Happy poems
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To The Rainbow
© Thomas Campbell
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art; -
The Land Where I Was Born
© John Shaw Neilson
HAVE you ever been down to my countree
Where the trees are green and tall?
Queen Mab: Part IX.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Earth floated then below;
The chariot paused a moment there;
The Spirit then descended;
The restless coursers pawed the ungenial soil,
Snuffed the gross air, and then, their errand done,
Unfurled their pinions to the winds of heaven.
Bob Polter
© William Schwenck Gilbert
BOB POLTER was a navvy, and
His hands were coarse, and dirty too,
His homely face was rough and tanned,
His time of life was thirty-two.
The Old Days - And The New
© Alice Guerin Crist
Mid wattle scents and sounds of Spring,
The old man, dreaming in his chair,
Is back where skylarks soar and sing
In sunshine, oer the hills of Clare.
Sir Eldred Of The Bower : A Legendary Tale: In Two Parts
© Hannah More
There was a young and valiant Knight,
Sir Eldred was his name;
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.
Lamia. Part I
© John Keats
Upon a time, before the faery broods
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
The Little Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
The little house is not too small
To shelter friends who come to call.
Though low the roof and small its space
It holds the Lord's abounding grace,
And every simple room may be
Endowed with happy memory.
Too Late
© Alfred Austin
Had you but shown me living what you show,
Now I am gone, to keep my grave-plot green,
Book Seventh [Residence in London]
© William Wordsworth
Returned from that excursion, soon I bade
Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats
Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower,
And every comfort of that privileged ground,
Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among
The unfenced regions of society.
An Empty Nest
© James Whitcomb Riley
I find an old deserted nest,
Half-hidden in the underbrush:
A withered leaf, in phantom jest,
Has nestled in it like a thrush
With weary, palpitating breast.
On The Dutchess Of Newcastle's Picture.
© Mary Barber
Say, Worsdcal, where you learn'd the Art
To paint the Goodness of the Heart
The flatt'ring Teint let others prize;
You call the Soul into the Eyes:
John McKeen
© James Whitcomb Riley
John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
His loosened collar, and swarthy throat,
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
And the wealth of a workman's vote!
Songs with Preludes: Dominion
© Jean Ingelow
I.
Yon mooréd mackerel fleet
Hangs thick as a swarm of bees,
Or a clustering village street
Foundationless built on the seas.
The Fairy West
© Henry Lawson
P.S.: I was in Yewklid the day I finished
Me edyercashun in those times dim
My younger brother cleared out to Queensland,
Twas mountains and rivers that finished him.
