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To James Russell Lowell
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Here let us keep him, here he saw the light,--
His genius, wisdom, wit, are ours by right;
And if we lose him our lament will be
We have "five hundred"--_not_ "as good as he."
New Year's Dawn - Broadway
© Sara Teasdale
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
The Seven Sisters
© William Wordsworth
Or, The Solitude Of Binnorie
SEVEN Daughter had Lord Archibald,
Heart Of My Heart
© Madison Julius Cawein
Here where the season turns the land to gold,
Among the fields our feet have known of old,--
The Soul Of Spain
© Ernest Hemingway
Bill's father would never knowingly sit down at table with a Democrat.
Now Bill says democracy must go.
Go on democracy.
Democracy is the shit.
Relativity is the shit.
A New Year's Plaint
© James Whitcomb Riley
In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
--TENNYSON.
The Fable About A Nail
© Zbigniew Herbert
For lack of a nail the kingdom has fallen
according to the wisdom of nursery schoolsbut in our kingdom
there have been no nails for a long time there arent and wont be
either the small ones for hanging a picture
on a wall or large ones for closing a coffin
No Rose That In A Garden Ever Grew
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
No rose that in a garden ever grew,
In Homer's or in Omar's or in mine,
Pharsalia - Book IV: Caesar In Spain. War In The Adriatic Sea. Death Of Curio.
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Should mix with ours, the vanquished. Destiny
Has run for us its course: one boon I beg;
Bid not the conquered conquer in thy train."
The pilgrimage to Mecca
© George Canning
What holy rites Mohammed's laws ordain,
What various duties bind his faithful train,-
A Modern Invention
© Carolyn Wells
Old Santa Claus is up-to-date,
And hereafter, rumors say,
He'll come with his pack of glittering toys,
And visit the homes of girls and boys,
In a new reindeerless sleigh.
Christmas Night by Conrad Hilberry: American Life in Poetry #195 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004
© Ted Kooser
Here is a poem, much like a prayer, in which the Michigan poet Conrad Hilberry asks for no more than a little flare of light, an affirmation, at the end of a long, cold Christmas day.
Christmas Night
Let midnight gather up the wind
and the cry of tires on bitter snow.
Let midnight call the cold dogs home,
sleet in their furâlast one can blow
Summer Afternoon (Bodiam Castle, Sussex)
© Edith Wharton
And this was thine: to lose thyself in me,
Relive in my renewal, and become
The light of other lives, a quenchless torch
Passed on from hand to hand, till men are dust
And the last garland withers from my shrine.
A Lament For The Princes Of Tyrone And Tyrconnel
© James Clarence Mangan
O WOMAN of the piercing wail,
Who mournest oer yon mound of clay
Love and Honor
© William Shenstone
Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra
Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,
