Great poems

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The Muses Threnodie: Fourth Muse

© Henry Adamson

This time our boat passing too nigh the land,

The whirling stream did make her run on sand;

An Evening Dream

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

I'm leaning where you loved to lean in eventides of old,

The sun has sunk an hour ago behind the treeless wold,

The Fairy Queen's Song

© William Schwenck Gilbert

Oh, amorous dove!
Type of Ovidius Naso!
This heart of mine
Is soft as thine,
Although I dare not say so!

Let us glorify, brothers, the twilight of freedom --
The great twilight year.
A weighty forest of nets is lowered
Into the bubbling waters of night.
You are rising into desolate years,
O sun, judge, people.

Mauberley

© Ezra Pound

I
Turned from the 'eau-forte
Par Jaquemart'
To the strait head
Of Messalina:

Madhushala (The Tavern)

© Harivansh Rai Bachchan

Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern.
Perplexed, he asks, "Which path will take me there?"
People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say,
"Pick a path and keep walking. You will find the tavern."

Phil-O-Rum Juneau

© William Henry Drummond

A STORY OF THE "CHASSE GALLERIE."

My Bohemian Existence

© Arthur Rimbaud

I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets;
my overcoat too was becoming ideal;
I travelled beneath the sky,
Muse! and I was your vassal;

Australasia

© William Charles Wentworth

Hadst thou, old Cynic, seen this unclad crew
Stretch their bare bodies in the nightly dew,
Like hairy Satyrs, midst their Sylvan seats,
Endure both winter's frosts, and summer's heats;
Thy cloak and tub away thou wouldst have cast,
And tried, like them, to brave the piercing blast.

On Old Cape Ann

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

ANNISQUAM

Of The Nature Of Things: Book V - Part 02 - Against Teleological Concept

© Lucretius

And walking now

In his own footprints, I do follow through

The Kalevala - Rune IX

© Elias Lönnrot

ORIGIN OF IRON.

Doors Of The Temple

Many are the doors of the spirit that lead

Into the inmost shrine:

Paracelsus: Part IV: Paracelsus Aspires

Festus.
So strange
That I must hope, indeed, your messenger
Has mingled his own fancies with the words
Purporting to be yours.

The Early Bird

A little bird sat on the edge of her nest;
Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops;
Day-long she had worked almost without rest,
And had filled every one of their gibbous crops;
Her own she had filled just over-full,
And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool.

At The Banquet To the Japanese Embassy

WE welcome you, Lords of the Land of the Sun!
The voice of the many sounds feebly through one;
Ah! would 't were a voice of more musical tone,
But the dog-star is here, and the song-birds have flown.

Alsace-Lorraine

Yet the like aerial growths may chance be the delicate sprays,
Infant of Earth's most urgent in sap, her fierier zeal
For entry on Life's upper fields: and soul thus flourishing pays
The martyr's penance, mark for brutish in man to heel.