Good poems
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Ismael
© Madison Julius Cawein
So from the mosque, whose arabesques above--
The marvellous work of Oriental love--
Seen with new splendors of Heaven's blue and gold,
Applauding all, he, as the gates are rolled
Ogival back to let the many forth,
Cries war to all the unbelieving North.
Hymn On Solitude
© James Thomson
Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
But from whose holy piercing eye
The herd of fools and villains fly.
The Notion Of Rastus
© Edgar Albert Guest
DERE never was a man on earth
So wonderful or clever,
Dat ever found a way t' live
On dis ole world forever.
The Three Christmas Waits
© William Makepeace Thackeray
"When this black year began,
This Eighteen-forty-eight,
I was a great great man,
And king both vise and great,
And Munseer Guizot by me did show
As Minister of State.
The Famine In Ireland
© James Brunton Stephens
THEY shall not perish! Not if help can save
Our hunger-stricken brethren from the grave!
Constancie
© George Herbert
Who is the honest man?
He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpinne, or wrench from giving all their due.
The King's Missive
© John Greenleaf Whittier
UNDER the great hill sloping bare
To cove and meadow and Common lot,
The Rich Man And Lazarus
© John Newton
A Worldling spent each day
In luxury and state;
While a believer lay,
A beggar at his gate:
Think not the Lord's appointments strange,
Death made a great and lasting change.
Death In A Ball-Room
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh many, many thus have died, alas,
Children, poor things! The grave will have its prey.
Some flowers must still be mown down with the grass,
And in life's wild quadrille the dancers gay
Must trample here and there a weak one in their way.
To A Woman Of Malabar
© Charles Baudelaire
Your feet are as slender as hands, your hips, to me,
wide enough for the sweetest white girls envy:
to the wise artist your body is sweet and dear,
and your great velvet eyes black without peer.
Charades
© Charles Stuart Calverley
Spake John Grogblossom the coachman to Eliza Spinks the cook:
"Mrs. Spinks," says he, "I've foundered: 'Liza dear, I'm overtook.
Druv into a corner reglar, puzzled as a babe unborn;
Speak the word, my blessed 'Liza; speak, and John the coachman's yourn."
What Mr. Robinson Thinks
© James Russell Lowell
Guvener B. is a sensible man;
He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
Monday In Easter Week
© John Keble
Go up and watch the new-born rill
Just trickling from its mossy bed,
Streaking the heath-clad hill
With a bright emerald thread.
An Ode - Humbly Inscribed To The Queen, On the Glorious Success of Her Majesty's Arms
© Matthew Prior
When great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome,
And sent his conquering bands to foreign wars,
A Warm House And A Ruddy Fire
© Edgar Albert Guest
A warm house and a ruddy fire,
To what more can man aspire?
The Prologues Of Euripides
© Aristophanes
_AEschylus_--And by Jove, I'll not stop to cut up your verses
word by word, but if the gods are propitious I'll spoil
all your prologues with a little flask of smelling-salts.
The Muses Threnodie: Fifth Muse
© Henry Adamson
Yet bold attempt and dangerous, said I,
Upon these kinde of men such chance to try,
Sunday Brunch at the Old Country Buffet by Anne Caston: American Life in Poetry #45 Ted Kooser, U.S.
© Ted Kooser
Poets are experts at holding mirrors to the world. Here Anne Caston, from Alaska, shows us a commonplace scene. HavenÃt we all been in this restaurant for the Sunday buffet? Caston overlays the picture with language that, too, is ordinary, even sloganistic, and overworn. But by zooming in on the joint of meat and the belly-up fishes floating in
butter, she compels us to look more deeply into what is before us, and a room that at first seemed humdrum becomes rich with inference.
