Great poems
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Psalm LXXXIII. (83)
© John Milton
Be not thou silent now at length
O God hold not thy peace,
Sit not thou still O God of strength
We cry and do not cease.
The Looks Of A Lover Enamoured
© George Gascoigne
THOU, with thy looks, on whom I look full oft,
And find therein great cause of deep delight,
The Australiad
© Mary Hannay Foott
Meanwhile the hardy Dutchmen came,as ancient charts attest,
Hartog, and Nuyts, and Carpenter, and Tasman, and the rest,
But found not forests rich in spice, nor market for their wares,
Nor servile tribes to toil oertasked mid pestilential airs,
And deemed it scarce worth while to claim so poor a continent,
But with their slumberous tropic isles thenceforward were content.
The Reformer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan,
I saw a Strong One, in his wrath,
Smiting the godless shrines of man
Along his path.
The Cynotaph
© Richard Harris Barham
Poor Tray charmant!
Poor Tray de mon Ami!
- Dog-bury, and Vergers.
Sacred to the Memory of Unknown
© Henry Lawson
Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory
A Hymn of The Sea
© William Cullen Bryant
The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways
His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped
The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Genius - Book II.
© James Beattie
I.
Of chance or change O let not man complain,
Else shall he never never cease to wail:
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
King And Father
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Mountains and vales, how ye quake 'neath His tread
Wake from your slumbers, He calls, O ye dead!
Thoughts In A Wheat-Field
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IN his wide fields walks the Master,
In his fair fields, ripe for harvest,
Where the evening sun shines slant-wise
On the rich ears heavy bending;
The Three Warnings
© Hester Lynch Piozzi
The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
Retort
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
"THOU art a fool," said my head to my heart,
"Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,
Farmer Whipple--Bachelor
© James Whitcomb Riley
It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four,
Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more--
A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say
That you can guess the reason why I feel so good to-day!
To The Right Hon. Mr. Dodington
© Edward Young
Balbutius, muffled in his sable cloak,
Like an old Druid from his hollow oak,
As ravens solemn, and as boding, cries,
"Ten thousand worlds for the three unities!"
Ye doctors sage, who through Parnassus teach,
Or quit the tub, or practise what you preach.
After Reading J. T. Gilberts "The History Of Dublin."
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Long have I loved the beauty of thy streets,
Fair Dublin: long, with unavailing vows,
The Dominion.
© James Brunton Stephens
OH, fair Ideal, unto whom
Through days of doubt and nights of gloom
Freedom And Peace
© George Dyer
When long thick Tempests waste the Plain
And Lightnings cleave an angry Sky,
Sorrow invades each anxious Swain
And trembling Nymphs to shelter fly!
But let the Sun illume the skies,
They hail his beam with grateful eyes.
The Gift of Tritemius
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day,
While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray,
Alone with God, as was his pious choice,
Heard from without a miserable voice,
A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell,
As of a lost soul crying out of hell.
