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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude V.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Well pleased the audience heard the tale.
The Theologian said: "Indeed,
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
Ode to a Man of Letters
© John Logan
Lo, winter's hoar dominion past!
Arrested in his eastern blast
The fiend of nature flies;
Breathing the spring, the zephyrs play,
And re-enthroned the Lord of day
Resumes the golden skies.
Applied Geometry by Russell Libby: American Life in Poetry #194 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
Father and child doing a little math homework together; it's an everyday occurrence, but here, Russell Libby, a poet who writes from Three Sisters Farm in central Maine, presents it in a way that makes it feel deep and magical.
Applied Geometry
Lac Souci
© William Henry Drummond
Talk about lakes! deres none dat lies in
Laurentide mountain or near de sea,
The Soldier's Dream
© Thomas Campbell
Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
Lucifers Deputy
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
A POET once, whose tuneful soul, perchance,
Too fondly leaned toward sin, and sin's romance,
On a long vanished eve, so calm and clear
None could have deemed an evil spirit near,
The Prisoner Of Chillon
© George Gordon Byron
Sonnet on Chillon
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
The Rocks
© William Makepeace Thackeray
I look to see her image in the well;
I only see my eyes, my own sad eyes.
My mother is alone among the rocks.
Nellie Lost and Found
© Henry Clay Work
Wake the boys to search for Nellie!
Stay not for the dawn;
Who shall sleep when from the mother's fold
One little lamb is gone.
Spear Thistle
© John Clare
Where the broad sheepwalk bare and brown
[Yields] scant grass pining after showers,
And winds go fanning up and down
The little strawy bents and nodding flowers,
There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns,
The suncrackt upland's russet swells adorns.
My Wife Is A Most Knowing Woman
© Stephen C. Foster
My wife is a most knowing woman,
She always is finding me out,
To A Wind-Flower
© Madison Julius Cawein
Teach me the secret of thy loveliness,
That, being made wise, I may aspire to be
As beautiful in thought, and so express
Immortal truths to earth's mortality;
Though to my soul ability be less
Than 'tis to thee, O sweet anemone.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
In The Harbour: The Children's Crusade
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O the simple, child-like trust!
O the faith that could believe
What the harnessed, iron-mailed
Knights of Christendom had failed,
By their prowess, to achieve,
They, the children, could and must!
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.
Woman's Trifling Needs
© Mercy Otis Warren
AN inventory clear of all she needs Lamira offers here; Nor does she fear a rigid Cato's frown When she lays by the rich embroidered gown, And modestly compounds for just enough- Perhaps, some dozens of more flighty stuff; With lawns and lustrings, blond, and Mechlin laces, Fringes and jewels, fans and tweezer-cases; memory Gay cloaks, and hats of every shape and size, Scarfs, cardinals, and ribbons of all dyes; With ruffles stamped, and aprons of tambour, Tippets and handkerchiefs, at least three score; With finest muslins that fair India boasts, And the choice herbage from Chinesan coasts; (But while the fragrant hyson leaf regales, Who'll wear the homespun produce of the vales? For if 'twould save the nation from the curse Of standing troops; or-name a plague still worse- Few can this choice, delicious draught give up, Though all Medea's poisons fill the cup
The cricket sang,
© Emily Dickinson
The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.
