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© George Gordon Byron
CHAMOIS HUNTER
No, no -- yet pause -- thou must not yet go forth:
Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide--
But whither?
Elegy For Poe With The Music Of A Carnival Inside It
© Larry Levis
There is this sunny place where I imagine him.
A park on a hill whose grass wants to turn
Into dust, & would do so if it weren't
For the rain, & the fact that it is only grass
The Crown Of Empire
© George Essex Evans
Free is the wind that lashes into foam
The fortress waves that gird the Sea-Kings home
The Factory Girl
© John Arthur Phillips
She wasn't the least bit pretty,
And only the least bit gay;
A Fisherman's Baby
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Oh hush, little baby, thy papa's at sea;
The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee.
He hastes to his dear ones o'er billows of foam;
Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home.
Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby;
Papa is coming, no longer to roam.
The Shepherd's Week : Wednesday; or, The Dumps
© John Gay
Sparabella.
The wailings of a maiden I recite,
Wanderers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O there are wanderers over wave and strand
Invisible and secret, everywhere
Moving thro' light and night from land to land,
Swifter than bird or cloud upon the air.
Peach Blossom Spring
© Wang Wei
A fisherman floated on, enjoying Spring.
The shores, he found, were covered in Peach Blossom.
The Rivulet
© William Cullen Bryant
This little rill, that from the springs
Of yonder grove its current brings,
Plays on the slope a while, and then
Goes prattling into groves again,
Georgic 4
© Publius Vergilius Maro
Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less
Jamie And His MotherIn The Tropics
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O MOTHER, what country is that I see
Far over the stream and the boulders gray,
Where the wind-song pipes, and the curlews flee,
And the little brown squirrels dance and play
Through the boughs all day
MOTHER.
Remarks On The Bright And Dark Side
© Benjamin Tompson
But may a Rural Pen try to set forth
Such a Great Fathers Ancient Grace and worth
The Gift Of The Terek
© Mikhail Lermontov
Through the rocks in wildest courses
Seethes the Terek grim of mood,
Tempest howling its bewailing,
Pearled with foam its tearful flood.
A Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Talk not of sad November, when a day
Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,
And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June,
Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray.
The Last Suttee
© Rudyard Kipling
Udai Chand lay sick to death
In his hold by Gungra hill.
All night we heard the death-gongs ring
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King,
All night beat up from the women's wing
A cry that we could not still.
The Renewal
© Robert Laurence Binyon
No more of sorrow, the world's old distress,
Nor war of thronging spirits numberless,
Immortal ardours in brief days confined,
No more the languid fever of mankind
Naaman
© John Newton
Before Elisha's gate
The Syrian leper stood;
But could not brook to wait,
He deemed himself too good:
He thought the prophet would attend,
And not to him a message send.
Human Life
© Matthew Arnold
What mortal, when he saw,
Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend,
Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly:
"I have kept uninfringed my nature's law ;
The inly-written chart thou gavest me,
To guide me, I have steer'd by to the end"?
The Roman: A Dramatic Poem
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
SCENE I.
A Plain in Italy-an ancient Battle-field. Time, Evening.
Persons.-Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the Unity of Italy, the Overthrow of Austrian Domination, and the Restoration of a great Roman Republic.--A number of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. 'The Monk' is musing.
Enter Dancers.