Good poems
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Romeo and Juliet (excerpts): O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you
© William Shakespeare
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you
Richard II (excerpts): Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand
© William Shakespeare
Oh, who can hold a fire in his handBy thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of appetiteBy bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snowBy thinking on fantastic summer's heat?Oh no, the apprehension of the goodGives but the greater feeling to the worse;Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle moreThan when it bites but lanceth not the sore
Song: Love still has something of the sea
© Sir Charles Sedley
Love still has something of the sea, From whence his Mother rose;No time his slaves from doubt can free, Nor give their thoughts repose.
Christmas Carols (It Came upon the Midnight Clear)
© Edmund Hamilton Sears
It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old,From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold;"Peace on the earth, good will to men From heaven's all-gracious King" --The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing
A Song of Renunciation
© Seaman Owen
In the days of my season of salad, When the down was as dew on my cheek,And for French I was bred on the ballad, For Greek on the writers of Greek,--Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy, Of "pleasure that winces and stings,"Of white women and wine that is bloody, And similar things
Pro Patria
© Seaman Owen
England, in this great fight to which you go Because, where Honour calls you, go you must,Be glad, whatever comes, at least to know You have your quarrel just.
Marmion: Canto 6
© Sir Walter Scott
Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower,To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp'd on Flodden edge:The white pavilions made a show,Like remnants of the winter snow, Along the dusky ridge
Marmion: Canto 5
© Sir Walter Scott
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone
To Certain Friends
© Scott Francis Reginald
I see my friends now standing about me, bemused,Eyeing me dubiously as I pursue my course,Clutching their little less that is world's away.
My Amoeba Is Unaware
© Scott Francis Reginald
of this poem in its favour, though it sharesin my totality
The Mirror for Magistrates: The Induction
© Thomas Sackville
The wrathful winter, 'proaching on apace,With blustering blasts had all ybar'd the treen,And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green;The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown
A Prayer for Yeats's Son
© Rowley Rosemarie
Once more the mob is howling and half hidUnder the cupola of the dustbin lidMy child screams on: there is no obstacleSave Paul's edict and the seven bare hillsWhereby the television, and unrestBred in the church for centuries, can be stayedAnd for an hour I have walked and prayedBecause there is no room for my kind
Flight into Reality
© Rowley Rosemarie
Dedicated to the memory of my best friend Georgina, (1942-74)and to her husband Alex Burns and their childrenNulles laides amours ne belles prison -Lord Herbert of Cherbury
Inaugural Poem
© Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The Ballad of Dead Ladies
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,Only heard on river and mere, -- She whose beauty was more than human?
After Communion
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? Why should I call Thee Friend, Who are my Love? Or King, Who art my very Spouse above?Or call Thy sceptre on my heart Thy rod? Lo now Thy banner over me is love,All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod:For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove
Cambridge
© Robertson James
Two fitful lamps in the silent court Scarce vigour enough can musterTo throw on the nearest ivy-leaves A faint and sickly lustre
