Good poems
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Madge: Ye Hoyden
© Eugene Field
At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft,
Ffor that a romping wench was shee--
"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft,
"Forsooken sholde your folly bee!"
The Shanty On The Rise
© Henry Lawson
When the caravans of wool-teams climbed the ranges from the West,
On a spur among the mountains stood `The Bullock-drivers' Rest';
It was built of bark and saplings, and was rather rough inside,
But 'twas good enough for bushmen in the careless days that died -
Just a quiet little shanty kept by `Something-in-Disguise',
As the bushmen called the landlord of the Shanty on the Rise.
The Goddess Contributed To The Fair For The Ladies Patriotic Fund Of The Pacific
© Francis Bret Harte
"Who comes?" The sentry`s warning cry
Rings sharply on the evening air:
Who comes? The challenge: no reply,
Yet something motions there.
Midnight In The Pantry
© Edgar Albert Guest
You can boast your round of pleasures, praise the sound of popping corks,
Where the orchestra is playing to the rattle of the forks;
Inscription for my little son's silver plate
© Eugene Field
When thou dost eat from off this plate,
I charge thee be thou temperate;
Unto thine elders at the board
Do thou sweet reverence accord;
Hymn
© Eugene Field
O heart of mine! lift up thine eyes
And see who in yon manger lies!
Of perfect form, of face divine--
It is the Christ-child, heart of mine!
Horace to phyllis
© Eugene Field
Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine
That fairly reeks with precious juices,
And in your tresses you shall twine
The loveliest flowers this vale produces.
Horace and Lydia Reconciled
© Eugene Field
When you were mine in auld lang syne,
And when none else your charms might ogle,
I'll not deny,
Fair nymph, that I
Was happier than a Persian mogul.
Good-Children Street
© Eugene Field
There's a dear little home in Good-Children street -
My heart turneth fondly to-day
Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet
Make sweetest of music at play;
Where the sunshine of love illumines each face
And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.
Garden and cradle
© Eugene Field
When our babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play;
The posies they are good to him,
And bow them as they should to him,
Supernatural Discernment.
© Robert Crawford
If we could spy into each other, ken
The heathen aims and the familiar evils
That in the seeming good and virtuous reign;
If we could only pierce the fallacy
Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur
© Lewis Carroll
"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school?
Ah, well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic -
A very simple rule.
The Fine Fat Saucy Chinaman
© Anonymous
I'll sing a little ditty, which
I trust you'll not think flat.
Paradise Lost : Book XI.
© John Milton
Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above
A spring poem from bion
© Eugene Field
One asketh:
"Tell me, Myrson, tell me true:
What's the season pleaseth you?
Is it summer suits you best,
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - April
© George MacDonald
1.
LORD, I do choose the higher than my will.
A proper trewe idyll of camelot
© Eugene Field
Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye
Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May,
Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng
Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring,
Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed and wiped ycleane
Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had ben her een;
A drinking song
© Eugene Field
Come, brothers, share the fellowship
We celebrate to-night;
There's grace of song on every lip
And every heart is light!
Kiss
© Ruth Padel
He's gone. She can't believe it, can't go on. She's going to give up painting. So she paints Her final canvas, total-turn-off
Black. One long
Obsidian goodbye. A charcoal-burner's Smirnoff, The mirror of Loch Ness Reflecting the monster back to its own eye.
But something's wrong. Those mad Black-body particles don't sing Her story of despair, the steel and
