Great poems
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To a Cat
© Hartley Coleridge
Nelly, methinks, 'twixt thee and meThere is a kind of sympathy;And could we interchange our nature, --If I were cat, thou human creature, --I should, like thee, be no great mouser,And thou, like me, no great composer;For, like thy plaintive mews, my museWith villainous whine doth fate abuse,Because it hath not made me sleekAs golden down on Cupid's cheek;And yet thou canst upon the rug lie,Stretch'd out like snail, or curl'd up snugly,As if thou wert not lean or ugly;And I, who in poetic flightsSometimes complain of sleepless nights,Regardless of the sun in heaven,Am apt to doze till past eleven, --The world would just the same go roundIf I were hang'd and thou wert drown'd;There is one difference, 'tis true, --Thou dost not know it, and I do
Donne
© Hartley Coleridge
Brief was the reign of pure poetic truthA race of thinkers next, with rhymes uncouth,And fancies fashion'd in laborious brains,Made verses heavy as o'erloaded wains
Night among the Thousand Islands
© Coleman Helena Jane
Mysterious falls the moon's transforming light On lichen-covered rock and granite wall,Comes piercing through the hollows of the night The loon's weird, plaintive call.
In October
© Coleman Helena Jane
Touched by October's changing frost and heat, The ivy flames upon the gray old walls, Or, whirled by sudden, fitful breezes, fallsIn little crimson showers at our feet;Impetuous Spring and lingering Autumn meet On these wide lawns and in the echoing halls, For Summer with its golden bounty callsTo hearts that still with youth and promise beat
The Lament of the Forest
© Cole Thomas
In joyous Summer, when the exulting earthFlung fragrance from innumerable flowersThrough the wide wastes of heaven, as on she tookIn solitude her everlasting way,I stood among the mountain heights, alone!The beauteous mountains, which the voyagerOn Hudson's breast far in the purple westMagnificent, beholds; the abutments broadWhence springs the immeasurable dome of heaven
Reading Titus Andronicus In Three Mile Plains, N.S.
© Clarke George Elliott
Rue: When Witnesses sat before Bibles open like platesAnd spat sour sermons of interposition and nullification,While burr-orchards vomited bushels of thorns, and leavesRattled like uprooted skull-teeth across rough highways,And stars ejected brutal, serrated, heart-shredding light,And dark brothers lied down, quare, in government graves,Their white skulls jabbering amid farmer's dead flowers -
Restaurant
© Christakos Margaret
On an island once I caught her by the elbow,tossed her onto juniper, kind of prickly, you know,yanked the cases off her thigh pillows,got my tongue out to slurp the wet messof her pussy
G3. Social Scientist
© Christakos Margaret
A / central paradox of our society istape, find the part and play it.
The Triumph of Love
© Govinda Krishna Chettur
Dearest, and yet more dear than I can tell In these poor halting rhymes, when, word by word, You spell the passion that your beauty stirredSwiftly to flame, and holds me as a spell,You will not think he writeth "ill" or "well", Nor question make of the fond truths averred, But Love, of that, by Love's self charactered, A perfect understanding shall impel
Namby-Pamby: or, A Panegyric on the New Versification
© Henry Carey
Nauty Pauty Jack-a-DandyStole a Piece of Sugar-Candy,From the Grocer's Shoppy-shop,And away did hoppy-hop.
A Lilliputian Ode on their Majesties Accession
© Henry Carey
Smile, smile,Blest Isle!Grief past,(At last)HalcyonComes on
An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John Donne
© Thomas Carew
Can we not force from widow'd poetry,Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegyTo crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flowerOf fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,Dry as the sand that measures it, should layUpon thy ashes, on the funeral day?Have we no voice, no tune? Didst thou dispenseThrough all our language, both the words and sense?'Tis a sad truth
A Wife’s Protest
© Ada Cambridge
##. From child to girl I grew,And thought no thought, and heard no word That was not pure and true.
Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet
© George Gordon Byron
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last;Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast
And Thou art Dead, as Young and Fair
© George Gordon Byron
And thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth;And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon return'd to Earth!Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth,There is an eye which could not brookA moment on that grave to look
Why didn't Ya Say so Before
© Burke Johnny
One night feelin' gay sure I went to a play,Fell in love with a girl in the pit
