Knowledge poems
/ page 46 of 75 /
Pauline, A Fragment of a Question
© Robert Browning
And I can love nothing-and this dull truth
Has come the last: but sense supplies a love
Encircling me and mingling with my life.
Ambition
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I had ambition once. Like Solomon
I asked for wisdom, deeming wisdom fair,
And with much pains a little knowledge won
Of Nature's cruelty and Man's despair,
At the San Francisco Airport
© Yvor Winters
To my daughter, 1954
This is the terminal: the light
Gives perfect vision, false and hard;
The metal glitters, deep and bright.
Great planes are waiting in the yard—
They are already in the night.
Martha
© Lesbia Harford
Sometimes I lose
My power of loving for an hour or two,
Then I misuse
My knowledge of friends' secrets to abuse
Parkinson’s Disease
© Washington Allston
While spoon-feeding him with one hand
she holds his hand with her other hand,
An Ode to Himself
© Benjamin Jonson
Where dost thou careless lie,
Buried in ease and sloth?
Knowledge that sleeps doth die;
And this security,
It is the common moth
That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.
Causerie
© Allen Tate
. . . party on the stage of the Earl Carroll Theatre on
Feb. 23. At this party Joyce Hawley, a chorus-girl,
bathed in the nude in a bathtub filled with alleged
wine. New York Times.
The Rest
© Ezra Pound
Artists broken against her,
A-stray, lost in the villages,
Mistrusted, spoken-against,
Jenny
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
It was a careless life I led
When rooms like this were scarce so strange
Not long ago. What breeds the change,
The many aims or the few years?
Because to-night it all appears
Something I do not know again.
Locksley Hall
© Alfred Tennyson
Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn:
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.
Live Blindly and upon the Hour
© Trumbull Stickney
Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord,
Who was the Future, died full long ago.
Late Echo
© John Ashbery
Alone with our madness and favorite flower
We see that there really is nothing left to write about.
Or rather, it is necessary to write about the same old things
In the same way, repeating the same things over and over
For love to continue and be gradually different.
The Princess (part 4)
© Alfred Tennyson
But when we planted level feet, and dipt
Beneath the satin dome and entered in,
There leaning deep in broidered down we sank
Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst
A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed
Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold.
The Suicide
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Last was the wealth I carried in life's pack-
Youth, health, ambition, hope and trust but Time
Gramarye
© Madison Julius Cawein
There are some things that entertain me more
Than men or books; and to my knowledge seem
A key of Poetry, made of magic lore
Of childhood, opening many a fabled door
Of superstition, mystery, and dream
Enchantment locked of yore.
Convict Once - Part First.
© James Brunton Stephens
I.
FREE again! Free again! eastward and westward, before me, behind me,
Wide lies Australia! and free are my feet, as my soul is, to roam!
Oh joy unwonted of space undetermined! No limit assigned me!
Freedom conditioned by nought save the need and desire of a home!
Song of Myself
© Walt Whitman
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
Grant
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
Smile on, thou new-come Springif on thy breeze
The breath of a great man go wavering up
And out of this world's knowledge, it is well.
The Times
© Charles Churchill
The time hath been, a boyish, blushing time,
When modesty was scarcely held a crime;
The Slave Trade, A Poem
© Hannah More
If heaven has into being deign'd to call
Thy light, O Liberty! to shine on all;
