Good poems
/ page 464 of 545 /
Sierra Kid
© Philip Levine
I passed Slimgullion, Morgan Mine,
Camp Seco, and the rotting Lode.
Dark walls of sugar pine --,
And where I left the road
The Whole Soul
© Philip Levine
Is it long as a noodle
or fat as an egg? Is it
lumpy like a potato or
ringed like an oak or an
The Return
© Philip Levine
All afternoon my father drove the country roads
between Detroit and Lansing. What he was looking for
I never learned, no doubt because he never knew himself,
though he would grab any unfamiliar side road
The Dead
© Philip Levine
A good man is seized by the police
and spirited away. Months later
someone brags that he shot him once
through the back of the head
Heaven
© Philip Levine
If you were twenty-seven
and had done time for beating
our ex-wife and had
no dreams you remembered
A Sleepless Night
© Philip Levine
April, and the last of the plum blossoms
scatters on the black grass
before dawn. The sycamore, the lime,
the struck pine inhale
The Manuscript of Saint Alexius
© Augusta Davies Webster
But, when my father thought my words took shape
of other than boy's prattle, he grew grave,
and answered me "Alexius, thou art young,
and canst not judge of duties; but know this
thine is to serve God, living in the world."
The Outlaw
© Sir Walter Scott
'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green!
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English Queen.'
Patriotism 02 Nelson, Pitt, Fox
© Sir Walter Scott
TO mute and to material things
New life revolving summer brings;
The genial call dead Nature hears,
And in her glory reappears.
On Leaving Mrs. Brown's Lodgings
© Sir Walter Scott
So goodbye, Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,
Lochinvar
© Sir Walter Scott
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
Brignall Banks
© Sir Walter Scott
'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green!
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English Queen.'
Border Ballad
© Sir Walter Scott
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
The Three Fishers
© Charles Kingsley
1 Three fishers went sailing away to the west,
2 Away to the west as the sun went down;
3 Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
4 And the children stood watching them out of the town;
The Last Buccaneer
© Charles Kingsley
OH, England is a pleasant place for them that s rich and high;
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
And such a port for mariners I neer shall see again,
As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main.
A Farewell
© Charles Kingsley
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Kaspar Is Dead
© Jean Hans Arp
alas our good kaspar is dead.
who will bury a burning flag in the wings of the clouds who will pull
black wool over our eyes day by day.
who will turn the coffee mills in the primal barrel.
Love Turned to Hatred
© Sir John Suckling
I will not love one minute more, I swear!
No, not a minute! Not a sigh or tear
Thou gett'st from me, or one kind look again,
Though thou shouldst court me to 't, and wouldst begin.
If you refuse me once, and think again
© Sir John Suckling
If you refuse me once, and think again,
I will complain.
You are deceiv'd, love is no work of art,
It must be got and born,
Not made and worn,
By every one that hath a heart.
