Life poems
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Tale XX
© George Crabbe
flown:
All swept away, to be perceived no more,
Like idle structures on the sandy shore,
The chance amusement of the playful boy,
That the rude billows in their rage destroy.
Poor George confess'd, though loth the truth to
An Apology
© Frances Anne Kemble
Blame not my tears, love, to you has been given
The brightest, best gift, God to mortals allows;
The sunlight of hope on your heart shines from Heaven,
And shines from your heart on this life and its woes.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE DARES NOT DIE
Four hours by the clock! How strange it is! Four hours
Since love and life, the future and the past,
Died with the shutting of these silent doors,
Musette
© Henri Murger
Yesterday, watching the swallows' flight
That bring the spring and the season fair,
Ripley
© Henry Timrod
Rich in red honors, that upon him lie
As lightly as the Summer dews
Fall where he won his fame beneath the sky
Of tropic Vera Cruz;
The TigerLily
© Robert Laurence Binyon
What wouldst thou with me? By what spell
My spirit allure, absorb, compel?
The last long beam that thou didst drink
Is buried now on evening's brink.
A Vagrant Heart
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
O to be a woman! to be left to pique and pine,
When the winds are out and calling to this vagrant heart of mine.
The Angels of Buena Vista
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,
O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array,
Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near?
Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.
The Red Box at Vesey Street
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
Past the Red Box at Vesey street
Swing two strong tides of hurrying feet,
And up and down and all the day
Rises a sullen roar, to say
Le Pont Mirabeau {French}
© Guillaume Apollinaire
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine.
The Child an' the Mowers
© William Barnes
O AYE! they had woone child bezide,
An' a finer your eyes never met,
Twer a dear little fellow that died
In the summer that come wi' such het;
At the Choral Concert by Tim Nolan : American Life in Poetry #248 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 200
© Ted Kooser
Many if not all of us have had the pleasure of watching choruses of young people sing. It’s an experience rich with affirmation, it seems to me. Here is a lovely poem by Tim Nolan, an attorney in Minneapolis.
At the Choral Concert
The high school kids are so beautiful
Amid My Bale I Bathe In Bliss
© George Gascoigne
AMID my bale I bathe in bliss,
I swim in heaven, I sink in hell;
I find amends for every miss,
And yet my moan no tongue can tell.
I live and love--what would you more?
As never lover lived before.
The Sower
© Mathilde Blind
The winds had hushed at last as by command;
The quiet sky above,
With its grey clouds spread oer the fallow land,
Sat brooding like a dove.
Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa
© Oscar Wilde
O come and fill his sepulchre with flowers."
Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours
Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain,
The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers, and the Spear.
Monody
© Herman Melville
To have known him, to have loved him
After loneness long;
And then to be estranged in life,
And neither in the wrong;
And now for death to set his seal--
Ease me, a little ease, my song!
