Knowledge poems
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An Epistle To Dr. Moore
© Helen Maria Williams
Whether dispensing hope, and ease
To the pale victim of disease,
Or in the social crowd you sit,
And charm the group with sense and wit,
Moore's partial ear will not disdain
Attention to my artless strain.
The Princess (part 5)
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
Einstein
© Archibald MacLeish
Standing between the sun and moon preserves
A certain secrecy. Or seems to keep
Good Teacher
© Henry Van Dyke
He leadeth me in the lowly path of learning,
He prepareth a lesson for me every day;
He bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction,
Little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth.
The Passionate Pilgrim
© William Shakespeare
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me bath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue Part III
© Madison Julius Cawein
I seem to see her still; to see
That dim blue room. Her perfume comes
From lavender folds draped dreamily--
One blossom of brocaded blooms--
Some stuff of orient looms.
A Manchester Poem
© George MacDonald
'Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad.
The cloud has fallen, and filled with fold on fold
The chimneyed city; and the smoke is caught,
And spreads diluted in the cloud, and sinks,
A black precipitate, on miry streets.
And faces gray glide through the darkened fog.
The Wisdom Of Merlyn
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.
To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First Born Child
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it rejoice,
Well mayst thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy voice:
A gift hath been bestowed on thee, a gift of priceless worth,
Far dearer to thy womans heart than all the wealth of earth.
Myself
© Harriet Monroe
What am I? I am Earth the mother,
With all her nebulous memories;
And the young Day, and Night her brother,
And every god that was and is.
Nocturne
© Rubén Dario
I want to express my anguish in verses that speak
of my vanished youth, a time of dreams and roses,
and the bitter defloration of my life
by many small cares and one vast aching sorrow.
Second Sunday After Easter
© John Keble
O for a sculptor's hand,
That thou might'st take thy stand,
Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze,
Thy tranced yet open gaze
Fixed on the desert haze,
As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees.
An Inscription
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
At this fair oak table sat
Whilom he our Laureate,
Poet, handicraftsman, sage,
Light of our Victorian age,
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
The Blessed Damozel
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The blessed damozel leaned out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
