Life poems
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Living with myself
© KateZ
So alone my dear life
looking for error in my mind
no problem, only loneliness
but why so sad?
On Being a Champion
© Mattie Stepanek
A Champion is a winner,
A hero...
Someone who never gives up
Even when the going gets rough.
Shut Not Your Doors, andc
© Walt Whitman
SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet needed most, I bring;
To a Gentleman and Lady on the Death of the Lady's Brother and Sister
© Phillis Wheatley
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.
To Qiwu Qian Bound Home After Failing In An Examination
© Wang Wei
In a happy reign there should be no hermits;
The wise and able should consult together....
A Farm-house On The Wei River
© Wang Wei
In the slant of the sun on the country-side,
Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane;
Verses on Sir Joshua Reynold's Painted Window at New College, Oxford
© Thomas Warton
Reynolds, 'tis thine, from the broad window's height,
To add new lustre to religious light:
Not of its pomp to strip this ancient shrine,
But bid that pomp with purer radiance shine:
With arts unknown before, to reconcile
The willing Graces to the Gothic pile.
Written near a Port on a Dark Evening
© Charlotte Turner Smith
All is black shadow but the lucid line
Marked by the light surf on the level sand,
Or where afar the ship-lights faintly shine
Like wandering fairy fires, that oft on land
Misled the pilgrim--such the dubious ray
That wavering reason lends in life's long darkling way.
The Emigrants: Book II
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Scene, on an Eminence on one of those Downs, which afford to the South a view of the Sea; to the North of the Weald of Sussex. Time, an Afternoon in April, 1793.
The Emigrants: Book I
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Scene, on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town of
Brighthelmstone in Sussex. Time, a Morning in November, 1792.
Sonnet XLIV: Press'd by the Moon
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Press'd by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
Huge Vapours Brood Above the Clifted Shore
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Huge vapours brood above the clifted shore,
Night o'er the ocean settles, dark and mute,
Song of the Lotos-Eaters
© Alfred Tennyson
THERE is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
In Memoriam A. HIn Memoriam A. H. H.: 56. So careful of the type? but no.: 55. The wish, that of the living whol
© Alfred Tennyson
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--
In Memoriam A. H. H.: The Prelude
© Alfred Tennyson
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how,
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
In Memoriam A. H. H.: Is it, then, regret for buried time
© Alfred Tennyson
Yet less of sorrow lives in me
For days of happy commune dead;
Less yearning for the friendship fled,
Than some strong bond which is to be.
