Great poems
/ page 200 of 549 /
Manfred: A Dramatic Poem. Act II.
© George Gordon Byron
CHAMOIS HUNTER
No, no -- yet pause -- thou must not yet go forth:
Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide--
But whither?
The Crown Of Empire
© George Essex Evans
Free is the wind that lashes into foam
The fortress waves that gird the Sea-Kings home
The Mystery Of Gilgal
© John Hay
The darkest, strangest mystery
I ever read, or heern, or see,
Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall,--
Tom Taggart's of Gilgal.
Differences
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell,
My neighbor must look down on me,
Must I look up?--ah, well,
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell.
A Chord Of Colour
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Unpublished Poem I
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
JONES plays the deuce with his grammar,
Knocks time and tense into tin-tacks ;
Brown, the big Visigoth, wielding blunt hammer,
Mauls right and left the Queen's syntax.
The Mill
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WINDING and grinding
Round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
The Shepherd's Week : Wednesday; or, The Dumps
© John Gay
Sparabella.
The wailings of a maiden I recite,
Wanderers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O there are wanderers over wave and strand
Invisible and secret, everywhere
Moving thro' light and night from land to land,
Swifter than bird or cloud upon the air.
Georgic 4
© Publius Vergilius Maro
Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less
Remarks On The Bright And Dark Side
© Benjamin Tompson
But may a Rural Pen try to set forth
Such a Great Fathers Ancient Grace and worth
The Last Suttee
© Rudyard Kipling
Udai Chand lay sick to death
In his hold by Gungra hill.
All night we heard the death-gongs ring
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King,
All night beat up from the women's wing
A cry that we could not still.
When Friends Drop In
© Edgar Albert Guest
It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best
Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed,
And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng,
With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song,
But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin,
And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 04
© Torquato Tasso
XLIII
The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe,
The Renewal
© Robert Laurence Binyon
No more of sorrow, the world's old distress,
Nor war of thronging spirits numberless,
Immortal ardours in brief days confined,
No more the languid fever of mankind
Legend
© Stephen Vincent Benet
The trees were sugared like wedding-cake
With a bright hoar frost, with a very cold snow,
When we went begging for Jesus' sake,
Penniless children, years ago.
The Roman: A Dramatic Poem
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
SCENE I.
A Plain in Italy-an ancient Battle-field. Time, Evening.
Persons.-Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the Unity of Italy, the Overthrow of Austrian Domination, and the Restoration of a great Roman Republic.--A number of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. 'The Monk' is musing.
Enter Dancers.
