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The Poor Voter On Election Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE proudest now is but my peer,
The highest not more high;
To-day, of all the weary year,
A king of men am I.
For The Dedication Of The New City Library, Boston
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
PROUDLY, beneath her glittering dome,
Our three-hilled city greets the morn;
Here Freedom found her virgin home,--
The Bethlehem where her babe was born.
The Troubadour. Canto 3
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
But sadness moved him when he gave
DE VALENCE to his lowly grave,--
The grave where the wild flowers were sleeping,
And one pale olive-tree was weeping,--
And placed the rude stone cross to show
A Christian hero lay below.
In Memoriam Matris
© Arthur Patchett Martin
IN my hot youth I rashly penned
A Sonnet of the After-life.
It was the time of stress and strife
Through which the ardent soul must wend.
Flora
© Charlotte Turner Smith
REMOTE from scenes, where the o'erwearied mind
Shrinks from the crimes and follies of mankind,
Sonnet XXXIV. Life And Death. 6.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
So, heralded by Reason, Faith may tread
The darkened vale, the dolorous paths of night,
In the great thought secure that life and light
Flow from the Soul of all, who, with the dead
Retrospect
© Rupert Brooke
In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
The Hermit of Thebaid
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O strong, upwelling prayers of faith,
From inmost founts of life ye start,-
The spirit's pulse, the vital breath
Of soul and heart!
Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia
© Rupert Brooke
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
"She's far," it sings me, "but fair," it rings me,
"Quiet," it laughs, "and strong!"
Idyll VIII. The Triumph of Daphnis
© Theocritus
MENALCAS.
A lamb I'll venture never: for aye at close of day
Father and mother count the flock, and passing strict are they.
Is it deadFind it
© Emily Dickinson
Is it deadFind it
Out of soundOut of sight
"Happy"? Which is wiser
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that
Of the low Ground?
Day That I Have Loved
© Rupert Brooke
Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,
And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.
The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.
I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands,
Hoodoo Voodoo Lady
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Yeah hoodoo voodoo lady cast up your voodoo vision
Let me know where did my baby go where did my lovin' baby go
Hoodoo voodoo lady shake your black cat tooth and your mojo bone
And bring my baby home bring my baby back home yeah
The Door and the Window
© Henry Reed
My love, you are timely come, let me lie by your heart.
For waking in the dark this morning, I woke to that mystery,
Which we can all wake to, at some dark time or another:
Waking to find the room not as I thought it was,
But the window further away, and the door in another direction.
Home
© Rupert Brooke
I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.
Unfortunate
© Rupert Brooke
She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.
Menelaus and Helen
© Rupert Brooke
High sat white Helen, lonely and serene.
He had not remembered that she was so fair,
And that her neck curved down in such a way;
And he felt tired. He flung the sword away,
And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there,
The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen.
The Song of the Pilgrims
© Rupert Brooke
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
