Fear poems
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Thule, the Period of Cosmography
© Thomas Weelkes
Thule, the period of cosmography,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;
Trinacrian Etna's flames ascend not higher:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
It's spring, I leave a street where poplars...
© Boris Pasternak
It's spring, I leave a street where poplars are astonished,
Where distance is alarmed and the house fears it may fall.
Where air is blue just like the linen bundle
A discharged patient takes from hospital,
You love meyou are sure
© Emily Dickinson
I need not startyou're sure
That night will never be
When frightenedhome to Thee I run
To find the windows dark
And no more Dolliemark
Quite none?
Atameros
© John Beevers
The palace with revolving doors was mine
And three of us went up its steps
To the tall room whose walls were made
Of the furred eyes of moths.
The Ghost, the Gallant, the Gael, and the Goblin
© William Schwenck Gilbert
O'er unreclaimed suburban clays
Some years ago were hobblin'
The Writer's Dream
© Henry Lawson
And the last that were born of a noble racewhen the page of the South was fair
The last of the conquered dwelt in peace with the last of the victors there.
He saw their hearts with the authors eyes who had written their ancient lore,
And he saw their lives as hed dreamed of suchah! many a year before.
And Ill write a book of these simple folk ere I to the world return,
And the cold who read shall be kind for theseand the wise who read shall learn.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
The Hanging Of Black Kudjo
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WELL, Maussa! if you wants to heer, I'll tell you 'bout um 'true.
Doh de berry taut ob dat bad time is fit to tun me blue;
A sort ob brimstone blue on black, wid jist a stare o' wite,
As when dem cussed Tory come fur wuck deir hate dat nite!
To The Right Honourable The Lady Sarah Cowper.
© Mary Barber
Let me the Honour soon obtain,
For which I long have hop'd in vain;
Since I, alas! am now confin'd,
Your Visit would be doubly kind.
The Judgment Of Paris
© Thomas Parnell
Where waving Pines the brows of Ida shade,
The swain young Paris half supinely laid,
Saw the loose Flocks thro' shrubs unnumber'd rove
And Piping call'd them to the gladded grove.
'Twas there he met the Message of the skies,
That he the Judge of Beauty deal the prize.
Letter From The Town Mouse To The Country Mouse
© Horace Smith
I.
Oh for a field, my friend; oh for a field!
The Spirit's Mysteries
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
And slight, withal, may be the things which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever;âit may be a soundâ
A tone of musicâsummer's breath, or springâ
A flowerâa leafâthe oceanâwhich may woundâ
Striking th' electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. ~Childe Harold.
To A Black Gin.
© James Brunton Stephens
DAUGHTER of Eve, draw near I would behold thee.
Good Heavens! Could ever arm of man enfold thee?
My Little Boy That Died
© Henry Austin Dobson
Look at his pretty face for just one minute !
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes,
His firm-shut hand, the favorite plaything in it,
Then, tell me, mothers, was it not hard to lose
And miss him from my side,
My little boy that died?
When She Cries
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
No one knows my lady when she's lonely
No one sees the fantasies and fears my lady hides
There are those who've shared her love and laughter
But no one hears my lady when she cries
but me
Speech Of Honourable Preserved Doe In Secret Caucus
© James Russell Lowell
But I've talked longer now 'n I hed any idee,
An' ther's others you want to hear more 'n you du me;
So I'll set down an' give thet 'ere bottle a skrimmage,
For I've spoke till I'm dry ez a real graven image.
Zone
© Louise Bogan
We have struck the regions wherein we are keel or reef.
The wind breaks over us,
And against high sharp angles almost splits into words,
And these are of fear or grief.
Sonnet Cycle For Lady Magdalen
© John Donne
Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:
