Good poems
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Strange Fruit
© Robert Laurence Binyon
This year the grain is heavy--ripe;
The apple shows a ruddier stripe;
Never berries so profuse
Blackened with so sweet a juice
The Battle-Field
© William Cullen Bryant
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud.
Hell in Texas
© Anonymous
The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
and a thousand years he there remained,
and he never complained, nor did he groan,
but determined to start a hell of his own
where he could torment the souls of men
without being chained to a prison pen.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 13
© William Langland
And I awaked therwith, witlees nerhande,
And as a freke that fey were, forth gan I walke
The Nut-Brown Maid. A Poem.
© Matthew Prior
Man. I am the knyght, I come by nyght
As secret as I can,
Saying, alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banishyd man.
Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Knowledge. Book I.
© Matthew Prior
But, O! ere yet original man was made,
Ere the foundations of this earth were laid,
It was opponent to our search ordain'd,
That joy still sought should never be attain'd:
This sad experience cites me to reveal,
And what I dictate is from what I feel.
Conclusion Of A Letter To The Rev. Mr. C---.
© Mary Barber
'Tis Time to conclude; for I make it a Rule,
To leave off all Writing, when Con. comes from School.
He dislikes what I've written, and says, I had better
To send what he calls a poetical Letter.
Elegy: Walking the Line
© Edgar Bowers
Every month or so, Sundays, we walked the line,
The limit and the boundary. Past the sweet gum
Superb above the cabin, along the wall
Stones gathered from the level field nearby
Amelia
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Whene'er mine eyes do my Amelia greet
It is with such emotion
As when, in childhood, turning a dim street,
I first beheld the ocean.
To the Memory of the Brave Americans
© Philip Morin Freneau
AT Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er--
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
On Receiving a Crown of Ivy from John Keats
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
It is what's within us crowned. And kind and great
Are all the conquering wishes it inspires,
Love of things lasting, love of the tall woods,
Love of love's self, and ardour for a state
Of natural good befitting such desires,
Towns without gain, and hunted solitudes.
A Thought or Two on Reading Pomfret's
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
I have been reading Pomfret's "Choice" this spring,
A pretty kind of--sort of--kind of thing,
Not much a verse, and poem none at all,
Yet, as they say, extremely natural.
How Robin and His Outlaws Lived in The Woods
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
Robin and his merry men
: Lived just like the birds;
They had almost as many tracks as thoughts,
: And whistles and songs as words.
Sonnet XXIII
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Even as upon a low and cloud-domed day,
When clouds are one cloud till the horizon,
Robin Hood's Flight
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years now,
Has been gone from her earthly home;
And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how,
A sum for a noble tomb.
May and the Poets
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May's in Milton, May's in Prior,
May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
Robin Hood, A Child.
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
It was the pleasant season yet,
When the stones at cottage doors
Dry quickly, while the roads are wet,
After the silver showers.
The Woodlands
© William Barnes
O spread ageän your leaves an' flow'rs,
Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!
