Good poems
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Untitled 4
© Owen Suffolk
Mother! Darling mother, you are seeking me I know,
And I feel thy love will follow through the world where'er I go;
Requirement
© John Greenleaf Whittier
We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave
Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's,
Vanitas! Vanitatum Vanitas!
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Hurrah!
Then he who would be a comrade of mine
Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine,
Over these dregs of wine.
The Bride Of Corinth.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[First published in Schiller's Horen, in connection
with a
friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two
great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.]
The Wanderer.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Published in the Gottingen Musen Almanach,
having been written "to express his feelings and caprices" after
his separation from Frederica.]
Richard And Kate: Or, Fair-Day
© Robert Bloomfield
'Come, Goody, stop your humdrum wheel,
Sweep up your orts, and get your Hat;
Old joys reviv'd once more I feel,
'Tis Fair-day;--ay, _and more than that._
Sound, Sweet Song.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Sooner thus will good unfold;
Children young and children old
Gladly hear thy numbers flow.
The Eagle And Dove.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
IN search of prey once raised his pinions
An eaglet;
A huntsman's arrow came, and reft
His right wing of all motive power.
Prometheus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Didst thou e'er fancy
That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,
Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
It's September
© Edgar Albert Guest
It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.
The Plough, A Landscape In Berkshire
© Richard Henry Horne
ABOVE yon sombre swell of land
Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,
With one pale streak like yellow sand,
And over that a vein of blue.
The Three Little Pigs
© Roald Dahl
"Little pig, little pig, let me come in!"
"No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!"
"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!"
To Stella, Written On The Day Of Her Birth. March 13, 1723-4, But Not On The Subject, When I Was Sic
© Jonathan Swift
Tormented with incessant pains,
Can I devise poetic strains?
Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verse to Stella's native day:
Final Soliloquy Of The Interior Paramour
© Wallace Stevens
Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.
Sonnet 80: "O! how I faint when I of you do write,..."
© William Shakespeare
O! how I faint when I of you do write,
The Chimney-Sweeper's Song
© William Strode
Then up I rush with my pole and brush,
I scowre the chimney's Jacket,
I make it shine as bright as mine,
When I have rub'd and rak'd it.
