Home poems

/ page 298 of 465 /

Order by :

1
. . .
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
. . .
465

An Ode For The Fourth Of July

© James Russell Lowell

Entranced I saw a vision in the cloud

That loitered dreaming in yon sunset sky,

or a hundred years the pulse of time
Has throbbed for Liberty;
For a hundred years the grand old clime
Columbia has been free;
For a hundred years our country's love,
The Stars and Stripes, has waved above.

Under the Figtree

© Henry Kendall

Like drifts of balm from cedared glens, those darling memories come,

With soft low songs, and dear old tales, familiar to our home.

Book Thirteenth [Imagination And Taste, How Impaired And Restored Concluded]

© William Wordsworth

FROM Nature doth emotion come, and moods

Of calmness equally are Nature's gift:

The Ring And The Book - Chapter II - Half-Rome

© Robert Browning

All five soon somehow found themselves at Rome,
At the villa door: there was the warmth and light
The sense of life so just an inch inside
Some angel must have whispered One more chance!

Burial

© John Keble

And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto
her, Weep not. And He came and touched the bier; and they that
bare him stood still. And He said, Young man, I say unto thee,
Arise.-St. Luke vii. 13, 14.

Night

© William Wilfred Campbell

Home of the pure in heart and tranquil mind,

Temple of love's white silence, holy Night;

Moss on a Wall

© Henry Kendall

Dim dreams it hath of singing ways,
Of far-off woodland water-heads,
And shining ends of April days
Amongst the yellow runnel-beds.

Lines. "Here be the free gifts of the morning for thee"

© Frances Anne Kemble

Here be the free gifts of the morning for thee;

Dog-roses, with their thorns all strung with pearls,

Sauve Patria

© Ramon Lopez Velarde

Yo que sólo canté de la exquisita
partitura del íntimo decoro,
alzo hoy la voz a la mitad del foro
a la manera del tenor que imita
la gutural modulación del bajo,
para cortar a la epopeya un gajo.

The Drowned Lover

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary,
Yet far must the desolate wanderer roam;
Though the tempest is stern, and the mountain is dreary,

Solution

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am the Muse who sung alway

By Jove, at dawn of the first day.

Sea-Lavender

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Lavender, sea lavender!
Pale sweet flower how full of her!
Flower discreet, with your priest's eyes
Trained in all time's mysteries,

Irene

© James Russell Lowell

Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear;

Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies,

Tristrams End

Tristram
Isoult, Isoult, thy kiss!
To sorrow though I was made,
I die in bliss, in bliss.

Translation From The Medea Of Euripides

When fierce conflicting urge
The breast where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?

The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo Again

I often wonder whether you

Think sometimes of that Bishop, who

Homage To Sextus Propertius - I

© Ezra Pound

Flame burns, rain sinks into the cracks
And they all go to rack ruin beneath the thud of the years.
Stands genius a deathless adornment,
a name not to be worn out with the years.