Good poems
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Heaven
© Rupert Brooke
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Out At Plough
© William Barnes
Though cool avore the sheenèn sky
Do vall the sheädes below the copse,
The Bottom Drawer
© Anonymous
In the best chamber of the house,
Shut up in dim, uncertain light,
There stood an antique chest of drawers,
Of foreign wood, with brasses bright.
The Little Dog's Day
© Rupert Brooke
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began.
Le Balcon (The Balcony)
© Charles Baudelaire
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses,
Ô toi, tous mes plaisirs! ô toi, tous mes devoirs!
Tu te rappelleras la beauté des caresses,
La douceur du foyer et le charme des soirs,
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses!
On The Final Submission Of The Tyrolese
© William Wordsworth
IT was a 'moral' end for which they fought;
Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame,
Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim,
A resolution, or enlivening thought?
Falstaff's Lament Over Prince Hal Become Henry V
© Herman Melville
One that I cherished,
Yea, loved as a son -
Up early, up late with,
My promising one:
No use in good nurture,
None, lads, none!
The Forester
© Robert Bloomfield
Born in a dark wood's lonely dell,
Where echoes roar'd, and tendrils curl'd
The Troubadour. Canto 2
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
Sonnet IV "They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly"
© Henry Timrod
They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,
And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,
Himself
© Alice Guerin Crist
Last night, when I was listenin
Alone, to wind and rain,
He took the chair beside me,
Himself - come home again.
Autumn Perspective
© Erica Jong
Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward
into the future--as if, when the room
contains us and all our treasured junk
we will have filled whatever gap it is
that makes us wander, discontented
from ourselves.
The Christ upon the Hill
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
A couple old sat o'er the fire,
And they were bent and gray;
They burned the charcoal for their Lord,
Who lived long leagues away.
By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
Eurydice
© James Russell Lowell
Heaven's cup held down to me I drain,
The sunshine mounts and spurs my brain;
The Gentle Hand Of Women Folks
© Edgar Albert Guest
The gentle hand of women folks
Keeps this old world in line,
On Mr Colliers Essay On The Stage
© Thomas Parnell
Thus (say the bards) some worthy knight maintains
A warr wth fairy states, enchanted scenes,
When he moves on the bright delusion fly's,
& dismall dungeons gape before his eyes
