Good poems
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The Future Life
© William Cullen Bryant
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?
To a Friend
© William Shenstone
Have you ne'er seen, my gentle Squire!
The humours of your kitchen fire?
Rubaiyat 39
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
With good company and harp and reed
In a corner, jug of wine and time to heed,
The warmth of wine runs through my veins,
Why should I succumb to my greed?
Idyll XV. The Festival of Adonis
© Theocritus
PRAXINOAe.
Yes, Gorgo dear! At last!
That you're here now's a marvel! See to a chair,
A cushion, Eunoae!
The Freed Islands
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A FEW brief years have passed away
Since Britain drove her million slaves
Beneath the tropic's fiery ray:
God willed their freedom; and to-day
The Sister
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
WHAT is balm for a soul distressed, O! sailor tell to me ?
A good ship in a fighting wind glad of an angry sea.
The leaping timbers 'neath your feet, the salt upon your cheek,
Never soul could mourn, my sister, O! never heart could break."
Antony Villa
© Henry Lawson
And the daughters of the Vardensthey are beautiful as Graces
But the balconys deserted, and they rarely show their faces;
And the swells of their acquaintance never seem to venture near them,
And the bailiff says they seldom have a cup of tea to cheer them.
The Beginning
© Jean Ingelow
Such as can see,
Why should they doubt? The childhood of a race.
The childhood of a soul, hath neither doubt
Nor fear. Where all is super-natural
The guileless heart doth feed on it, no more
Afraid than angels are of heaven.
A Dream Of Bric-A-Brac
© John Hay
I dreamed I was in fair Niphon.
Amid tea-fields I journeyed on,
Reclined in my jinrikishaw;
Across the rolling plains I saw
The lordly Fusi-yama rise,
His blue cone lost in bluer skies.
The Light Of Love
© John Hay
Each shining light above us
Has its own peculiar grace;
But every light of heaven
Is in my darling's face.
The Witch of Hebron
© Charles Harpur
Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.
Chloe
© Edith Nesbit
NIGHT wind sighing through the poplar leaves,
Trembling of the aspen, shivering of the willow,
Every leafy voice of all the night-time grieves,
Mourning, weeping over Chloe's pillow.
Things Do Come Round
© William Barnes
Above the leafless hazzle-wride
The wind-drove raïn did quickly vall,
The Planting
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
PLANT it safe and sure, my child,
Then cease watching and cease weeping;
You have done your utmost part:
Leave it with a quiet heart:
It will grow while you are sleeping.
The Aungelys Song Within.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Al worshippe, wisdam, welthe and worthinesse, All bounte, beawte, ioye and blisfulheed,All honure, vertue, and alle myghtynesse,All grace & thankyng, vnto thin godheede,ffrom whom alle grace & mercy doth procede! Ay praised be thu, lord, in Trinite,And euere honured be thi maieste!
That be mankynde oure nombre is encreased, Of this that longe have be in pilgrymage;And now is alle hire noyows laboure cessed,That was be-gonne here first[ë] dayës age.Here is the port of sekire áryuáge Honured be thu, blissed lord on hye, And wolcome be ye to owre companye!
The Ring And The Book - Chapter V - Count Guido Franceschini
© Robert Browning
That is a way, thou whisperest in my ear!
I doubt, I will decide, then act, said I
Then beckoned my companions: Time is come!
The Wind At Night
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
O SUDDEN blast, that through this silence black
Sweeps past my windows,
Coming and going with invisible track
As death or sin does,--
Composed Near Calais, On The Road Leading To Ardres, August 7, 1802
© William Wordsworth
JONES! as from Calais southward you and I
Went pacing side by side, this public Way
Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day,
When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty:
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Student's Tale; The Falcon of Ser Federigo
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Who is thy mother, my fair boy?" he said,
His hand laid softly on that shining head.
"Monna Giovanna. Will you let me stay
A little while, and with your falcon play?
We live there, just beyond your garden wall,
In the great house behind the poplars tall."
Shameful Death
© William Morris
There were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,
I and his mother stood at the head,
Over his feet lay the bride;
We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.
