Happy poems

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To Maecenas

© Phillis Wheatley

  Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,
Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire,
But I less happy, cannot raise the song,
The fault'ring music dies upon my tongue.

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Satyr X. Colin

© Thomas Parnell

Divine Orinda now my labours crown
& if my voice or harp have glory won
Thine was the influence thine the glory be
Thee Colin loves & loves thy sex for thee

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Week-End

© Harold Monro

I
The train! The twleve o'clock for paradise.
  Hurry, or it will try to creep away.
Out in the country every one is wise:

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Peruvian Tales: Alzira, Tale II

© Helen Maria Williams

PIZARRO lands with the Forces-His meeting with ATALIBA -Its un-
happy consequences-ZORAI dies-ATALIBA imprisoned, and strangled
-Despair of ALZIRA .

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Hymn XVI: Happy the Souls That First Believed

© Charles Wesley

Happy the souls that first believed,
To Jesus and each other cleaved,
Joined by the unction from above
In mystic fellowship of love.

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How Still, How Happy!

© Emily Jane Brontë

How still, how happy! Those are words
  That once would scarce agree together;
  I loved the plashing of the surge,
  The changing heaven the breezy weather,

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To My Godchild-Francis M. W. M.

© Francis Thompson

This labouring, vast, Tellurian galleon,

Riding at anchor off the orient sun,

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Squire Hawkins's Story

© James Whitcomb Riley

He sized it all; and Patience laid
Her hand in John's, and looked afraid,
And waited.  And a stiller set
O' folks, I KNOW, you never met
In any court room, where with dread
They wait to hear a verdick read.

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At the Long Sault: May, 1660

© Archibald Lampman

  All night by the foot of the mountain
    The little town lieth at rest,
  The sentries are peacefully pacing;
    And neither from East nor from West

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Pharsalia - Book V: The Oracle. The Mutiny. The Storm

© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus

  While soldier thus and chief,
In doubtful sort, against their hidden fate
Devised their counsel, Appius alone
Feared for the chances of the war, and sought
Through Phoebus' ancient oracle to break
The silence of the gods and know the end.

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The Muses Threnodie: Eighth Muse

© Henry Adamson

What blooming banks, sweet Earn, or fairest Tay,

Or Almond doth embrace! These many a day

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The Trap

© Robinson Jeffers

I am not well civilized, really alien here: trust me not.
I can understand the guns and the airplanes,
The other conveniences leave me cold.

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Sonnet To Mrs. Jameson,

© Frances Anne Kemble

WHO WROTE UNDER MY LIKENESS AS JULIET, "LIETI GIORNI E FELICE."

  Whence should they come, lady! those happy days

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The Captive

© James Russell Lowell

It was past the hour of trysting,
  But she lingered for him still;
Like a child, the eager streamlet
  Leaped and laughed adown the hill,
Happy to be free at twilight
  From its toiling at the mill.

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An Ode Appropriate To A Festivity

© Confucius

The dew lies heavy all around,
  Nor, till the sun shines, leaves the ground.
  Far into night we feasting sit;
  We drink, and none his place may quit.

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On Burning Some Old Letters

© James Russell Lowell

Rarest woods were coarse and rough,
Sweetest spice not sweet enough,
Too impure all earthly fire
For this sacred funeral-pyre;
These rich relics must suffice
For their own dear sacrifice.

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A Lover's Quarrel Among the Fairies

© William Butler Yeats

Male Fairies: Do not fear us, earthly maid!
We will lead you hand in hand
By the willows in the glade,
By the gorse on the high land,

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Economy, A Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets

© William Shenstone

Insanis; omnes gelidis quaecunqne lacernis
Sunt tibi, Nasones Virgiliosque vides. ~Mart.
Imitation.
--Thou know'st not what thou say'st;
In garments that scarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.

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Here And There

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

HERE the warm sunshine fills
Like wine of gods the deepening, cup-shaped dells,
Embossed with marvellous flowers; the happy rills
Roam through the autumnal fields whose rich increase

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The Secret Whisky Cure

© Henry Lawson

’Twas a common sordid marriage, and there’s little new to tell—
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between them—purgatory to be sure—
And, as far as Jones could make out—well, there wasn’t any cure.