Good poems
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English Eclogues I - The Old Mansion-House
© Robert Southey
STRANGER.
Old friend! why you seem bent on parish duty,
Breaking the highway stones,--and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard methinks for age like yours.
Riddles
© William Barnes
A. A plague! theäse cow wont stand a bit,
Noo sooner do she zee me zit
Ageän her, than she's in a trot,
A-runnèn to zome other spot.
Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Conscription Camp
© Ishmael Reed
Your landscape sickens with a dry disease
Even in May, Virginia, and your sweet pines
Like Frenchmen runted in a hundred wars
Are of a child’s height in these battlefields.
Of Love To God
© John Bunyan
When I do this begin to apprehend,
My heart, my soul, and mind, begins to bend
The Good, Great Man
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
"How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits
Or any merit that which he obtains."
Hymns to the Night : 5
© Novalis
In ancient times, over the widespread families of men an iron Fate ruled with dumb force. A gloomy oppression swathed their heavy souls - the earth was boundless - the abode of the gods and their home. From eternal ages stood its mysterious structure. Beyond the red hills of the morning, in the sacred bosom of the sea, dwelt the sun, the all-enkindling, living Light. An aged giant upbore the blissful world. Fast beneath mountains lay the first-born sons of mother Earth. Helpless in their destroying fury against the new, glorious race of gods, and their kindred, glad-hearted men. The ocean's dark green abyss was the lap of a goddess. In crystal grottos revelled a luxuriant folk. Rivers, trees, flowers, and beasts had human wits. Sweeter tasted the wine - poured out by Youth-abundance - a god in the grape-clusters - a loving, motherly goddess upgrew in the full golden sheaves - love's sacred inebriation was a sweet worship of the fairest of the god-ladies - Life rustled through the centuries like one spring-time, an ever-variegated festival of heaven-children and earth-dwellers. All races childlike adored the ethereal, thousand-fold flame as the one sublimest thing in the world. There was but one notion, a horrible dream-shape -
That fearsome to the merry tables strode,
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 09
© William Langland
"Sire Dowel dwelleth,' quod Wit, "noght a day hennes
In a castel that Kynde made of foure kynnes thynges.
City Without a Name
© Czeslaw Milosz
1
Who will honor the city without a name
If so many are dead and others pan gold
Or sell arms in faraway countries?
Resolution and Independence
© André Breton
There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
Pro Femina
© John Betjeman
But we need dependency, cosseting, and well-treatment.
So do men sometimes. Why don’t they admit it?
We will be cows for a while, because babies howl for us,
Be kittens or bitches, who want to eat grass now and then
For the sake of our health. But the role of pastoral heroine
Is not permanent, Jack. We want to get back to the meeting.
Complaint Of The Absence Of Her Lover Being Upon The Sea
© Henry Howard
O HAPPY dames! that may embrace
The fruit of your delight,
With Emma at the Ladies-Only Swimming Pond on Hampstead Heath
© Michael Rosen
In payment for those mornings at the mirror while,
at her
expense, I’d started my late learning in Applied
On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford, for Naples
© André Breton
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
