Good poems
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Hounds In London
© William Henry Ogilvie
If they find you a fox in Mayfair, will you show them
a right pack running,
With scorn of a Hyde Park holloa or a hat held up
in the Strand ?
The Battle Of Limerick
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Ye Genii of the nation,
Who look with veneration.
And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore;
Ye sons of General Jackson,
Who thrample on the Saxon,
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore,
From An Upper Verandah.
© James Brunton Stephens
WHAT happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?
Love's Language
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Need I say how much I love thee?-
Need my weak words tell,
The Little Worold
© William Barnes
My hwome wer on the timber'd ground
O' Duncombe, wi' the hills a-bound:
'Vulgarised'
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
All round they murmur, 'O profane,
Keep thy heart's secret hid as gold';
But I, by God, would sooner be
Some knight in shattering wars of old,
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey
© William Wordsworth
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
Aurora Leigh: Book Fourth
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She, at that,
Looked blindly in his face, as when one looks
Through driving autumn-rains to find the sky.
He went on speaking.
The Ghost at the Second Bridge
© Henry Lawson
You'd call the man a senseless fool,
A blockhead or an ass,
The Pierrot Of The Minute
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
_A glade in the Parc due Petit Trianon. In the centre a Doric temple with
steps coming down the stage. On the left a little Cupid on a pedestal.
Twilight._
Old Dwarf Heart
© Anne Sexton
True. All too true. I have never been at home in
life. All my decay has taken place upon a child.
Henderson the Rain King, by Saul Bellow
An Old Colonists Reverie
© David McKee Wright
Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn,
Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn;
It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang,
The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sang
When, fresh from the desk and ledger, I crossed the long leagues of sea -
"The old worn world is gone and the new bright world is free."
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
See, it is ended. Sick and overborne
By foes and fools, and my long chase, I lie.
Here, in these walls, with all life's souls forlorn
Herded I wait,--and in my ears the cry,
``Alas, poor brothers, equal in Man's scorn
And free in God's good liberty to die.''
The Task: Book V. -- The Winter Morning Walk
© William Cowper
Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
Rubaiyat 25
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
O friend, from your foes your heart release,
In pleasant company drink the good wine with ease.
Confer with those who know, open your heart
And from the ignorant fleas flee like the breeze.
Sleep-Stealer
© Rabindranath Tagore
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
What My Father Left Behind by Chris Forhan: American Life in Poetry #200 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laure
© Ted Kooser
Here's a fine poem by Chris Forhan of Indiana, about surviving the loss of a parent, and which celebrates the lives that survive it, that go on. I especially like the parachute floating up and away, just as the lost father has gone up and away.
What My Father Left Behind
Jam jar of cigarette ends and ashes on his workbench,
hammer he nailed our address to a stump with,
balsa wood steamship, half-finishedâ
