Future poems
/ page 50 of 121 /
In Memoriam
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Yet not of these I muse
In this ancestral place,
But of a kindred face
That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.
The False Fair Days
© Paul Verlaine
The false fair days have flamed the livelong day,
And still they flicker in the brazen West.
Cast down thine eyes, poor soul, shut out the unblest:
A deadliest temptation. Come away.
To the People Of the Future
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
This single link was else respected
By people of the days that gone
An Epistle To Dr. Moore
© Helen Maria Williams
Whether dispensing hope, and ease
To the pale victim of disease,
Or in the social crowd you sit,
And charm the group with sense and wit,
Moore's partial ear will not disdain
Attention to my artless strain.
The Legend of the Foreign Office
© Rudyard Kipling
Rajah of Kolazai,
Drinketh the "simpkin" and brandy peg,
Maketh the money to fly,
Vexeth a Government, tender and kind,
Also - but this is a detail - blind.
To Fortune
© James Thomson
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart
Come in between, and bid us part;
Little Kids
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
'Little kids,' you call us
As we are at play.
You were little children
Just the other day.
One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue Part III
© Madison Julius Cawein
I seem to see her still; to see
That dim blue room. Her perfume comes
From lavender folds draped dreamily--
One blossom of brocaded blooms--
Some stuff of orient looms.
Lines To A Lady Weeping
© George Gordon Byron
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away!
Sonnet XXXI.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written on Farm Wood, South Downs, May 1784.
SPRING'S dewy hand on this fair summit weaves
The downy grass, with tufts of Alpine flowers,
And shades the beechen slopes with tender leaves,
Kings Chapel
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is it a weanling's weakness for the past
That in the stormy, rebel-breeding town,
Swept clean of relics by the levelling blast,
To Thyrza
© George Gordon Byron
Without a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
Lines On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill
© George Gordon Byron
And thou wert sad - yet I was not with thee;
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not - and pain and sorrow here!
To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First Born Child
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it rejoice,
Well mayst thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy voice:
A gift hath been bestowed on thee, a gift of priceless worth,
Far dearer to thy womans heart than all the wealth of earth.
The Past
© Charles Harpur
And hope herself admits: To thee
But a darkening scene
Only slow days of care and doubt,
Only a dreary lengthening out,
Of what this later past hath been.
The Columbiad: Book III
© Joel Barlow
His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,
Resigns his charge within the temple wall;
In whom began, with reverend forms of awe,
The functions grave of priesthood and of law,
Address To A Maid
© Charles Mair
If those twin gardens of delight,
Thine eyes, were ever in my sight,
