Good poems
/ page 78 of 545 /
What The Traveller Said At Sunset
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The shadows grow and deepen round me,
I feel the deffall in the air;
The muezzin of the darkening thicket,
I hear the night-thrush call to prayer.
Abram Morrison
© John Greenleaf Whittier
'Midst the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
Drollest, quaintest of them all,
With a boy's laugh I recall
Good old Abram Morrison.
Song Of The Many
© Edgar Albert Guest
This is the song of the many
Who seldom are mentioned in praise,
The Grain Tribute
© Bai Juyi
There came an officer knocking by night at my door
In a loud voice demanding grain-tribute.
Toplesstown
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Talk about a hit! They're packed in and linin' up
A cover and a minimum--coffee $2 a cup
Lucy's pullin' down a thousand a week with tips and all
Workin' double shifts while startin' to bitch how
Her arches are beginning to fall.
A Wren's Nest
© William Wordsworth
AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
A Parlourmaid
© Lesbia Harford
"I want a parlourmaid."
"Well, let me see
If you were God, what kind of maid she'd be."
"She would be tall,
The Writer's Dream
© Henry Lawson
And the last that were born of a noble racewhen the page of the South was fair
The last of the conquered dwelt in peace with the last of the victors there.
He saw their hearts with the authors eyes who had written their ancient lore,
And he saw their lives as hed dreamed of suchah! many a year before.
And Ill write a book of these simple folk ere I to the world return,
And the cold who read shall be kind for theseand the wise who read shall learn.
The Reapers In Autumn
© James Thomson
Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky,
And unperceived, unfolds the spreading day;
Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand,
In fair array.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
The Hanging Of Black Kudjo
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WELL, Maussa! if you wants to heer, I'll tell you 'bout um 'true.
Doh de berry taut ob dat bad time is fit to tun me blue;
A sort ob brimstone blue on black, wid jist a stare o' wite,
As when dem cussed Tory come fur wuck deir hate dat nite!
The Earth-Mother
© Frank Dalby Davison
COMETH a voice:My children, hear;
From the crowded street and the close-packed mart
To A Black Gin.
© James Brunton Stephens
DAUGHTER of Eve, draw near I would behold thee.
Good Heavens! Could ever arm of man enfold thee?
My Little Boy That Died
© Henry Austin Dobson
Look at his pretty face for just one minute !
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes,
His firm-shut hand, the favorite plaything in it,
Then, tell me, mothers, was it not hard to lose
And miss him from my side,
My little boy that died?
Speech Of Honourable Preserved Doe In Secret Caucus
© James Russell Lowell
But I've talked longer now 'n I hed any idee,
An' ther's others you want to hear more 'n you du me;
So I'll set down an' give thet 'ere bottle a skrimmage,
For I've spoke till I'm dry ez a real graven image.
The Irrepressible Yank
© George Ade
Yankee, Yankee, Yankee, Yankee, Irrepressible Yank,
A regular traveling board of trade,
And a two-legged sort of a bank,
If you deal with him and don't get left,
Your lucky stars you'll thank.
This Yankee, Yankee, Yankee, Yankee, Irrepressible Yank.
