Great poems
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The Wrath Of Loyalty
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
OCTOBER! tho' thy rugged brow,
No vivid wreaths entwine;
Tho' not for thee the zephyr blow,
Tho' not for thee the blossom glow,
Or skies unclouded shine:
Paracelsus: Part III: Paracelsus
© Robert Browning
Paracelsus.
Heap logs and let the blaze laugh out!
Satire II
© John Donne
Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state
The Widow Of Crescentius : Part II.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Hast thou a scene that is not spread
With records of thy glory fled?
Ode On The Istallation of the Duke of Devonshire
© Charles Kingsley
Hence a while, severer Muses;
Spare your slaves till drear October.
Malham Cove
© Robert Laurence Binyon
There is threat in the wind, and a murmur
of water that swells
Swift in the hollow: about me
a shadow is thrown;
Written in the Highlands of Scotland
© Samuel Rogers
Blue was the loch, the clouds were gone,
Ben-Lomond in his glory shone,
When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze
Bore me from thy silver sands,
Kalamazoo
© Vachel Lindsay
Once, in the city of Kalamazoo,
The gods went walking, two and two,
With the friendly phoenix, the stars of Orion,
The speaking pony and singing lion.
For in Kalamazoo in a cottage apart
Lived the girl with the innocent heart.
The Voyage Of St. Brendan A.D. 545 - Ara Of The Saints
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Hearing how blessed Enda lived apart,
Amid the sacred caves of Ara-mhor,
And how beneath his eye, spread like a chart,
Lay all the isles of that remotest shore;
The Telegram
© Thomas Hardy
'O He's suffering - maybe dying - and I not there to aid,
And smooth his bed and whisper to him! Can I nohow go?
Only the nurse's brief twelve words thus hurriedly conveyed,
As by stealth, to let me know.
The Dance To Death. Act II
© Emma Lazarus
LANDGRAVE.
Who tells thee of my son's love for the Jewess?
The Village Green
© Ann Taylor
ON the cheerful village green,
Skirted round with houses small,
All the boys and girls are seen,
Playing there with hoop and ball.
Stanzas Written On The Road Between Florence And Pisa
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
The Retort Discourteous
© Stephen Vincent Benet
But what, by the fur on your satin sleeves,
The rain that drags at my feather
And the great Mercurius, god of thieves,
Are we thieves doing together?
The Revenge - A Ballad of the Fleet
© Alfred Tennyson
Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward;
You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.
I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'
Tale VIII
© George Crabbe
grace?" -
"He knew she hated every watering-place."
"The town?"--"What! now 'twas empty, joyless,
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - February
© George MacDonald
1.
I TO myself have neither power nor worth,
To Canada
© Katharine Lee Bates
OUR neighbor of the undefended bound,
Friend of the hundred years of peace, our kin,
