History poems
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In the Naked Bed, in Plato’s Cave
© Delmore Schwartz
In the naked bed, in Plato’s cave,
Reflected headlights slowly slid the wall,
Atlantis
© Hart Crane
Through the bound cable strands, the arching path
Upward, veering with light, the flight of strings,
Under The Willows
© James Russell Lowell
Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood,
Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree,
A Worker Reads History
© Bertolt Brecht
Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Seventh
© William Wordsworth
"Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick--in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of."
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto First
© William Wordsworth
FROM Bolton's old monastic tower
The bells ring loud with gladsome power;
The sun shines bright; the fields are gay
With people in their best array
Epilogue To 'She Stoops To Conquer'
© Oliver Goldsmith
WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
The Bankers Secret
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The reader paused,--the Teacups knew his ways,--
He, like the rest, was not averse to praise.
Voices and hands united; every one
Joined in approval: "Number Three, well done!"
Sonnet 93: "So shall I live, supposing thou art true,..."
© William Shakespeare
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
Book Ninth [Residence in France]
© William Wordsworth
EVEN as a river,--partly (it might seem)
Yielding to old remembrances, and swayed
The Clearing Of The Land
© Larry Levis
The trees went up the hill
And over it.
Then the dry grasses of the pasture were
Only a kind of blonde light
1940
© Bertolt Brecht
My young son asks me: Must I learn mathematics?
What is the use, I feel like saying. That two pieces
A Rhymed Lesson (Urania)
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Are angel faces, silent and serene,
Bent on the conflicts of this little scene,
Whose dream-like efforts, whose unreal strife,
Are but the preludes to a larger life?
Properzia Rossi
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Tell me no more, no more
Of my soul's lofty gifts! Are they not vain
The World-Soul
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Still, still the secret presses,
The nearing clouds draw down,
The crimson morning flames into
The fopperies of the town.
Within, without, the idle earth
Stars weave eternal rings,
All The World's A Stage
© William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
