Happy poems
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Sleep And Poetry
© John Keats
As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete
Was unto me, but why that I ne might
Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight
[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese
Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese. ~ Chaucer
When I Behold The Lark
© Bernard de Ventadorn
When I behold the lark upspring
To meet the bright sun joyfully,
Lac Souci
© William Henry Drummond
Talk about lakes! deres none dat lies in
Laurentide mountain or near de sea,
The Pink Carnation
© Henry Lawson
I may walk until Im fainting, I may write until Im blinded,
I might drink until my back teeth are afloat,
But I cant forget my ruin and the happy days behind it,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
The Prisoner Of Chillon
© George Gordon Byron
Sonnet on Chillon
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
My Wife Is A Most Knowing Woman
© Stephen C. Foster
My wife is a most knowing woman,
She always is finding me out,
Discontent And Quarrelling
© Charles Lamb
JANE.
O may be, may be, very well:
And may be, brother, I don't tell
Tales to mamma like you.
To a Lady, with Some Coloured Patterns of Flowers
© William Shenstone
Madam,-
Though rude the draughts, though artless seem the lines,
Thalia
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
I say it under the rose-
oh, thanks! -yes, under the laurel,
We part lovers, not foes;
we are not going to quarrel.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
Trivia; or the Art of Walking the Streets of London: Book I.
© John Gay
Of the Implements for Walking the Streets,
and Signs of the Weather.
The Little Hurts
© Edgar Albert Guest
Every night she runs to me
With a bandaged arm or a bandaged knee,
A stone-bruised heel or a swollen brow,
And in sorrowful tones she tells me how
She fell and "hurted herse'f to-day"
While she was having the "bestest play."
The Princes Quest - Part the Sixth
© William Watson
Even as one voice the great sea sang. From out
The green heart of the waters round about,
Eloped
© Hristo Botev
In the glade a pipe is played,
By the forest green and still,
Where Stoyana, fair, sweet maid,
Runs for water to the rill.
The House Of Dust: {Complete}
© Conrad Aiken
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
The Winner
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, "Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
Yeah, he's a winner."
