Good poems

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Two Folk Songs

© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again.

The Lady And The Dame

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

So thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest,

To keep Time's perishing touch at bay

Epistle (Upon his arrival at his estate in Geneva)

Now hostile Crowds Geneva's Tow'rs assail,
They march in secret, and by Night they scale;
The Goddess comes--they vanish from the Wall,
Their Launces shiver, and their Heros fall,
For Fraud can ne'er elude, nor Force withstand
The Stroke of Liberty's victorious Hand.

To Ethna

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

First loved, last loved, best loved of all I've loved!

Ethna, my boyhood's dream, my manhood's light,

The Truant Dove, From Pilpay

© Charlotte Turner Smith

A MOUNTAIN stream, its channel deep

Beneath a rock's rough base had torn;

Longing

© George Herbert

With sick and famisht eyes,
With doubling knees and weary bones,
To thee my cries,
To thee my grones,
To thee my sighs, my tears ascend:
No end?

A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XVI

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Gods, what a moral! Yet in vain I jest.
The France which has been, and shall be again,
Is the most serious, and perhaps the best,
Of all the nations which have power with men.

The Columbiad: Book IX

© Joel Barlow

Shrouded in deeper darkness now he veers
The vast gyration of a thousand years,
Strikes out each lamp that would illume his way,
Disputes his food with every beast of prey;
Imbands his force to fence his trist abodes,
A wretched robber with his feudal codes.

Hope, An Allegorical Sketch

© William Lisle Bowles

I am the comforter of them that mourn;

My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet,

England's Day: A War-Saga

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

Commended To Gortschakoff, Grant, And Bismark; And Dedicated To The British

1871

Our Canal

© Harriet Monroe

"All that was writ shall be fulfilled at last.
Cometill we round the circle, end the story.
The west-bound sun leads forward to the past
The thundering cruisers and the caravels.
Tomorrow you shall hear our song of glory
Rung in the chime of India's temple bells."

To A Vers Librist

"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;
The shackles that encumber me,
The fetters that are my obsession,
Are never gyves to your expression.

Song of Nature

Mine are the night and morning,
The pits of air, the gulf of space,
The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
The innumerable days.

Anhelli - Chapter 10

And lo, those exiles in the snowy tabernacle,
in the absence of the Shaman, had begun to quarrel among themselves,
and had divided into three groups ;
but each of these groups thought of the deliverance of the fatherland.

Steam In the Desert

"God made all nations of one blood,"
And bade the nation-wedding flood
Bear good for good to men:
Lo, interchange is happiness! -
The mindless are the riverless!
The shipless have no pen!