Good poems
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America
© Whitfield James Monroe
America , it is to thee,Thou boasted land of liberty, --It is to thee I raise my song,Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong
The Planting of the Apple-Tree
© William Cullen Bryant
COME let us plant the apple-tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Oh Mother of a Mighty Race
© William Cullen Bryant
OH mother of a mighty race
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames thy haughty peers
Admire and hate thy blooming years.
With words of shame 5
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
Aunt Chloe
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
1.1I remember, well remember,1.2 That dark and dreadful day,1.3When they whispered to me, "Chloe,1.4 Your children's sold away!"
Dithyramb
© Warren John Byrne Leicester
Sunbright ale is royal food,Jarring cups disloyal feud. I will cheer my soaking mood Till the orchards reel.
Creation
© Warr Bertram
All the hours and hours and hours,All the days and days and daysThat the song within me bides its timeIn the caves of the eloquent ways.
Albion's England
© William Warner
The Brutons thus departed hence, seven kingdoms here begun,--Where diversely in divers broils the Saxons lost and won,--King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly reign;In loyal concord during life these kingly friends remain
Tender Mercies, on my Way
© Waring Anna Letitia
Tender mercies, on my way Falling softly like the dew,Sent me freshly every day, I will bless the Lord for you.
FINIS. To the Superior Animal
© Waring Anna Letitia
To sum up all, I'm old -- and that's A fact the years decide;It is a common thing with cats And not a thing to hide.
The Long and the Short of It
© Venright Steve
The good news is that Jesus has returned.The bad news is that he's brought his family.The result is that nothing will ever be the same again (not that it ever was).
Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots, Dec'd.
© Mark Twain
And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die?And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?
To A Greek Girl On The Seashore
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
There are no heathen gods to play the rogueWith wandering maidens, as in olden time;Whose wild Olympian hearts were all agogTo choose their victim, and inflict their crime:Thou hast been gathering flowers, a fragrant store,But no grim Dis has seiz'd thee for his bride;And though thou rovest on this houseless shoreNo horned Zeus betrays thee to the tide
To A Friend
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
My low deserts consist not with applauseSo kindly -- when I fain would deem it so,My sad heart, musing on its proper flaws,Thy gentle commendation must forego;As toys, which, glued together, hold awhile,But, haply brought too near some searching fire,Start from their frail compacture, and beguileThe child, that pieced them, of his fond desire:I was a very child for that brief tide,Whenas I join'd and solder'd thy good wordWith my poor merits -- 'twas a moment's pride --The flames of conscience sunder'd their accord:My heart dropt off in sorrow from thy praise,Self-knowledge baulk'd self-love so many ways
The Oak and the Hill
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
When the storm fell'd our oak, and thou, fair wold,Wast seen beyond it, we were slow to takeThe lesson taught, for our old neighbour's sake
The Holy Emerald
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
The gem, to which the artist did entrustThat Face which now outshines the Cherubim,Gave up, full willingly, its emerald dust,To take Christ's likeness, to make room for Him
Theory of Something
© Tierney Matthew
Roaches laid open by minutens, arrangedin a glass box under rule of thumb, heirs
To Cassandra
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
O Mayde more tender yet Than shy sweet buds that wakeOn rose-trees dewy wet When first the daye doth break,That from the thorny speareHalf green, half red doe peere;
The Ballade of Lovely Ladyes of Long Agoe
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
O tell me where and in what lande Is Flora and the Roman lass?Where's Thaïs or the Ladye grande That was her equal in all grace? Saye where doth Echo hyde her faceWhose voice bye streame and pool doth straye, Whose beauty more than mortal was? --But where are the white snowes borne awaye?
Where nowe is learnéd Heloïse For whom poor Abelard lost allQuick fuel of love's agonies
