Happy poems
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The Idols
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I.2
The Forests of the Night awaken blind in heat
Of black stupor; and stirring in its deep retreat,
I hear the heart of Darkness slowly beat and beat.
Walt Whitman at Bear Mountain
© Louis Simpson
. . . life which does not give the preference to any other life, of any
previous period, which therefore prefers its own existence . . .
Ortega y Gasset
To Wordsworth
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thine is a strain to read among the hills,
The old and full of voices;âby the source
Of some free stream, whose gladdening presence fills
The solitude with sound; for in its course
Even such is thy deep song, that seems a part
Of those high scenes, a fountain from their heart.
The Chimney Sweeper: When my mother died I was very young
© William Blake
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
OEnone
© Alfred Tennyson
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,
That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd
And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech
Came down upon my heart.
Stray Pleasures
© William Wordsworth
BY their floating mill,
That lies dead and still,
Behold yon Prisoners three,
The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!
The platform is small, but gives room for them all;
And they're dancing merrily.
There Is
© Louis Simpson
Look! From my window there’s a view
of city streets
where only lives as dry as tortoises
can crawl—the Gallapagos of desire.
The Played-Out Humorist
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Oh happy was that humorist - the first that made a pun at all -
Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,
Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all -
How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!
Sonnet LI: I Must Not Grieve My Love
© Samuel Daniel
I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read
Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile;
Stanzas
© Sir Henry Parkes
Up go the beautiful and world-watch'd stars,
Lifting the glory of America,
Hymn For Christmas Day
© John Byrom
Christians awake, salute the happy morn,
Whereon the saviour of the world was born;
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
© William Wordsworth
Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up:
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year,
He was his comfort and his daily hope.
When I Heard At The Close Of The Day
© Walt Whitman
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in
the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined
toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast-and that night I was happy.
To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Manuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil's Death
© Alfred Tennyson
Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;
My Mother-Land
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Death! What of death?--
Can he who once drew honorable breath
In liberty's pure sphere,
Foster a sensual fear,
When death and slavery meet him face to face,
Epistle to Miss Blount, On Her Leaving the Town, After the Coronation
© Alexander Pope
As some fond virgin, whom her mothers care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air,
Sonnet VII: How soon hath Time, the Subtle Thief of Youth
© Patrick Kavanagh
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
