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Maesia's Song
© Robert Greene
SWEET are the thoughts that savor of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
Peter Rugg the Bostonian
© Louise Imogen Guiney
The mare is pawing by the oak,
The chaise is cool and wide
For Peter Rugg the Bostonian
With his little son beside;
The women loiter at the wheels
In the pleasant summer-tide.
Slumberland Time
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT is Slumberland time, and the storms have passed by,
And the sea is now golden and still,
When You Meet A Man From Your Own Home Town
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Sing, O Muse, in treble clef,
A little song of the A.E.F.,
First Sunday After Easter
© John Keble
First Father of the holy seed,
If yet, invoked in hour of need,
Thou count me for Thine own
Not quite an outcast if I prove,
(Thou joy'st in miracles of love),
Hear, from Thy mercy-throne!
Advent Of Spring
© Du Fu
The city has fallen: only the hills and rivers remain.
In Spring the streets were green with grass and trees.
The Wife
© Lesbia Harford
He's out of work!
I tell myself a change should mean a chance,
And he must look for changes to advance,
And he, of all men, really needs a jerk.
The Landing
© Padraic Colum
THE great ship lantern-girdled.
The tender standing by;
The waning stars cloud-shrouded,
The land that we descry!
The Eve Of Saint Mark. A Fragment
© John Keats
At length her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom;
Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine
At Venice,--
The Columbiad: Book V
© Joel Barlow
Sage Franklin next arose with cheerful mien,
And smiled unruffled o'er the solemn scene;
His locks of age a various wreath embraced,
Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal graced;
Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne,
And the tame thunder from the tempest torn.
Nemesis
© Henry Lawson
It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,
When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,
When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark
That the blackest lies are written, told, and printed after dark.
Tis the time of late editions. It is night when, as of old,
Foulest things are done for hatred, for ambition, love and gold.
The Four Wishes
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Father! a youthful hero said, bending his lofty brow
On the world wide I must go forththen bless me, bless me, now!
And, ere I shall return oh say, what goal must I have won
What is the aim, the prize, that most thou wishest for thy son?
A Pastoral
© George Essex Evans
Nature feels the touch of noon;
Not a rustle stirs the grass;
Not a shadow flecks the sky,
Save the brown hawk hovering nigh;
Not a ripple dims the glass
Of the wide lagoon.
The Straying Sheep
© Robert Wadsworth Lowry
O come, let us go and find them!
In the paths of death they roam.
At the close of the day 'twill be sweet to say:
"I have brought some lost one home."
Prison Song
© Alan Dugan
The skin ripples over my body like moon-wooed water,
rearing to escape me. Where could it find another
R. S. S., At Deer Island On The Merrimac
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Make, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac,
From wave and shore a low and long lament
My Christian Name
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
MY Christian name, my Christian name,
I never hear it now:
None have the right to utter it,
'T is lost, I scare know how.
My worldly name the world speaks loud;
Thank God for well-earned fame!
Hymn of the City
© William Cullen Bryant
Not in the solitude
Alone may man commune with heaven, or see
Only in savage wood
And sunny vale, the present Deity;
Or only hear his voice
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.
Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Clapham Academy
© Thomas Hood
Ah me! those old familiar bounds!
That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls!
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls?
