Good poems
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The Man-hater, A Song
© Henry Carey
IOf an inconstant, fickle Nature,Deceitful, and Conceited too,Boasting of more than he can do?
An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John Donne
© Thomas Carew
Can we not force from widow'd poetry,Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegyTo crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flowerOf fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,Dry as the sand that measures it, should layUpon thy ashes, on the funeral day?Have we no voice, no tune? Didst thou dispenseThrough all our language, both the words and sense?'Tis a sad truth
Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet
© George Gordon Byron
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last;Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third
© George Gordon Byron
I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope
Oh, My Goodie Gracious
© Burke Johnny
Oh, herself Anastatia felt mopish and queer, She hadn't been well, I should say, for a year,The bright healthy color is gone from her cheek, And it's only just once in a year that she'll speak
The Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne
© Gelett Burgess
WAKE! For the Hack can scatter into flightShakespere and Dante in a single Night! The Penny-a-liner is Abroad, and strikesOur Modern Literature with blithering Blight.
Give a Rouse
© Robert Browning
King Charles, and who'll do him right now?King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?Give a rouse: here's, in Hell's despite now,King Charles!
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXIX
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Because thou hast the power and own'st the graceTo look through and behind this mask of me(Against which, years have beat thus blanchinglyWith their rains,) and behold my soul's true face,The dim and weary witness of life's race,-Because thou hast the faith and love to see,Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,The patient angel waiting for a placeIn the new Heavens,-because nor sin nor woe,Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbourhood,Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,-Nothing repels thee,
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXIV
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
With the same heart, I said, I'll answer theeAs those, when thou shalt call me by my name-Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?When called before, I told how hastilyI dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,To run and answer with the smile that cameAt play last moment, and went on with meThrough my obedience
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The first time that the sun rose on thine oathTo love me, I looked forward to the moonTo slacken all those bonds which seemed too soonAnd quickly tied to make a lasting troth
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXVII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My own Belovèd, who hast lifted meFrom this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blownA life-breath, till the forehead hopefullyShines out again, as all the angels see,Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,Who camest to me when the world was gone,And I who looked for only God, found thee!I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Indeed this very love which is my boast,And which, when rising up from breast to brow,Doth crown me with a ruby large enowTo draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,-This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,I should not love withal, unless that thouHadst set me an example, shown me how,When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,And love called love
Risus Dei
© Brown Thomas Edward
Methinks in Him there dwells alwayA sea of laughter very deep,Where the leviathans leap,And little children play,Their white feet twinkling on its crisped edge;But in the outer bayThe strong man drives the wedgeOf polished limbs,And swims
For a' that and a' that
© Brooks Shirley
More luck to honest poverty, It claims respect, and a' that;But honest wealth's a better thing, We dare be rich for a' that
The Darktown Strutters' Ball
© Brooks Shelton
I've got some good news, Honey,An invitation to the Dark-town Ball,It's a very swell affair,All the "high-browns" will be there,I'll wear my high silk hat and a frock tail coat,You wear your Paris gown, and your new silk shawl,There ain't no doubt about it babe,We'll be the best dressed in the hall
