Poems begining by G
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G. W. in prayse of this Booke
© Roger Cotton
Will men be taught, in whom to put their trust,
In time of troubles stird by tyrants pride:
Or will they learne to whom the godly must
Sing thankfull Himnes, when happie dayes betide?
Lo heere a Lantarne, that may giue them light,
Both to relie, and to reioyce a right.
Grace At Evening
© Edgar Albert Guest
For all the beauties of the day,
The innocence of childhoods play,
For health and strength and laughter sweet,
Dear Lord, our thanks we now repeat.
General Pershing
© Edgar Albert Guest
He isn't long on speeches. At the banquet table, he
Could name a dozen places where he would much rather be.
He's not one for fuss and feathers or for marching in review,
But he's busy every minute when he's got a job to do.
And you'll find him in the open, fighting hard and fighting square
For the glory of his country when his boys get over there.
Goblins
© Robert Laurence Binyon
The night is holy and haunted,
Asleep in a vale of June.
Stillness and earth--smell mingle
With the beams' unearthly boon.--
Yet a terror is fallen upon me
From the other side of the moon.
Genesis BK II
© Caedmon
ll. 82-91) The citizens of heaven, the home of glory, dwelt
again in concord. Strife was at an end among the angels, discord
Ginkgo Biloba
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To my garden here translated,
Foliage of this eastern tree
Nourishes the initiated
With its meanings mystery.
Giving Thanks
© Stefan Anton George
The summer field is parched with evil fire,
And from a shoreland trail of trodden clover
Green-Striped Melons by Jane Hirshfield : American Life in Poetry #227 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat
© Ted Kooser
Jane Hirshfield, a Californian and one of my favorite poets, writes beautiful image-centered poems of clarity and concision, which sometimes conclude with a sudden and surprising deepening. Here’s just one example.
Green-Striped Melons
They lie
Golden Dell
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
BEYOND our moss-grown pathway lies
A dell so fair, to genial eyes,
It dawns an ever-fresh surprise!
Gipsies' Horses
© William Henry Ogilvie
Many a time I've wondered where the gipsies horses go
When the caravans have faded from the lanes;
When all the world of Romany lies buried in the snow,
And not a rose of any fire remains.
Gravikty
© Harold Monro
I
Fit for perpetual worship is the power
That holds our bodies safely to the earth.
God Made This Day For Me
© Edgar Albert Guest
This is jes' my style o' weather-sunshine floodin' all the place,
An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face;
An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd think birds never had
A single care to fret 'em or a grief to make 'em sad.
Oh, I settle down contented in the shadow of a tree,
An' tell myself right proudly that the day was made fer me.
Gratitude
© Edgar Albert Guest
Be grateful for the kindly friends that walk along your way;
Be grateful for the skies of blue that smile from day to day;
Be grateful for the health you own, the work you find to do,
For round about you there are men less fortunate than you.
Good Friday, A.D. 33
© Katharine Tynan
Mother, why are people crowding now and staring?
Child, it is a malefactor goes to His doom,
To the high hill of Calvary He's faring,
And the people pressing and pushing to make room
Lest they miss the sight to come.
Gentleman-Rankers
© Rudyard Kipling
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Good-Bye
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Fools! must we ever quarrel with our fate,
Too late
Reading the worth of what we did despise,
And wise
At the journey's end to weep it scarce begun
When done?
Going To The Horse Flats
© Robinson Jeffers
Sweet was the clear
Chatter of the stream now that our talk was hushed; the flitting
water-ouzel returned to her stone;
A lovely snake, two delicate scarlet lines down the dark back,
swam through the pool. The flood-battered
Trees by the stream are more noble than cathedral-columns.
Grass From The Battle-Field
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Small sheaf
Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed
Thy story, lo! I see thee once more green
And growing on the battle-field,
On that last day that ever thou didst grow!
