Food poems
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The Missionary - Canto Third
© William Lisle Bowles
Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,--
And whilst our time may brook a brief delay
The Seasons: Winter
© James Thomson
OH! bear me then to high, embowering, Shades;
To twilight Groves, and visionary Vales;
To weeping Grottos, and to hoary Caves;
Where Angel-Forms are seen, and Voices heard,
Sigh'd in low Whispers, that abstract the Soul,
From outward Sense, far into Worlds remote.
Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree,
© William Wordsworth
which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect.
NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
By the Window
© Edward Dowden
STILL deep into the West I gazed; the light
Clear, spiritual, tranquil as a bird
83. The Cotters Saturday Night
© Robert Burns
MY lovd, my honourd, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friends esteem and praise:
The Ballad of the White Horse
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night-
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
261. The Wounded Hare
© Robert Burns
INHUMAN man! curse on thy barbrous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!
For City Lovers
© Stephen Vincent Benet
Do not desire to seek who once we were,
Or where we did, or what, or in whose name.
Book Fifth-Books
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
Untitled ( from The World We Laugh In)
© Harry Graham
Though many men have made their mark
By rising daily with the lark,
'Tis not a plan I recommend ;
The practice no one can defend.
Finality
© Charles Harpur
A HEAVY and desolate sense of life
Is all the Past makes mineand still
A cold contempt of Fortunes strife,
Despite the dread
Of want of bread,
Numbs, clogs like ice, my weary will.
The Progress of Taste, or the Fate of Delicacy
© William Shenstone
A POEM ON THE TEMPER AND STUDIES OF THE AUTHOR; AND HOW GREAT A MISFORTUNE IT IS FOR A MAN OF SMALL ESTATE TO HAVE MUCH TASTE.
Part first.
The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The First =Fourth Dialogue.=
© Giordano Bruno
CIC. I do not believe that he makes a comparison, nor puts as the same
kind the divine and the human mode of comprehending, which are very
diverse, but as to the subject they are the same.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 05 - part 05
© Torquato Tasso
LXV
But yet all ways the wily witch could find
Wordsworth
© Charles Harpur
With what a plenitude of pure delight
He triumphs on the mountains cloudy height,
With what a gleeful harmony of joy
He wanders down the vale as happy as a boy!
On the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield, 1770
© Phillis Wheatley
Great Countess, we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;
New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn,
Their more than father will no more return.
