Good poems
/ page 437 of 545 /
The Columbiad: Book VII
© Joel Barlow
He spoke; his moving armies veil'd the plain,
His fleets rode bounding on the western main;
O'er lands and seas the loud applauses rung,
And war and union dwelt on every tongue.
The Lonely Garden
© Edgar Albert Guest
I WONDER what the trees will say,
The trees that used to share his play,
The dreams
© Eugene Field
Two dreams came down to earth one night
From the realm of mist and dew;
One was a dream of the old, old days,
And one was a dream of the new.
The Joys Of Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
Curling smoke from a chimney low,
And only a few more steps to go,
Faces pressed at a window pane
Watching for someone to come again,
And I am the someone they wait to see--
These are the joys life gives to me.
The discreet collector
© Eugene Field
Down south there is a curio-shop
Unknown to many men;
Thereat do I intend to stop
When I am south again;
The Dinkey Bird
© Eugene Field
In an ocean, 'way out yonder,
(As all sapient people know)
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
Whither children love to go;
The delectable ballad of the waller lot
© Eugene Field
Up yonder in Buena Park
There is a famous spot,
In legend and in history
Yclept the Waller Lot.
The Conversazzhony
© Eugene Field
What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know,
For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago;
The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized,
So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized.
The Bench-Legged Fyce
© Eugene Field
Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce
Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice.
Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose
From his predisposition to chronic repose;
But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat -
Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet!
Hafbur And Signy
© William Morris
It was the Kings son Hafbur
Woke up amid the night,
And gan to tell of a wondrous dream
In swift words nowise light.
Soldier, Maiden, and Flower
© Eugene Field
"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said,
"And bid me brave good-by;
It may befall we ne'er shall wed,
But love can never die.
The Mice. A Tale - To Mr. Adrian Drift
© Matthew Prior
But why all this? Is this your fable?
Believe me, Matt, it seems a bauble;
If you will let me know th' intent on't,
Go to your mice, and make an end on't.
Vull a Man
© William Barnes
No, Im a man, Im vull a man,
You beat my manhood, if you can.
Youll be a man if you can teake
All steates that household life do meake.
Sister's cake
© Eugene Field
I'd not complain of Sister Jane, for she was good and kind,
Combining with rare comeliness distinctive gifts of mind;
Nay, I'll admit it were most fit that, worn by social cares,
She'd crave a change from parlor life to that below the stairs,
And that, eschewing needlework and music, she should take
Herself to the substantial art of manufacturing cake.
Prof. vere de blaw
© Eugene Field
Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote
Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note,
Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place,
In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race;
Picnic-time
© Eugene Field
It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy
That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy;
For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,
Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green";
Our Lady of the Mine
© Eugene Field
The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv,
And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv;
'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,--
There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer;
Christmas, 1880
© George MacDonald
Great-hearted child, thy very being The Son,
Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-
Mr. Dana, of the New York Sun
© Eugene Field
Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81
A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.
His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view
Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do.
Mary smith
© Eugene Field
Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith,
There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith;
And though it's many years since last I saw that pretty girl,
And though I feel I'm sadly worn by Western strife and whirl;
