Good poems
/ page 24 of 545 /
Irish to English
© Christopher John Brennan
I am not of your blood;I never loved your ways:If e'er your deed was goodI yet was slow to praise.
Each day I see the long ships coming into port
© Christopher John Brennan
Each day I see the long ships coming into portand the people crowding to their rail, glad of the shore:because to have been alone with the sea and not to have knownof anything happening in any crowded way,and to have heard no other voice than the crooning sea'shas charmed away the old rancours, and the great windshave search'd and swept their hearts of the old irksome thoughts:so, to their freshen'd gaze, each land smiles a good home
I Love Corned Beef
© Bowen A. P.
I LOVE corned beef -- I never knewHow good the stuff COULD taste in stew!I love it WET, I love it DRY,I love it baked and called MEAT PIE
A Vision out West
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Far reaching down's a solid sea sunk everlastingly to rest,And yet whose billows seem to be for ever heaving toward the westThe tiny fieldmice make their nests, the summer insects buzz and humAmong the hollows and the crests of this wide ocean stricken dumb,Whose rollers move for ever on, though sullenly, with fettered wills,To break in voiceless wrath upon the crumbled bases of far hills,Where rugged outposts meet the shock, stand fast, and hurl them back again,An avalanche of earth and rock, in tumbled fragments on the plain;But, never heeding the rebuff, to right and left they kiss the feetOf hanging cliff and bouldered bluff till on the farther side they meet,And once again resume their march to where the afternoon sun dipsToward the west, and Heaven's arch salutes the Earth with ruddy lips
How Polly Paid for her Keep
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Do I know Polly Brown? Do I know her? Why, damme!You might as well ask if I know my own name!It's a wonder you never heard tell of old Sammy,Her father, my mate in the Crackenback claim.
The Digger's Song
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Scrape the bottom of the hole: gather up the stuff! Fossick in the crannies, lest you leave a grain behind!Just another shovelful and that'll be enough-- Now we'll take it to the bank and see what we can find
The Mullein Meadow
© Jean Blewett
Down in the mullein meadow The lusty thistle springs,The butterflies go criss-cross, The lonesome catbird sings,
The Mother's Lecture
© Jean Blewett
There's nothing, did you say, Reuben? There's nothing, nothing at all,There's nothing to thank the Lord for This disappointing fall.
Oh, Dem Golden Slippers!
© Bland James A.
Oh, my golden slippers am laid away,Kase I don't 'spect to wear 'em till my weddin' day,And my long-tail'd coat, dat I loved so well,I will wear up in de chariot in de morn;And my long, white robe dat I bought last June,I'm gwine to get changed kase it fits too soon,And de ole grew hoss dat I used to drive,I will hitch him up to de chariot in de morn
Indoor Games near Newbury
© John Betjeman
In among the silver birches winding ways of tarmac wander And the signs to Bussock Bottom, Tussock Wood and Windy Brake,Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches, catch the lights of our Lagonda As we drive to Wendy's party, lemon curd and Christmas cake
An Incident in the Early Life of Ebenezer Jones, Poet, 1828
© John Betjeman
"We were together at a well-known boarding-school of that day (1828), situated at the foot of Highgate Hill, and presided over by a dissenting minister, the Rev
The Sparrow
© Benson Arthur Christopher
O pertest, most self-satisfied Of aught that breathes or moves,See where you sit, with head aside, To chirp your vulgar loves:Or raking in the uncleanly street You bolt your ugly meal,Undaunted by the approaching feet, The heedless splashing wheel
On a Dead Hostess
© Hilaire Belloc
Of this bad world the loveliest and the bestHas smiled and said "Good Night," and gone to rest.
Jim, Who Ran away from his Nurse, and was Eaten by a Lion
© Hilaire Belloc
There was a Boy whose name was Jim;His Friends were very good to him
Bede's Death Song
© Bede The Venerable
Fore there neidfaerae naenig uuiurthitthoncsnotturra than him tharf sieto ymbhycggannae aer his hiniongaehuaet his gastae godaes aeththa yflaesaefter deothdaege doemid uueorthae.
