Happy poems
/ page 175 of 254 /
A Legend Of Tintagel Castle
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
ALONE in the forest, Sir Lancelot rode
O'er the neck of his courser the reins lightly flowed
And beside hung his helmet, for bare was his brow
To meet the soft breeze that was fanning him now.
Brother Of All, With Generous Hand
© Walt Whitman
Brother of all, with generous hand,
Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul,
A thought to launch in memory of thee,
A burial verse for thee.
Memory
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
Only snakes shed their skin,
So their souls can age and grow.
We, alas, do not resemble snakes,
We change souls, not bodies.
The Bride Of The Nile - Act II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Belkís. I cannot do these sums
So long before the date. In the meanwhile talk to me.
I want to be amused. Life will go drearily
If we are to be like this. Let us play at something--chess,
Or draughts, or dominoes. Ask me a thing to guess--
An intellectual game.
The Borough. Letter II: The Church
© George Crabbe
"WHAT is a Church?"--Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure, and meek;
Ode
© Benjamin Jonson
To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that Noble Pair, Sir Lucius
Cary and Sir Henry Morison.
To my honoured Friend Mr. George Sandys
© Henry King
It is, Sir, a confest intrusion here
That I before your labours do appear,
Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim
Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.
The Wedding Day
© Alaric Alexander Watts
The last! the last! the last!
Oh, by that little word,
How many thoughts are stirred! ~ CAROLINE SOUTHEY.
The Fan : A Poem. Book III.
© John Gay
Learn hence, ye wives; bid vain suspicion cease,
Lose not in sulien discontent your peace.
For when fierce love to jealousy ferments,
A thousand doubts and fears the soul invents,
No more the days in pleasing converse flow,
And nights no more their soft endearments know.
Julia, or the Convent of St. Claire
© Amelia Opie
Stranger, that massy, mouldering pile,
Whose ivied ruins load the ground,
Reechoed once to pious strains
By holy sisters breathed around.
Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part III.
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood
Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill,
Amelia Jane
© David McKee Wright
In the lands away beyond the sea, where Khan and Sultan rule,
Where they drink their coffee thick and black, and sip the sherbet cool,
They have white Circassian girls for slaves, as well as the Negro black;
And it seems to me in our free land that slavery's coming back:
It's fenced about with custom and law, and they give it a prettier name.
But, spite of the paltry wage that's paid, it's slavery all the same.
Awake!
© George MacDonald
The stars are all watching;
God's angel is catching
At thy skirts in the darkness deep!
Gold hinges grating,
The mighty dead waiting,
Why dost thou sleep?
A Guiltlesse Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced. Song
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Heark, faire one, how what e're here is
Doth laugh and sing at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t' enjoy thee, though in griefe.
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book X - Karna-Badha - (Fall Of Karna)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
After the death of Karna, Salya led the Kuru troops on the eighteenth
and last day of the war, and fell. A midnight slaughter in the Pandav
camp, perpetrated by the vengeful son of Drona, concludes the war.
Duryodhan, left wounded by Bhima, heard of the slaughter and died
happy.
The Lonely Sparrow
© Giacomo Leopardi
Thou from the top of yonder antique tower,
O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone,
A Wayfaring Song
© Henry Van Dyke
0 who will walk a mile with me
Along life's merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee,
Who dares to laugh out loud and free
Pheidippides
© Robert Browning
First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock!
Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honour to all!
Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise
--Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear!
Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer,
XII: Epistle To Elizabeth Countesse Of Rutland
© Benjamin Jonson
Madame,
VVhil'st that, for which all vertue now is sold,
