Great poems
/ page 216 of 549 /The Verdicts [Jutland]
© Rudyard Kipling
Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
Or we know the demi-gods.
The Great Mercy
© Katharine Tynan
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was mercy sought and mercy found.
Yea, in the twinkling of an eye,
He cried; and Thou hast heard his cry.
Italy : 46. Sorrento
© Samuel Rogers
He who sets sail from Naples, when the wind
Blows fragrance from Posilipo, may soon,
Crossing from side to side that beautiful lake,
Land underneath the cliff, where once among
Breitmann In Turkey
© Charles Godfrey Leland
DERR BREITMANN hear im Turkenreich
Vas fighten high und low,
"Steh auf, oh Schwackenhammer mein!
It's dime for us to go.
Death Of Gen. Jackson - An Eulogy
© George Moses Horton
Hark! from the mighty Hero's tomb,
I hear a voice proclaim!
A sound which fills the world with gloom,
But magnifies his name.
The Hares, A Fable.
© James Beattie
Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
The jolly hunting band convene,
The beagle's breast with ardour burns,
The bounding steed the champaign spurns,
And Fancy oft the game descries
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
On An Engraving Of Hindoo Temples
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
LITTLE the present careth for the past,
Too little'tis not well!
For careless ones we dwell
Beneath the mighty shadow it has cast.
Palmyra (2nd Edition)
© Thomas Love Peacock
--anankta ton pantôn huperbal-
lonta chronon makarôn.
Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33
I Know You Not
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
O Christ, the Vine with living Fruit,
The twelvefold-fruited Tree of Life,
Song of the Old Bullock-Driver
© Henry Lawson
Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file neath the evergreen tree,
Beechwoods at Knole
© Victoria Mary Sackville-West
How do I love you, beech-trees, in the autumn,
Your stone-grey columns a cathedral nave
Processional above the earth's brown glory!
The Carpenter's Son
© Sara Teasdale
The summer dawn came over-soon,
The earth was like hot iron at noon
In Nazareth;
There fell no rain to ease the heat,
And dusk drew on with tired feet
And stifled breath.
To The Castle Ramparts
© William Michael Rossetti
Great clouds were arched abroad
Like angels' wings; returning beneath which,
I lingered homewards. All their forms had merged
And loosened when my walk was ended; and,
While yet I saw the sun a perfect disc,
There was the moon beginning in the sky.
My Birthday
© John Henry Newman
Let the sun summon all his beams to hold
Bright pageant in his court, the cloud-paved sky
Noontide Retreat of Summer As a Haunt for Meditation
© James Thomson
Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,
A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk,
Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel
A sacred terror, a severe delight,
Don Juan: Canto The Fifth
© George Gordon Byron
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
Saint Mar Magdelene; or, The Weeper
© Richard Crashaw
Hail, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Never Mind
© Charles Harpur
My Country, though rude yet, and wild, be thy nature,
This alone our proud love should beget and command:
There's noon in thy broad breast for Manhood's full stature,
And honest Endeavour's a lord in the land.