Good poems
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The Purgatory Of St. Patrick - Act III
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
LUIS. Oh, that name
Do not mention! do not kill me
By repeating what doth thrill me
To the centre of my frame
As with lightning. Yes, I know
That at length Polonia died.
Stella At Wood Park, A House Of Charles Ford, Esq., Near Dublin
© Jonathan Swift
Don Carlos, in a merry spight,
Did Stella to his house invite:
He entertain'd her half a year
With generous wines and costly cheer.
Eileen Oge (Pride of Petravore)
© William Percy French
Eileen Oge! me heart is growin' grey
Ever since the day you wandered far away;
Eileen Oge! there's good fish in the sea,
But there's no one like the Pride of Petravore.
The Exiles. 1660
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The goodman sat beside his door
One sultry afternoon,
With his young wife singing at his side
An old and goodly tune.
House and Man
© Edward Thomas
He waved good-bye to hide
A sigh that he converted to a laugh.
He seemed to hang rather than stand there, half
Ghost-like, half like a beggar's rag, clean wrung
And useless on the brier where it has hung
Long years a-washing by sun and wind and rain.
The Truth Suppressed
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
Why do people sit in darkness as regards the Negro race?
Why so ignorant are nations of conditions in the case?
'Tis because the facts are strangled by a prejudice intense,
Truth is murdered in the forum when she cries in his defence.
The Old Hay-Mow
© James Whitcomb Riley
The Old Hay-mow's the place to play
Fer boys, when it's a rainy day!
I good-'eal ruther be up there
Than down in town, er anywhere!
The Three Foot Rule
© William John Macquorn Rankine
When I was bound apprentice, and learned to use my hands,
Folk never talked of measures that came from foreign lands:
Now I'm a British Workman, too old to go to school;
So whether the chisel or file I hold, I'll stick to my three-foot rule.
A Forest Hymn
© William Cullen Bryant
The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
Conscription Camp
© Karl Shapiro
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 childs height in these battlefields.
Negro Spirituals
© Anonymous
Blow your trumpet, Gabriel.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Blow it right calm and easy,
Do not alarm my people,
Tell dem to come to judgment,
In dat great gittin-up Mornin, etc.
Echo And The Ferry
© Jean Ingelow
So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet,
And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was litter'd;
And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd,
While hanging head downwards they scolded because I was seven.
A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven.
The Appeal Of The Chorus
© Aristophanes
But now for the gentle reproaches he bore
On the part of his friends, for refraining before
To embrace the profession, embarking for life
In theatrical storms and poetical strife.
To The Reader Of University Notes
© Robert Fuller Murray
Ah yes, we know what you're saying,
As your eye glances over these Notes:
'What asses are these that are braying
With flat and unmusical throats?
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - August
© George MacDonald
1.
SO shall abundant entrance me be given
The Vicissitudes Experienced In The Christian Life
© William Cowper
I suffer fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.
A Conversation At Dawn
© Thomas Hardy
He lay awake, with a harassed air,
And she, in her cloud of loose lank hair,
Seemed trouble-tried
As the dawn drew in on their faces there.
An Epistle To Fleetwood Shephard, Esq.
© Matthew Prior
When crowding folks, with strange ill faces,
Were making legs, and begging places,
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 10
© William Langland
Thanne hadde Wit a wif, was hote Dame Studie,
That lene was of lere and of liche bothe.
