Health poems

 / page 61 of 85 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

An Essay on Death and a Prison

© Henry King

A prison is in all things like a grave,
Where we no better priviledges have
Then dead men, nor so good. The soul once fled
Lives freer now, then when she was cloystered

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Welcome To The Chicago Commercial Club

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

CHICAGO sounds rough to the maker of verse;
One comfort we have--Cincinnati sounds worse;
If we only were licensed to say Chicago!
But Worcester and Webster won't let us, you know.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Autumn

© Alexander Pushkin

What doesn't enter then my slumbering mind?

-Derzhavin

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Fragment: There Is A Warm And Gentle Atmosphere

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

There is a warm and gentle atmosphere
About the form of one we love, and thus
As in a tender mist our spirits are
Wrapped in the of that which is to us
The health of life’s own life--

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

In Memorium : Adam Lindsay Gordon

© Henry Kendall

AT rest! Hard by the margin of that sea

Whose sounds are mingled with his noble verse,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Nightmare For Future Reference

© Stephen Vincent Benet

"Not like this," he said. "I can show you the curve.
It looks like the side of a mountain, going down.
And faster, the last three months yes, a good deal faster.
I showed it to Lobenheim and he was puzzled.
It makes a neat problem yes?" He looked at me.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

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.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet -- The Peasant

© Mary Darby Robinson

WIDE o'er the barren plain the bleak wind flies,
 Sweeps the high mountain's top, and with its breath
 Swells the curl'd river o'er the plain beneath,
Where many a clay-built hut in ruin lies.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Triumph Of Melancholy

© James Beattie

Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

On Returning To England

© Alfred Austin

There! once again I stand on home,

Though round me still there swirls the foam,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Approaching Night

© John Clare

Go with your tauntings, go;
Neer think to hurt me so;
  I'll scoff at your disdain.
Cold though the winter blow,
When hills are free from snow
  It will be spring again.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Written At Paris, 1700. In The Beginning Of Robe's Geography

© Matthew Prior

Then as thou wilt dispose the rest
(And let not Fortune spoil the jest)
To those who at the market-rate
Can barter honour for estate.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Second Madrigal

© Anna Swirszczynska

A night of love with you,
a big baroque battle
and two victories.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto X.

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

I
  ‘At Church, in twelve hours more, we meet!
  ‘This, Dearest, is our last farewell.’
  ‘Oh, Felix, do you love me?’ ‘Sweet,
  ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘I cannot tell.’

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

A Picture

© John Henry Newman

"The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth."
She is not gone;—still in our sight
  That dearest maid shall live,
In form as true, in tints as bright,
  As youth and health could give.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Banks Of Wye - Book IV

© Robert Bloomfield

Here ivy'd fragments, lowering, throw
Broad shadows on the poor below,
Who, while they rest, and when they die,
Sleep on the rock-built shores of WYE.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To Ellinda Upon His Late Recovery. A Paradox

© Richard Lovelace

  I.
How I grieve that I am well!
  All my health was in my sicknes,
Go then, Destiny, and tell,
  Very death is in this quicknes.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Book-Worm

© Thomas Parnell

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near,
To pile a sacred Altar here;
Hold, Boy, thy Hand out-run thy Wit,
You reach'd the Plays that D---s writ;
You reach'd me Ph---s rustick Strain;
Pray take your mortal Bards again.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Hymn To The Naiads

© Mark Akenside

ARGUMENT. The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at day-break, in honor of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means, to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health, when assisted by rural exercise: which introduces their connection with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

--

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The World In The House

© Jane Taylor

  Regions of intellect ! serenely fair,
Hence let us rise, and breathe your purer air.
--There shine the stars ! one intellectual glance
At that bright host,--on yon sublime expanse,
Might prove a cure ;--well, say they, let them shine
With all our hearts,--but let us dress and dine.