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Execution, The: A Sporting Anecdote Hon. Mr. Sucklethumbkin's Story
© Richard Harris Barham
My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day;
It was half after two,
He had nothing to do,
So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet.
Hypotheses Hypochondriacae
© Charles Kingsley
And should she die, her grave should be
Upon the bare top of a sunny hill,
Windsor Forest
© Alexander Pope
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,
At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats,
A Small Room In Aspen
© William Matthews
Stains on the casements,
dustmotes, spiderless webs.
No chairs, and a man waking up,
or he's falling asleep
A Voice From The Farm
© James Whitcomb Riley
It is my dream to have you here with me,
Out of the heated city's dust and din--
Book Second [School-Time Continued]
© William Wordsworth
THUS far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much
Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace
Don Juan: Canto The First
© George Gordon Byron
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
1916 seen from 1921
© Edmund Blunden
Tired with dull grief, grown old before my day,
I sit in solitude and only hear
An Onset
© James Clerk Maxwell
Hallo ye, my fellows! arise and advance,
See the white-crested waves how they stamp and they dance!
Darkness
© John Crowe Ransom
WHEN hurrying home on a rainy night
And hearing tree-tops rubbed and tossed,
And seeing never a friendly star
And feeling your way when paths are crossed:
Stop fast and turn three times around
And try the logic of the lost.
Michael Oaktree
© Alfred Noyes
Under an arch of glorious leaves I passed
Out of the wood and saw the sickle moon
Floating in daylight o'er the pale green sea.
The Borough. Letter XI: Inns
© George Crabbe
All the comforts of life in a Tavern are known,
'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to
IV: To The World
© Benjamin Jonson
A farewell for a Gentlewoman, vertuous and noble
False world, good-night, since thou hast brought
That houre upon my morne of age,
Hence-forth I quit thee from my thought,
Irelands Vengeance
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
This is thy day, thy day of all the years.
Ireland! The night of anger and mute gloom,
Where thou didst sit, has vanished with thy tears.
Thou shalt no longer weep in thy lone home
Of An Orchard
© Katharine Tynan
Good is an Orchard, the Saint saith,
To meditate on life and death,
With a cool well, a hive of bees,
A hermit's grot below the trees.
A Seamark
© Bliss William Carman
COLD, the dull cold! What ails the sun,
And takes the heart out of the day?
What makes the morning look so mean,
The Common so forlorn and gray?
"Just for joy, take from my palms"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Just for joy, take from my palms
A little sun, a little honey,
As Persephone's bees commanded.
Hart-Leap Well
© William Wordsworth
THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud,
And now, as he approached a vassal's door,
"Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud.
