Great poems
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The Bathers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Hither, from thirsty day
And stifling labour and the street's hot glare,
To twilight shut away
Beyond the soft roar, under hovering trees,
Lines——
© Victor Segalen
I have been cherish’d and forgiven
By many tender-hearted,
’Twas for the sake of one in Heaven
Of him that is departed.
The Cantab
© William Cowper
With two spurs or one, and no great matter which,
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch,
from War is Kind ["Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind"]
© Stephen Crane
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Ave Atque Vale
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
In Memory of Charles Baudelaire
Nous devrions pourtant lui porter quelques fleurs;
Les morts, les pauvres morts, ont de grandes douleurs,
Et quand Octobre souffle, émondeur des vieux arbres,
Love in the afternoon
© Ovid
It was very hot. The day had gone just past its noon.
I'd stretched out on a couch to take a nap.
One of the window-shutters was open, one was closed.
The light was like you'd see deep in the woods,
Bahaman
© Bliss William Carman
To T. B. M.
IN the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship
The Portrait
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
By The Fireside : The Builders
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Sleepers Awake
© John Ashbery
Cervantes was asleep when he wrote Don Quixote.
Joyce slept during the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses.
On the Welsh Language
© Katherine Philips
If honor to an ancient name be due,
Or riches challenge it for one that’s new,
Laugh and be Merry
© John Masefield
Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
The Sorrow of True Love ?
© Edward Thomas
The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow
And true love parting blackens a bright morrow:
The Telephone
© Harriet Monroe
Your voice, beloved, on the living wire,
Borne to me by the spirit powerful
Address to the Devil
© Robert Burns
O thou! whatever title suit thee,—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
To scaud poor wretches!
Elegy XVIII
© John Donne
THE heavens rejoice in motion ; why should I
Abjure my so much loved variety,
The Things That Grow
© Robert Laurence Binyon
It was nothing but a little neglected garden,
Laurel--screened, and hushed in a hot stillness;
An old pear--tree, and flowers mingled with weeds.
Yet as I came to it all unawares, it seemed
The Supper
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Blind Roger
Set the glass in my hand. I'm blind and old,
But still I shun to be left in the cold.
