Future poems
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The Unhappy Lot Of Mr. Knott
© James Russell Lowell
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,
From business snug withdrawn,
Was much contented with a lot
That would contain a Tudor cot
'Twixt twelve feet square of garden-plot,
And twelve feet more of lawn.
To My Godchild Alice
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
ALICE, Alice, little Alice,
My new-christened baby Alice,
Can there ever rhymes be found
To express my wishes for thee
Don Juan: Canto The Twelfth
© George Gordon Byron
Of all the barbarous middle ages, that
Which is most barbarous is the middle age
To One Slain In Absence.
© Arthur Henry Adams
AND so we parted, love, oblivious
That we were parting! With our laughter light,
Flouting the future, on the morrow bright
At our old tryst we would once more discuss
A Star In The East
© Edith Nesbit
FOR THE ART EXHIBITION AT ST. JUDE'S, WHITECHAPEL
LIKE a fair flower springing fresh, sweet, and bright,
To A Kiss
© Robert Burns
Humid seal of soft affections,
Tend'rest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of young connections,
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto II.
© George Gordon Byron
1
Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war:
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!
Pretence. Part II - The Library
© John Kenyon
From such a world, all touch, all ear, all eye,
What marvel, then, if proud Abstraction fly;
Amid Hercynian shades pursue his theme,
And leave the land of Locke to gold and steam?
Time is a Fading-flowre, that's found
© George Wither
Five Termes, there be, which five I doe apply
To all, that was, and is, and shall be done.
The first, and last, is that ETERNITIE,
The Task : Complete
© William Cowper
In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
The Village (book 2)
© George Crabbe
NO longer truth, though shown in verse, disdain,
But own the village life a life of pain;
I too must yield, that oft amid these woes
Are gleams of transient mirth and hours of sweet repose.
Carmen Seculare. For the Year 1700. To The King
© Matthew Prior
Thy elder Look, Great Janus, cast
Into the long Records of Ages past:
A Dialogue At Fiesole
© Alfred Austin
HE.
Halt here awhile. That mossy-cushioned seat
Is for your queenliness a natural throne;
As I am fitly couched on this low sward,
Here at your feet.
Charles VII And Joan Of Arc At Rheims
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
A glorious pageant filled the church of the proud old city of Rheims,
One such as poet artists choose to form their loftiest themes:
There France beheld her proudest sons grouped in a glittering ring,
To place the crown upon the brow of their now triumphant king.
Ballade 1
© Eustache Deschamps
The stag was very proud of his swiftness,
Of running ten miles in one breath,
War-Song Of The Spanish Patriots
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
High the crimson banner wave!
Ours be conquest or the grave!
Spirits of our noble sires,
Lo! your sons, with kindred fires,
Unconquer'd glow!
That Rock Was Christ
© John Newton
When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst,
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through
Yielded them drink, and Gospel too!
Don Juan: Dedication
© George Gordon Byron
Bob Southey! You're a poet-Poet-laureate,
And representative of all the race;
