Future poems
/ page 51 of 121 /
The Lover Of The Queen Of Sheba
© Arthur Symons
To SAROJINI NAIDU
A YOUTH OF SHEBA. THE QUEEN OF SHEBA.
THE HERALD. KING SOLOMON.
Of The Son of Man
© George MacDonald
I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust
To look with jealousy on her designs;
To Any Member Of My Generation
© George Barker
Whenever we kissed we cocked the future's rifles
And from our wild-oat words, like dragon's teeth,
Death underfoot now arises; when we were gay
Dancing together in what we hoped was life,
Who was it in our arms but the whores of death
Whom we have found in our beds today, today?
Pre-Existence
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
We have met, you and I, long ago,
Yesterday when I saw you I knew,
Night Watches
© James Russell Lowell
While the slow clock, as they were miser's gold,
Counts and recounts the mornward steps of Time,
The Flag of our Destinies
© Henry Lawson
With our boundaries swung to the circling seas and a nation named to the world!
And the six-starred flag of our destinies on every port unfurled!
God grant from Greed or the dust of sleep or the right by a lie maintained
From all save our blood, if we must, well keep the silver and blue unstained!
Seven Laments For The War-Dead
© Yehuda Amichai
1
Mr. Beringer, whose son
fell at the Canal that strangers dug
so ships could cross the desert,
crosses my path at Jaffa Gate.
SonnetXLVII. To G.W.C.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
STILL shines our August day, as calm, as bright
As when, long years ago, we sailied away
Down the blue Narrows and the widening bay
Into the wrinkling ocean's flashing light;
Elegy On Newstead Abbey
© George Gordon Byron
No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:
The Creed To Be.
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Our thoughts are molding unmade spheres,
And, like a blessing or a curse,
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
The Torrent
© Mathilde Blind
OH torrent, roaring in thy giant fall,
And thund'ring grandly o'er th' opposing blocks,
The Hares, A Fable.
© James Beattie
Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
The jolly hunting band convene,
The beagle's breast with ardour burns,
The bounding steed the champaign spurns,
And Fancy oft the game descries
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
Song of the Old Bullock-Driver
© Henry Lawson
Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file neath the evergreen tree,
Sonnet XX. To The Countess Od A----
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written on the anniversary of her marriage.
ON this blest day may no dark cloud, or shower,
With envious shade the Sun's bright influence hide!
But all his rays illume the favour'd hour,
The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
Peruvian Tales: Cora, Tale VI
© Helen Maria Williams
The troops of ALMAGRO and ALPHONSO meet on the plain of CUZCO -. MANCO -CAPAC attacks them by nights-His army is defeated, and he is forced to fly with its scattered remains-CORA goes in search of him- Her infant in her arms-Overcome with fatigue, she rests at the foot of a mountain-An earthquake-A band of Indians fly to the mountain for shelter-CORA discovers her husband-Their interview-Her death -He escapes with his infant-ALMAGRO claims a share of the spoils of Cuzco-His contention with PIZARRO -The Spaniards destroy each other-ALMAGRO is taken prisoner, and put to death-His soldiers, in revenge, assassinate PIZARRO in his palace-LAS CASAS dies-The annual festival of the PERUVIANS -Their victories over the Spaniards in Chili-A wish for the restoration of their liberty-Conclusion.
A Wreath Of Sonnets (2/14)
© France Preseren
A record of my pain and of your praise
Will this be to Slovenes as yet unborn,
When moss shall grow upon my tomb forlorn,
And over all that grieves me and dismays;
To Lamartine
© James Russell Lowell
I did not praise thee when the crowd,
'Witched with the moment's inspiration,
Vexed thy still ether with hosannas loud,
And stamped their dusty adoration;
I but looked upward with the rest,
And, when they shouted Greatest, whispered Best.
