Happy poems
/ page 18 of 254 /It Shall Be, Then, Upon A Summer's Day
© Paul Verlaine
It shall be, then, upon a summer's day:
The sun, my joy's accomplice, bright shall shine,
And add, amid your silk and satin fine,
To your dear radiance still another ray;
A Domestic Scene
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Twas early day - and sunlight stream'd
Soft through a quiet room,
Paradise Lost : Book VI.
© John Milton
All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued,
Through Heaven's wide champain held his way; till Morn,
Winter Rose
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
GOD'S benison upon each happy day
Dead now and gone!--its gentle ghost our feet
Doth follow, singing faintly; and how sweet--
Tenderly sweet, as through a luminous mist--
May Is A Pious Fraud
© James Russell Lowell
MaY is a pious fraud of the almanac.
A ghastly parody of real Spring
Thoughts on Predestination and Reprobation : Part III.
© John Byrom
Whereas, this Reprobation Doctrine, here,
Not only Sense and Reason would cashier;
To A Young Lady, Who Was Fond Of Fortune-Telling
© Matthew Prior
You, Madam, may, with safety go
Decrees of destiny to know;
Damon vs. Pythias
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Two better friends you wouldn't pass
Throughout a summer's day,
Than DAMON and his PYTHIAS, -
Two merchant princes they.
Sunny New South Wales
© Anonymous
We often hear men boast about the land which gave them birth,
And each one thinks his native land the fairest spot on earth;
The Loves of the Angels
© Thomas Moore
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
Years After the War In Australia
© Henry Lawson
The Big rough boys from the runs out back were first where the balls flew free,
And yelled in the slang of the Outside Track: By God, its a Christmas spree!
The Death Of The Rose
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Ah! life, dear life, thy summer days have flown
Swiftly yet all too late, for they did wither.
Joy should be joy for one short hour alone,
Or it will lose its loveliness for ever.
Columbus
© James Russell Lowell
One poor day!--
Remember whose and not how short it is!
It is God's day, it is Columbus's.
A lavish day! One day, with life and heart,
Is more than time enough to find a world.
For The Sisters Album
© John Kenyon
Soft lays, that dwell on lips and eyes.
Long since with me have had their day;
The Eighth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
To Alcimedon, on his Olympic Victory; Timosthenes, on his Nemean Victory; and Melesias, their Preceptor. ARGUMENT. Though this is called an Olympic Ode, the Poet does not confine himself to Alcimedon, who won the Prize in those Games, but celebrates his Brother Timosthenes, for his success at Nemea, and Melesias, their Instructor. The Ode opens with an invocation to the place where the Games were held. Pindar then, after praising Timosthenes for his early victory in the Nemean Games, mentions Alcimedon, and extols him for his dexterity and strength, his beauty, and his country Ægina; which he celebrates for it's hospitality, and for it's being under the government of the Dorians after the death of Æacus; on whom he has a long digression, giving an account of his assisting the Gods in the building of Troy. Then returning to his subject, he mentions Melesias as skilled himself in the Athletic Exercises, and therefore proper to instruct others; and, enumerating his Triumphs, congratulates him on the success of his Pupil Alcimedon; which, he says, will not only give satisfaction to his living Relations, but will delight the Ghosts of those deceased. The Poet then concludes with a wish for the prosperity of him and his family.
STROPHE I.
The Day Is Coming
© William Morris
Come hither lads and hearken,
for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all
shall be better than well.
Renunciation
© Edith Nesbit
ROSE of the desert of my heart,
Moon of the night that is my soul,
Thou can'st not know how sweet thou art,
Nor what wild tides thy beams control.
A Rhapsody
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh fly not, Pleasure, pleasant--hearted Pleasure.
Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay.
For my heart no measure
Knows nor other treasure
To buy a garland for my love to--day.
Tale V
© George Crabbe
these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice