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The Defeat of Youth
© Aldous Huxley
I. UNDER THE TREES.
There had been phantoms, pale-remembered shapes
Pain
© Sara Teasdale
WAVES are the sea's white daughters,
And raindrops the children of rain,
But why for my shimmering body
Have I a mother like Pain?
The Germans On The Heighs Of Hochheim
© William Wordsworth
ABRUPTLY paused the strife;--the field throughout
Resting upon his arms each warrior stood,
Gentleman-Rankers
© Rudyard Kipling
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
The Widow To Her Sons Betrothed
© Caroline Norton
I.
AH, cease to plead with that sweet cheerful voice,
Nor bid me struggle with a weight of woe,
Lest from the very tone that says "rejoice"
Bury Me In My Shades
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
In a pad with no heat, up on Sullivan Street,
The last of the hipsters lay dyin'.
Wearin' his shades, so like no one could tell
Like whether or not he was cryin'.
The Return Of Ulysses
© Richard Monckton Milnes
The Man of wisdom and endurance rare,
A sundry--coloured and strange--featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,--the oars' sweet--echoed play,
THe River Saguenay
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Few poets yet in praise of thee
Have tuned a passing lay,
Yet art thou rich in beauties stern,
Thou dark browed Saguenay!
Orpheus In Thrace
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Dear is the newly won,
But O far dearer the for ever lost!
He that at utmost cost
Elegy II. On Posthumous Reputation - To a Friend
© William Shenstone
O grief of griefs! that Envy's frantic ire
Should rob the living virtue of its praise;
O foolish Muses! that with zeal aspire
To deck the cold insensate shrine with bays.
All Hail To The Czar!
© Alfred Austin
All hail to the Czar! By the fringe of the foam
That thunders, untamed, around Albion's shore,
To My Old Schoolmaster
© John Greenleaf Whittier
AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE
Old friend, kind friend! lightly down
Shaoshan Revisited
© Mao Zedong
Like a dim dream recalled, I curse the long-fled past -
My native soil two and thirty years gone by.
The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Up and down the village streets
Strange are the forms my fancy meets,
Grass From The Battle-Field
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Small sheaf
Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed
Thy story, lo! I see thee once more green
And growing on the battle-field,
On that last day that ever thou didst grow!
A Letter
© James Russell Lowell
From Mr. Hosea Biglow To The Hon. J.T. Buckingham, Editor Of The Boston Courier, Covering A Letter From Mr. B. Sawin, Private In The Massachusetts Regiment
This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin',
Aspen Tree
© Paul Celan
Aspen Tree, your leaves glance white into the dark.
My mother's hair was never white.
Crowds
© Charles Baudelaire
It is not given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoying a crowd is an art; and only he can relish a debauch of vitality at the expense of the human species, on whom, in his cradle, a fairy has bestowed the love of masks and masquerading, the hate of home, and the passion for roaming.
Multitude, solitude: identical terms, and interchangeable by the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd.
Fand, A Feerie Act I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Eithne's Spinning Song
Things of the Earth and things of the Air,
Strengths that we feel though we cannot share,
Shapes that are round us and everywhere.
The Village Girl And Her High-Born Suitor
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
O maiden, peerless, come dwell with me,
And bright shall I render thy destiny:
Thou shalt leave thy cot by the green hillside,
To dwell in a palace home of pride,
Where crowding menials, with lowly mien,
Shall attend each wish of their lovely queen.
