Good poems
/ page 121 of 545 /
Genesis BK XIX
© Caedmon
(ll. 1217-1224) Then Methuselah held sway among his kinsmen, and
longest of all men enjoyed the pleasures of this world. He begat
a multitude of sons and daughters before his death. And all the
years of Methuselah were nine hundred and seventy winters, and he
died.
Hymn to the North Star
© William Cullen Bryant
The sad and solemn night
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
Viva Perpetua
© Archibald Lampman
The night is passing. In a few short hours
I too shall suffer for the name of Christ.
A boundless exaltation lifts my soul!
I know that they who left us, Saturus,
Perpetua, and the other blessed ones,
Await me at the opening gates of heaven.
A Wreath Of Immortelles
© Ambrose Bierce
Judge Sawyer, whom in vain the people tried
To push from power, here is laid aside.
Death only from the bench could ever start
The sluggish load of his immortal part.
The Approach Of Christmas
© Edgar Albert Guest
There's a little chap at our house that is being mighty good--
Keeps the front lawn looking tidy in the way we've said he should;
Doesn't leave his little wagon, when he's finished with his play,
On the sidewalk as he used to; now he puts it right away.
When we call him in to supper, we don't have to stand and shout;
It is getting on to Christmas and it's plain he's found it out.
The Ghost-Seer
© James Russell Lowell
Ye who, passing graves by night,
Glance not to the left or right,
A Poetical Epistle To Lady Austen
© William Cowper
Dear Anna, -- Between friend and friend,
Prose answers every common end;
To Alexander Pope, Esq.
© Mary Barber
Accept, illustrious Shade! these artless Lays;
My Soul this Homage, to thy Virtue pays:
Led by that sacred Light, a Stranger--Muse
Attempts those Paths, which abler Feet refuse;
In distant Climes thy Virtue she admires,
In distant Climes thy Worth her Strain inspires.
Christ at Carnival
© Muriel Stuart
Then I heard human accents answering:
"I am a god, made god by all thy prayers;
Wach stone becomes a god by worshipping;
I am a man who loves thee: in thy town
Many have loved thee, I am one of these."
The Aungeles Song On Pask Day.
© Thomas Hoccleve
The grevous iourney þat thu took on hande, hath clerly maad, to eueri wight appere,In sothfastnesse to see & vnderstonde,To þat only was thi talent & thi chiereSo suffisaunt, lo,that oure raunsoum were Superhabundaunt over þat was due;Honured be thu, blisseful lord Ihesu!
On thursday, a noble soper þou made, Where thu ordeyned first thi sacrament;But muchë more it doth oure hertës glade,The worthi dyner of this day present,In which þou schewest thi self omnipotent, Rising from deth to lyve, it is ful trewe:Honured be thu, blisful lord Ihesu!
Now for this festë schal we say the graces, And worthi is, with alle oure diligence,And thank the here, & [eke] in allë places,Of thi ful bountevous benevolence,Thi myght, thi grace, thi souereyn excellence: Thu art the ground & welle of alle vertue:Honured be thu, blisfull lord Ihesu!
Religious Musings : A Desultory Poem Written On The Christmas Eve Of 1794
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
What tho' first,
In years unseason'd, I attuned the lay
To idle passion and unreal woe?
Yet serious truth her empire o'er my song
The Song Of Hiawatha XVII: The Hunting Of Pau-Puk Keewis
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Full of wrath was Hiawatha
When he came into the village,
Who Is A Christian?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Who is a Christian in this Christian land
Of many churches and of lofty spires?
Not he who sits in soft upholstered pews
Bought by the profits of unholy greed,
A Poem On The Last Day - Book II
© Edward Young
Now man awakes, and from his silent bed,
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head;
Shakes off the slumber of ten thousand years,
And on the borders of new worlds appears.
Whate'er the bold, the rash adventure cost,
In wide Eternity I dare be lost.
Hero And Leander: The Second Sestiad
© Christopher Marlowe
By this, sad Hero, with love unacquainted,
Viewing Leander's face, fell down and fainted.
The Barn
© Edward Thomas
They should never have built a barn there, at all -
Drip, drip, drip! - under that elm tree,
Though when it was young. Now it is old
But good, not like the barn and me.
Individuality.
© Sidney Lanier
Sail on, sail on, fair cousin Cloud:
Oh loiter hither from the sea.
Still-eyed and shadow-brow'd,
Steal off from yon far-drifting crowd,
And come and brood upon the marsh with me.
The Stepmother
© James Whitcomb Riley
First she come to our house,
Tommy run and hid;
And Emily and Bob and me
We cried jus' like we did
When Mother died,--and we all said
'At we all wisht 'at we was dead!
