Good poems
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To Cowper
© Anne Brontë
Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard;
And oft, in childhood's years,
I've read them o'er and o'er again,
With floods of silent tears.
The Cherry Tree by David Wagoner: American Life in Poetry #202 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
Its oldest branches now, the survivors carved
by knife blades, rain, and wind, are sending shoots
straight up, blood red, into the light again.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2008 by David Wagoner, whose most recent book of poetry is âGood Morning and Good Night,â? University of Illinois Press, 2005. Reprinted from âCrazyhorse,â? No. 73, Spring 2008, by permission of David Wagoner. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Mi Hermana With Translation
© Alfonsina Storni
Son las diez de la noche; en el cuarto en penumbra,
Mi hermana está dormida, las manos sobre el pecho;
Es muy blanca su cara y es muy blanco su lecho,
Como si comprendiera, la luz casi no alumbra.
How They Brought Aid To Bryan's Station
© Madison Julius Cawein
During the siege of Bryan's Station, Kentucky, August 16, 1782, Nicholas
Tomlinson and Thomas Bell, two inhabitants of the Fort, undertook to
Tribute To The Memory Of The Rev. Sister The Nativity, Foundress Of The Convent Of Villa Maria
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Oh, Villa Maria, thrice favored spot,
Unclouded sunshine is still thy lot
Since first, neath thy mortal old,
The spouses of Christworking out Gods will,
Meekly entered, their mission high to fill
Mid the little ones of His fold.
On The Photograph Of A Corps Commander
© Herman Melville
Ay, man is manly. Here you see
The warrior-carriage of the head,
And brave dilation of the frame;
And lighting all, the soul that led
In Spottsylvania's charge to victory,
Which justifies his fame.
The Swagless Swaggie
© Edward Harrington
This happened many years ago
Before the bush was cleared,
When every man was six foot high
And wore a flowing beard.
Ella Mason And Her Eleven Cats
© Sylvia Plath
Old Ella Mason keeps cats, eleven at last count,
In her ramshackle house off Somerset Terrace;
People make queries
On seeing our neighbor's cat-haunt,
Saying: Something's addled in a woman who accommodates
That many cats.
A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss
© Harry Graham
I'd sooner gather anything,
Like primroses, or news perhaps,
Or even wool (when suffering
A momentary mental lapse);
But could forego my share of moss,
Nor ever realize the loss.
In A Cafe
© Francis Ledwidge
Kiss the maid and pass her round,
Lips like hers were made for many.
Our loves are far from us to-night,
But these red lips are sweet as any.
The Force of Argument
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Lord B. was a nobleman bold
Who came of illustrious stocks,
He was thirty or forty years old,
And several feet in his socks.
Hyperion, A Vision: Attempted Reconstruction Of The Poem
© John Keats
"With such remorseless speed still come new woes,
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn! sleep on: me thoughtless, why should I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn! sleep on, while at thy feet I weep."
Sonnet XXI.
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Pensive, at eve, on the hard world I mused,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the Moon
I gazed--and sighed, and sighed--for, ah! how soon
Eve saddens into night! Mine eyes perused,
The Song of Quoodle
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.
For He Had Great Possessions
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And I had died before the spring had come,
When winter's kiss upon the fields was cold,
The Song The Oriole Sings
© William Dean Howells
There is a bird that comes and sings
In a professor's garden-trees;
Upon the English oak he swings,
And tilts and tosses in the breeze.
Song For A Highland Drover Returning From England
© Robert Bloomfield
Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam;
But follow my shadow that points the way home;
Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay;
For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play!
Tis this makes my Bonnet set light on my brow,
Gives my sinews their strength and my bosom its glow.
