Life poems
/ page 159 of 844 /An EPITAPH On my dear and ever honoured Mother Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, who deceased Decemb. 27. 1643. a
© Anne Bradstreet
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
Independence
© Charles Churchill
Happy the bard (though few such bards we find)
Who, 'bove controlment, dares to speak his mind;
From The Venetian Of Buratti
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Pleasant were it, Nina mine!
Could our Hearts, by fairy powers,
Renovate their life divine,
Like the trees and herbs and flowers.
A Last Word
© Madison Julius Cawein
OH, for some cup of consummating might,
Filled with life's kind conclusion, lost in night!
A wine of darkness, that with death shall cure
This sickness called existence! Oh to find
Pytheas
© Henry Kendall
Gaul whose keel in far, dim ages ploughed wan widths of polar sea
Gray old sailor of Massilia, who hath woven wreath for thee?
To the Bramble Flower
© Ebenezer Elliott
Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
The Salt of the Earth
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
IF childhood were not in the world,
But only men and women grown;
No baby-locks in tendrils curled,
No baby-blossoms blown;
Sonnet XV: If That a Loyal Heart
© Samuel Daniel
If that a loyal heart and faith unfeign'd,
If a sweet languish with a chaste desire,
Seasons
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Oh the cheerful Budding-time!
When thorn-hedges turn to green,
A Reading Of Life--With The Huntress
© George Meredith
Through the water-eye of night,
Midway between eve and dawn,
The Dead
© Leon Gellert
These there were, who lost their everything.
Gave all! And left the earth a vaster sphere
Near Perigord
© Ezra Pound
I
You'd have men's hearts up from the dust
And tell their secrets, Messire Cino,
Rigkt enough? Then read between the lines of Uc St. Circ,
Solve me the riddle, for you know the tale.
The Departure Of St. Patrick From Scotland
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Twice to your son already has the hand of God been shewn,
Restoring him from alien bonds to be once more your own,
And now it is the self--same hand, dear kinsmen, that to--day
Shall take me for the third time from all I love away.
Tardy Spring
© George Meredith
Now the North wind ceases,
The warm South-west awakes;
Swift fly the fleeces,
Thick the blossom-flakes.
Western Camps
© Roderic Quinn
THREE men stood with their glasses lifted,
Night was around them and flaring lamps:
"Here's to the tried and true and sifted;
Here's to the flotsam tossed and drifted;