Good poems
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Mary
© George MacDonald
She sitteth at the Master's feet
In motionless employ;
Her ears, her heart, her soul complete
Drinks in the tide of joy.
Ballad Of The Skeletons
© Allen Ginsberg
Said the Presidential Skeleton
I won't sign the bill
Said the Speaker skeleton
Yes you will
On The Persecution Of The Jews In Russia
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHAT murmurs are these that so wofully rise
Into heart-storms of agony borne from afar?
A tempest of passion, a tumult of sighs?
There is dread on the earth, and stern grief in the skies,
While the nations, appalled, watch the realm of the Czar!
Bouche-Mignonne
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
BOUCHE-MIGNONNE lived in the mill,
Past the vineyards shady,
Where the sun shone on a rill
Jewelled like a lady.
The Sinner and The Spider
© John Bunyan
Not filthy as thyself in name or feature.
My name entailed is to my creation,
My features from the God of thy salvation.
The Conference
© Charles Churchill
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
The Pastime of Pleasure: Of dysposycyon the II. parte of rethoryke - (til line 3017)
© Stephen Hawes
How la bell pucell graunted Graunde Amoure loue / and of her dyspytous departyoge. Ca. xix.
2241 Your wo & payne / & all your languysshynge
2242 Contynually / ye shall not spende in vayne
2243 Sythen I am cause / of your grete mornynge
The Bishop and the Busman
© William Schwenck Gilbert
It was a Bishop bold,
And London was his see,
He was short and stout and round about
And zealous as could be.
Iron Wine
© Lola Ridge
The ore in the crucible is pungent, smelling like acrid wine,
It is dusky red, like the ebb of poppies,
The Gipsy's Camp
© John Clare
How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp,
My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp,
"Now, while the rear-guard"
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
NOW, while the rear-guard of the flying year,
Rugged December on the season's verge
Marshals his pale days to the mournful dirge
Of muffled winds in far-off forests drear,
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
To Charles Walker
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
WHEREAS ! L. Gordon having gone away
By virtue of the law we here decree
The Choice of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
Pardon sweete flower of matchless Poetrie,
And fairest bud the red rose euer bare ;
When The Minister Calls
© Edgar Albert Guest
My Paw says that it used to be,
Whenever the minister came for tea,
