiful the Earth is still
To theehow full of Happiness;
How little fraught with real ill
Or shadowy phantoms of distress;
Virginia
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Fragments of a Lay Sung in the Forum on the Day Whereon Lucius Sextius Sextinus Lateranus and Caius Licinius Calvus Stolo Were Elected Tribunes of the Commons the Fifth Time, in the Year of the City CCCLXXXII.
Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
What the Rattlesnake Said
© Vachel Lindsay
The moon's a little prairie-dog.
He shivers through the night.
He sits upon his hill and cries
For fear that I will bite.
A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
© James Montgomery
A poor wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Alone in the Wind, on the Prairie
© Vachel Lindsay
I know a seraph who has golden eyes,
And hair of gold, and body like the snow.
Here in the wind I dream her unbound hair
Is blowing round me, that desire's sweet glow
The Light o' the Moon
© Vachel Lindsay
The moon's a peck of corn. It lies
Heaped up for me to eat.
I wish that I might climb the path
And taste that supper sweet.
