Happy poems
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME--A CHRISTMAS SONNET
Since thou hast given me these, Juliet, given me these,
There have been tidings told of a great joy,
Of peace on Earth, good--will without annoy.
Sylvia's Mother
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's busy,
too busy to come to the phone .
Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's trying
to start a new life of her own.
Sylvia's mother says "Sylvia's happy...
So why don't you leave her alone?"
Trivia ; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London : Book II.
© John Gay
Of Walking the Streets by Day.
Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful lays
Say, What Is Honour?--Tis The Finest Sense
© William Wordsworth
SAY, what is Honour?--'Tis the finest sense
Of 'justice' which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Primavera Mia
© Sara Teasdale
As kings, seeing their lives about to pass,
Take off the heavy ermine and the crown,
The Dunciad: Book II.
© Alexander Pope
Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd,
With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round,
Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit,
Throned on seven hills, the Antichrist of wit.
The Calm Of The Sea
© Adam Mickiewicz
The flag on the pavilion barely stirs,
The water quivers gently in the sun
Songs Of The World Unborn
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Songs of the world unborn
Swelling within me, a shoot from the heart of Spring,
As I walk the ample teeming street
This tranquil and misty morn,
What is it to me you sing?
Z---------'s dream
© Anne Brontë
Unwonted weakness o'er me crept;
I sighed - nay, weaker still - I wept!
Wept, like a woman o'er the deed
I had been proud to do: -
As I had made his bosom bleed;
My own was bleeding too.
The Ghost - Book I
© Charles Churchill
With eager search to dart the soul,
Curiously vain, from pole to pole,
Adam's Curse
© William Butler Yeats
WE sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
The Little Girl's Song
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Do not mind my crying, Papa, I am not crying for pain.
Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking with fear;
Tho' the wild wild wind is bideous to hear,
And I see the snow and the rain.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.
© George Gordon Byron
Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,
Alas! I cannot smile again:
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
Laurance - [Part 1]
© Jean Ingelow
I.
He knew she did not love him; but so long
As rivals were unknown to him, he dwelt
At ease, and did not find his love a pain.
