Home poems

/ page 87 of 465 /

Order by :

1
. . .
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
. . .
465

Contrasted Songs: A Lily And The Lute

© Jean Ingelow

“Nay! but thou a spirit art;
Men shall take thee in the mart
For the ghost of their best thought,
Raised at noon, and near them brought;
Or the prayer they made last night,
Set before them all in white.”

Meg's Curse

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

The sun rode high in a cloudless sky

Of a perfect summer morn.

World Strangeness

© William Watson

Strange the world about me lies,
Never yet familiar grown-
Still disturbs me with surprise,
Haunts me like a face half known.

"Here, where the vine and fig bask hand in hand,"

© Alfred Austin

Here, where the vine and fig bask hand in hand,

And the hot lizard lies along the wall,

Oft For Our Own

© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

How many go forth in the morning
and never come home at night,
and hearts have broken
for harsh words spoken
That sorrow can never set right.

Convict Once - Part Third.

© James Brunton Stephens

I.

1

Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

Dear to his age were memories such as these,
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze;
Such were the tales that won my boyish ear,
Told in low tones that evening loves to hear.

Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: VII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I had made my round, as yet with little gain
Of undiscovered good in that gay place.
I had sought my share of pleasure, but in vain.
Laughter was not for me, and hid her face.

Wardens Of The Wave

© Alfred Austin

Not to exult in braggart vein

Over a gallant foe,

The Trees

© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

I know: to the trees, but not to us,
Perfection of the life is given, whole.
And on the Earth the sister of the stars
We live in exile, while they do at home.

On A Landscape Bt Rubens

© William Lisle Bowles

Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,

Upon the rich creation, shadowed so

A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - December

© George MacDonald

1.

I AM a little weary of my life-

Alternative Song For The Severed Head In `The King Of The Great Clock Tower'

© William Butler Yeats

Saddle and ride, I heard a man say,

Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea,

The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son

Thy knowledge of women might be surpassed:
As any sad dog's of sweet flesh when he quits
The wayside wandering bone!
No revilings of comrades as ingrates: thee
The tempter, misleader, and criminal (screened
By laws yet barbarous) own.

In The Garret

Four little chests all in a row,

Dim with dust, and worn by time,

France

Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul,
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil;