Good poems
/ page 40 of 545 /To Thomas Clarkson
© William Wordsworth
ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE
MARCH 1807
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb:
How toilsome--nay, how dire--it was, by thee
The Sleep of Sigismund
© Jean Ingelow
The doom'd king pacing all night through the windy fallow.
'Let me alone, mine enemy, let me alone,'
Never a Christian bell that dire thick gloom to hallow,
Or guide him, shelterless, succourless, thrust from his own.
Sonnet XXXV
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Good. I have done. My heart weighs. I am sad.
The outer day, void statue of lit blue,
Absence
© Frances Anne Kemble
What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
Do You?
© Edgar Albert Guest
YOU pay what you owe to your neighbor, I know,
You do the square thing by your brother,
A Close Finish
© Jessie Pope
["A marriage is arranged between Miss Diana Dashington and Lord Broadacres."]
The race of the season is over ;
The Princes' Quest - Part the First
© William Watson
There was a time, it passeth me to say
How long ago, but sure 'twas many a day
Down By the Carib Sea
© James Weldon Johnson
Sol, Sol, mighty lord of the tropic zone,
Here I wait with the trembling stars
To see thee once more take thy throne.
Country Letter
© John Clare
Dear brother robin this comes from us all
With our kind love and could Gip write and all
Good-bye
© Ada Cambridge
Good-bye! - 'tis like a churchyard bell - good-bye!
Poor weeping eyes! Poor head, bowed down with woe!
Kiss me again, dear love, before you go.
Ah, me, how fast the precious moments fly!
Good-bye! Good-bye!
To A Lady That Desired Me I Would Beare My Part With Her In
© Richard Lovelace
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th' alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
Prologue For A Modern Painter
© Arthur Symons
Hear the hymn of the body of man:
This is how the world began;
In these tangles of mighty flesh
The stuff of the earth is moulded afresh.
The Murmuring of the Brooklet
© Theocritus
Sweeter, good shepherd, thy song
Than yonder gliding down of waters
From the rock above.
Mary in Bethlehem: A Nativity
© Arthur Symons
JOSEPH
The night is blue, with stars of gold;
The middle watch of night is past;
See now, it will be morning soon!
Yet there is time enough for sleep.
[He shuts the door, and stands near the manger. ]
On The Banks O' Deer Crick
© James Whitcomb Riley
On the banks o' Deer Crick! There's the place fer me!--
Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be:--