Great poems
/ page 355 of 549 /
Doctor Hilaire
© William Henry Drummond
A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,
"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, hes never no use at all,"
But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,
An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.
Ghosts of Dreams
© William Herbert Carruth
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
The Mercury's Plaint
© Carolyn Wells
I don't know why I'm slandered so,
If I go high,--if I go low,--
Jeanne-Marie's Hands
© Arthur Rimbaud
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer,
pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of Donna Juana?
Did they get their dusky cream colour
sailing on pools of sensual pleasure?
Stray Birds 11- 20
© Rabindranath Tagore
11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.
The Country Ride
© Kenneth Slessor
EARTH which has known so many passages
Of April air, so many marriages
Of strange and lovely atoms breeding light,
Never may find again that lost delight.
On Seeing A Pupil Of Kung-sun Dance The Chien-ch`i
© Du Fu
Having found out about the pupil's antecedents, I now realized that what I had been watching was a faithful
reproduction of the great dancer's interpretation. The train of reflections set off by this discovery so moved me
that I felt inspired to compose a ballad on the chien-ch`i.
The Eve Of Election
© John Greenleaf Whittier
FROM gold to gray
Our mild sweet day
Of Indian Summer fades too soon;
But tenderly
Speakin' At De Cou't-House
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Dey been speakin' at de cou't-house,
An' laws-a-massy me,
The Vain King
© Henry Van Dyke
And still, along the reaches of the stream,
The vain King-fisher flits, an azure gleam, --
You see his ruby crest, you hear his jealous scream.
The Emperor's Bird's-Nest. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
With his swarthy, grave commanders,
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged, in mud and rain,
Some old frontier town of Flanders.
Astrophel And Stella-Third Song
© Sir Philip Sidney
If Orpheus' voice had force to breathe such music's love
Through pores of senseless trees, as it could make them move;
If stones good measure danc'd, the Theban walls to build,
To cadence of the tunes, which Amphion's lyre did yield,
More cause a like effect at leastwise bringeth:
Oh stones, oh trees, learning hearing; Stella singeth.
The Broken Drouth
© Madison Julius Cawein
It seemed the listening forest held its breath
Before some vague and unapparent form
Of fear, approaching with the wings of death,
On the impending storm.
Peaks
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A storm may rage in the world below,
It may tear great trees apart;
But here on the mountain top, I know
That it cannot touch my heart.
A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton
© James Thomson
And what new wonders can ye show your guest!
Who, while on this dim spot, where mortals toil
Clouded in dust, from motion's simple laws,
Could trace the secret hand of Providence,
Wide-working through this universal frame.
To A Beautiful Child On Her Birthday With A Wreath Of Flowers
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Whilst others give thee wondrous toys,
Or jewels rich and rare,
I bring but flowersmore meet are they
For one so young and fair.
How The Women Went From Dover
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE tossing spray of Cocheco's fall
Hardened to ice on its rocky wall,
As through Dover town in the chill, gray dawn,
Three women passed, at the cart-tail drawn!
Sweet Marie
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
You were very fair to meet once, Marie,
With your eyes like some blue hiding flower,
Amours De Voyage, Canto IV
© Arthur Hugh Clough
I have returned and found their names in the book at Como.
Certain it is I was right, and yet I am also in error.
Added in feminine hand, I read, By the boat to Bellaggio.-
So to Bellaggio again, with the words of he writing to aid me.
Yet at Bellaggio I find no trace, no sort of remembrance.
So I am here, and wait, and know every hour will remove them.
Nonsuited.
© James Brunton Stephens
"DEAR RICHARD, come at once;" so ran her letter;
The letter of a married female friend:
