Fear poems
/ page 373 of 454 /
Little Oliver
© William Schwenck Gilbert
EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.
The Falcon
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Who would not be Sir Hubert, for his birth and bearing fine,
His rich sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine;
The Captain's Daughter
© James Thomas Fields
WE were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 05 - Cerberus And Furies, And That Lack Of Light
© Lucretius
Tartarus, out-belching from his mouth the surge
Of horrible heat- the which are nowhere, nor
Songs Of The Imprisoned Naiad
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"WOE! woe is me! the centuries pass away,
The mortal seasons run their ceaseless rounds,
While here I wither for the sunbright day,
Its genial sights and sounds.
Woe! woe is me!
The Marriage Of Tirzah And Ahirad
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne
Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song:
From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan,
'How long, O Lord, how long?'
The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see,
Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'
Lyric of Action
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
'Tis the part of a coward to brood
O'er the past that is withered and dead:
Of The Nature Of Things: Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers
© Lucretius
And on such grounds it is that those who held
The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire
An Ode To The Hills
© Archibald Lampman
AEons ago ye were,
Before the struggling changeful race of man
The Tryst Of The Sachems Daughter
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
In the far green depths of the forest glade,
Where the hunters footsteps but rarely strayed,
Was a darksome dell, possessed, twas said,
By an evil spirit, dark and dread,
Whose weird voice spoke in the whisperings low
Of that haunted wood, and the torrents flow.
Sonnet VI. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
Bathed and Washed
© Li Po
"Bathed in fragrance,
do not brush your hat;
Washed in perfume,
do not shake your coat:
A Letter
© Sukasah Syahdan
a penny for your thoughts my dear how are you
got things to tell got to stand naked before you
disintegration now depicts my inner me were you
here you might see no difference within but you
Memorials Of A Tour Of Scotland, 1803 VI. Glen-Almain, Or, The Narrow Glen
© William Wordsworth
IN this still place, remote from men,
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN;
In this still place, where murmurs on
But one meek streamlet, only one:
Good Bye
© Sukasah Syahdan
Remember the old drunk at your church
who elbowed me on the ribs
and muttered something I undestood not?
You said he meant he wanted to talk to God
I returned his with mine and said "Me too
"
The Homeless Ghost
© George MacDonald
Still flowed the music, flowed the wine.
The youth in silence went;
Through naked streets, in cold moonshine,
His homeward way he bent,
Where, on the city's seaward line,
His lattice seaward leant.
Keeping Going
© Seamus Justin Heaney
Piss at the gable, the dead will congregate.
But separately. The women after dark,
Hunkering there a moment before bedtime,
The only time the soul was let alone,
The only time that face and body calmed
In the eye of heaven.
The Early Purges
© Seamus Justin Heaney
I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee shits',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,
