Great poems
/ page 82 of 549 /
Written in July
© Samuel Rogers
Grey, thou hast served, and well, the sacred Cause
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood,
America
© Edgar Lee Masters
Glorious daughter of time! Thou of the mild blue eye --
Thou of the virginal forehead --pallid, unfurrowed of tears--
Thou of the strong white hands with fingers dipped in the dye
Of the blood that quickened the fathers of thee, in the ancient years,
The Mourner
© George Crabbe
He had his wish, had more; I will not paint
The lovers' meeting: she beheld him faint, -
With tender fears, she took a nearer view,
Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew;
He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said,
"Yes! I must die," and hope for ever fled.
Sonnet VII. To Burke
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:
She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale.
On The Death Of Mr. Viner
© Thomas Parnell
The liquid Harmony, a tuneful Tide,
Now seem'd to rage, anon wou'd gently glide;
By Turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall,
Be loudly daring, or be softly small:
While all was blended in one common Name,
Wave push'd on Wave, and all compos'd a Stream.
A Word to Texas Jack
© Henry Lawson
You may talk about your ridin in the city, bold an free,
Talk o ridin in the city, Texas Jack, but whered yer be
When the stock horse snorts an bunches all is quarters in a hump,
And the saddle climbs a sapling, an the horse-shoes split a stump?
Written in 1834
© Samuel Rogers
Well, when her day is over, be it said
That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,
Found with long search and in a moment lost,
She made herself a name--a name to live
The Head Of Bran The Blest
© George Meredith
When the Head of Bran
Was firm on British shoulders,
God made a man!
Cried all beholders.
Before The Dawn
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Blacker the night grows ere the dawn be risen,
Keener the cost, and fiercer yet the fight.
But hark! above the thunder and the terror
A trumpet blowing splendid through the night.
To The Nile
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Month after month the gathered rains descend
Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells,
And from the deserts ice-girt pinnacles
Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend
A Tale Of True Love
© Alfred Austin
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
Epitaph On Her Son H. P. At St. Syths Church Wher Her Body Also Lies Interred
© Katherine Philips
What on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Flowers of Sion: Sonnet 11 - The last and greatest herald
© William Henry Drummond
The last and greatest herald of heaven's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Amours De Voyage, Canto II
© Arthur Hugh Clough
P.S.
Mary has seen thus far.-I am really so angry, Louisa,-
Quite out of patience, my dearest! What can the man be intending?
I am quite tired; and Mary, who might bring him to in a moment,
Lets him go on as he likes, and neither will help nor dismiss him.
The Furrow And The Hearth
© Padraic Colum
Below in the darkness
The slumber of mothers,
The cradles at rest,
The fire-seed sleeping
Deep in white ashes!
The Ring And The Book - Chapter I - The Ring And The Book
© Robert Browning
DO you see this Ring?
Tis Rome-work, made to match
Toward The Future
© Yeghishe Charents
Like an enormous disc made of iron
The brave will of our thousands of brothers,
So universal -
We have already thrown with immense force
Toward all the winds of the coming days,
Toward - the Future...
The Lady Of La Garaye - Conclusion
© Caroline Norton
PEACE to their ashes! Far away they lie,
Among their poor, beneath the equal sky.
Among their poor, who blessed them ere they went
For all the loving help and calm content.
