Great poems
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Constancie
© George Herbert
Who is the honest man?
He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpinne, or wrench from giving all their due.
Atheism --
© Phillis Wheatley
Muse! Muse! where shall I begin the spacious feild
To tell what curses unbeleif doth yeild?
Italy : 13. Coll'Alto
© Samuel Rogers
"In this neglected mirror (the broad frame
Of massy silver serves to testify
That many a noble matron of the house
Has sat before it) once, alas, was seen
The King's Missive
© John Greenleaf Whittier
UNDER the great hill sloping bare
To cove and meadow and Common lot,
The Rich Man And Lazarus
© John Newton
A Worldling spent each day
In luxury and state;
While a believer lay,
A beggar at his gate:
Think not the Lord's appointments strange,
Death made a great and lasting change.
To A Woman Of Malabar
© Charles Baudelaire
Your feet are as slender as hands, your hips, to me,
wide enough for the sweetest white girls envy:
to the wise artist your body is sweet and dear,
and your great velvet eyes black without peer.
The Great Beech
© Norman Rowland Gale
With heart disposed to memory, let me stand
Near this monarch and this minstrel of the land,
Now that Dian leans so lovely from her car.
Illusively brought near by seeming falsely far,
In yon illustrious summit sways the tangled evening star.
An Ode - Humbly Inscribed To The Queen, On the Glorious Success of Her Majesty's Arms
© Matthew Prior
When great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome,
And sent his conquering bands to foreign wars,
The Muses Threnodie: Fifth Muse
© Henry Adamson
Yet bold attempt and dangerous, said I,
Upon these kinde of men such chance to try,
Evangeline: Part The Second. IV.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.
We Are Made One with What We Touch and See
© Oscar Wilde
We are resolved into the supreme air,
We are made one with what we touch and see,
With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,
With our young lives each springimpassioned tree
Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range
The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.
The Charity Ball
© George Gordon Byron
What matter the pangs of a husband and father,
If his sorrows in exile be great or be small,
So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather,
And the saint patronizes her 'charity ball!'
The Great Pig Story Of The Tweed.
© James Brunton Stephens
HANDS off, old man!" the young man cried
They stood beside the Tweed,
To The True Patroness of all Poetry, Calliope
© Francis Beaumont
It is a statute in deep wisdom's lore,
That for his lines none should a patron chuse
Dirge For Two Veterans
© Walt Whitman
THE last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here-and there beyond, it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.
Kenoza Lake
© John Greenleaf Whittier
As Adam did in Paradise,
To-day the primal right we claim
Fair mirror of the woods and skies,
We give to thee a name.
