Life poems
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Kissing a Horse by Robert Wrigley: American Life in Poetry #98 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted from Earthly Meditations: New and Selected Poems, published in 2006 by Penguin. Copyright © Robert Wrigley, 2006, and reprinted by permission of the author. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
The Mourner
© George Crabbe
He had his wish, had more; I will not paint
The lovers' meeting: she beheld him faint, -
With tender fears, she took a nearer view,
Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew;
He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said,
"Yes! I must die," and hope for ever fled.
The Prayer Of Agassiz
© John Greenleaf Whittier
On the isle of Penikese,
Ringed about by sapphire seas,
The Mother's Funeral
© George Crabbe
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied:
"Be still, be patient;" oft she strove to say,
But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away.
On The Death Of Mr. Viner
© Thomas Parnell
The liquid Harmony, a tuneful Tide,
Now seem'd to rage, anon wou'd gently glide;
By Turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall,
Be loudly daring, or be softly small:
While all was blended in one common Name,
Wave push'd on Wave, and all compos'd a Stream.
Gentle Alice Brown
© William Schwenck Gilbert
It was a robber's daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN,
Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;
But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.
The Grave Of A Poetess
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I stood beside thy lowly grave;
Spring-odours breath'd around,
And music, in the river-wave,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
Lilith
© Henry Kendall
Father, whose years have been many and weary
Elder, whose life is as lovely as light
Shining in ways that are sterile and dreary
Tell me the name of this beautiful peri,
Flashing on me like the wonderful white
Star, at the meeting of morning and night.
The Parting Soul And Her Guardian Angel
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Soul
Oh! say must I leave this world of light
With its sparkling streams and sunshine bright,
Its budding flowers, its glorious sky?
Vain tis to ask meI cannot die!
The Head Of Bran The Blest
© George Meredith
When the Head of Bran
Was firm on British shoulders,
God made a man!
Cried all beholders.
Ballad
© Frances Anne Kemble
The Lord's son stood at the clear spring head,
The May on the other side,
His Other Chance
© Edgar Albert Guest
He was down and out, and his pluck was gone,
And he said to me in a gloomy way:
Felicity
© William Watson
Felicity indeed! Across the years
To me her tones come back, rebuking; me,
Spreader of toils to snare the wandering Joy
No guile may capture and no force surprise-
Only by them that never wooed her, won.
Mors Dei.
© Robert Crawford
Methought I saw God dying, and
The millions round His bed;
And all in every planet knew
They'd pass when He was dead.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VIII.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Kiss
I saw you take his kiss! 'Tis true.
O, modesty! 'Twas strictly kept:
He thought me asleep; at least, I knew
He thought I thought he thought I slept.
The Sylphs Of The Seasons
© Washington Allston
Long has it been my fate to hear
The slave of Mammon, with a sneer,
A Tale Of True Love
© Alfred Austin
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
Epitaph On Her Son H. P. At St. Syths Church Wher Her Body Also Lies Interred
© Katherine Philips
What on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
