Good poems

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Orlando Furioso Canto 5

© Ludovico Ariosto

ARGUMENT

Lurcanio, by a false report abused,

On The Same (Oure Ladies Chyrche)

© Thomas Chatterton

STAY, curyous traveller, and pass not bye,

Until this fetive pile astounde thine eye.

The Vote (excerpt)

© Abraham Cowley

. . . . . . . . .

This only grant me : that my means may lie

To The Memory Of The Right Honourable Lord Talbot, Late Chancellor Of Great Britain. Addressed To Hi

© James Thomson

While with the public, you, my Lord, lament

A friend and father lost; permit the muse,

A Dialogue

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

DEATH:
For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave,
I come, care-worn tenant of life, from the grave,
Where Innocence sleeps 'neath the peace-giving sod,

Three Teachers

© Lesbia Harford

Sometimes I can see
When I teach
Half my children talk
Each to each.

Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 18th, 1666

© Anne Bradstreet

In silent night when rest I took,

For sorrow near I did not look,

Wheat

© William Barnes

In brown-leav'd Fall the wheat a-left

'Ithin its darksome bed,

THE dame, indeed, the Gascon only jeered,
And e'er denied herself when he appeared;
But when she met the wight, who sought to shine;
And called her angel, beauteous and divine,
She fled and hastened to a female friend,
Where she could laugh, and at her ease unbend.

The Sacrilege: (A Ballad-Tragedy)

© Thomas Hardy

PART I

Painting by Vuillard

© Thom Gunn

Two dumpy women with buns were drinking coffee

In a narrow kitchenat least I think a kitchen

Bonnie New South Wales

© Henry Lawson

The waratah and wattle there in all their glory grow
And if they bloom on hills elsewhere, Im not supposed to know,
The tales that other States may tellI never hear the tales!
For I, her son, have sinned as well as Bonnie New South Wales.

Better Things

Better to smell the violet
Than sip the glowing wine;
Better to hearken to a brook
Than watch a diamond shine.

The Boy And The Snake

© Charles Lamb

Henry was every morning fed

With a full mess of milk and bread.

Piers Plowman The Prologue (B-Text)

In a somer sesun, whon softe was the sonn{.e},
I schop me into a shroud, as I a scheep wer{.e};
In habite as an hermite unholy of werk{.e}s
Wente I wyde in this world wondr{.e}s to her{.e};
Bote in a May{.e}s morwnynge on Malverne hull{.e}s
Me bifel a ferly, of fairie, me-thought{.e}.

Visions

In lone Glenartney's thickets lies couched the lordly stag,
The dreaming terrier's tail forgets its customary wag;
And plodding ploughmen's weary steps insensibly grow quicker,
As broadening casements light them on towards home, or home-brewed
liquor.

They Sit Together on the Porch by Wendell Berry: American Life in Poetry #68 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet L

© Ted Kooser

Here is a marvelous little poem about a long marriage by the Kentucky poet, Wendell Berry. It's about a couple resigned to and comfortable with their routines. It is written in language as clear and simple as its subject. As close together as these two people have grown, as much alike as they have become, there is always the chance of the one, unpredictable, small moment of independence. Who will be the first to say goodnight?

They Sit Together on the Porch