Future poems
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Alsace-Lorraine
© George Meredith
Yet the like aerial growths may chance be the delicate sprays,
Infant of Earth's most urgent in sap, her fierier zeal
For entry on Life's upper fields: and soul thus flourishing pays
The martyr's penance, mark for brutish in man to heel.
The Wind And The Whirlwind
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I have a thing to say. But how to say it?
I have a cause to plead. But to what ears?
How shall I move a world by lamentation,
A world which heeded not a Nation's tears?
An Experiment In Translation
© Alfred Austin
Blest husbandmen! if they but knew their bliss!
For whom, from war remote, fair-minded Earth
The Hunter Of The Prairies
© William Cullen Bryant
Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
Curly Locks
© Edgar Albert Guest
Curly locks, what do you know of the world,
And what do your brown eyes see?
The Conversation Of Eiros And Charmion
© Edgar Allan Poe
Dreams are with us no more;but of these mysteries
anon. I rejoice to see you looking life-like and rational.
The film of the shadow has already passed from off your
eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing. Your allotted days of
stupor have expired, and to-morrow I will myself induct you
into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence.
The Canary Bird
© Jones Very
I cannot hear thy voice with others ears,
Who make of thy lost liberty a gain;
The Tower of the Dream
© Charles Harpur
But not thus always are our dreams benign;
Oft are they miscreationsgloomier worlds,
Crowded tempestuously with wrongs and fears,
More ghastly than the actual ever knew,
And rent with racking noises, such as should
Go thundering only through the wastes of hell.
Tale IV
© George Crabbe
harm;
Give me thy pardon," and he look'd alarm:
Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived
Her soul to question, and she then revived.
"See! my good friend," and then she raised her
July The Fourth
© Edgar Albert Guest
As when a little babe is born the parents cannot guess
The story of the future years, their grief or happiness,
So came America to earth, the child of higher things,
A nation that should light the way for all men's visionings;
A land with but a dream to serve, such was our country then,
A prophet to prepare the way of liberty of men!
Booth's Drum [1]
© Henry Lawson
They have long used army rank-terms, and oh, say what it shall be,
When a few come back the real thing, and when one comes back V.C.!
They will bang the drum at Crows Nest, they will bang it on the Shore,
They will bang the drum in Kent-street as they never banged before.
And At Last theyll frighten Satan from the Mansion and the Slum
Hell have never heard till that time such a Banging of the Drum.
Sonnet. "'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all"
© Frances Anne Kemble
'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all,
All the fond visions hope's bright finger traces,
The Campaign, A Poem, To His Grace The Duke Of Marlborough
© Joseph Addison
While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
Proud in their number to enrol your name;
