Good poems
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The Cut-Down Trousers
© Edgar Albert Guest
When father couldn't wear them mother cut them down for me;
She took the slack in fore and aft, and hemmed them at the knee;
They fitted rather loosely, but the things that made me glad
Were the horizontal pockets that those good old trousers had.
The Wreck Of Rivermouth
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see,
By dawn or sunset shone across,
The Windsor Prophecy
© Jonathan Swift
When a holy black Swede, the son of Bob,
With a saint at his chin and a seal at his fob,
Shall not see one New-Years-day in that year,
Then let old England make good cheer:
Between The Gates
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Between the gates of birth and death
An old and saintly pilgrim passed,
With look of one who witnesseth
The long-sought goal at last.
A Lamentacioun Of The Grene Tree, Complaynyng Of The Losyng Of Hire Appill.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Ofader god, how fers & how cruel, In whom the list or wilt, canst þou the make!Whom wilt thu spare? ne wot I neuere a deel,Sithe thu thi sone hast to the deth be-take,That the offended neuere, ne dide wrake, Or mystook him to the, or disobeyde,Ne to non othere dide he harm, or seide.
I had ioye éntiere, & also gladnesse, Whan þou be-took him me to clothe & wrappeIn mannës flesch. I wend, in sothfastnesse,Have had for euere Ioyë be the lappe;But now hath sorwe caught me with his trappe; Mi ioye hath made a permutaciounWith wepyng & eek lamentacioun.
The Palatine
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Leagues north, as fly the gull and auk,
Point Judith watches with eye of hawk;
Leagues south, thy beacon flames, Montauk!
Her First Season
© William Michael Rossetti
He gazed her over, from her eyebrows down
Even to her feet: he gazed so with the good
The Temple of Fame
© Alexander Pope
In that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
Mr. William Crowes Address To Her Majesty, Turned Into Metre
© Jonathan Swift
From a town that consists of a church and a steeple,
With three or four houses, and as many people,
There went an Address in great form and good order,
Composed, as 'tis said, by Will Crowe, their Recorder.
The Australian Bell-Bird
© Jean Ingelow
And 'Oyez, Oyez' following after me
On my great errand to the sundown went.
Lost, lost, and lost, whenas the cross road flee
Up tumbled hills, on each for eyes attent
A carriage creepeth.
The Reverend Micah Sowls
© William Schwenck Gilbert
The REVEREND MICAH SOWLS,
He shouts and yells and howls,
He screams, he mouths, he bumps,
He foams, he rants, he thumps.
Elegy
© Chidiock Tichborne
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
Golf Steals Our Youth
© Norman Rowland Gale
Have you seen the golfers airy
Prancing forth to their vagary,
The Pine Forest Of The Cascine Near Pisa
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The Christian Tourists
© John Greenleaf Whittier
No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest
Goaded from shore to shore;
No schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest,
The leaves of empire o'er.
Epistle To A Friend, In Answer To Some Lines Exhorting The Author To Be Cheerful, And To Banish Care
© George Gordon Byron
'OH! banish care'--such ever be
The motto of thy revelry!
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights
Renew those riotous delights,
