Life poems
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Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only
© Walt Whitman
NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only;
Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself;
Riches I hold in light esteem
© Emily Jane Brontë
Riches I hold in light esteem
And Love I laugh to scorn
And lust of Fame was but a dream
That vanished with the morn
The Flower of Love
© Thomas Love Peacock
'Tis said the rose is Love's own flower,
Its blush so bright, its thorns so many;
Laurance - [Part 2]
© Jean Ingelow
Then looking hard upon her, came to him
The power to feel and to perceive. Her teeth
Chattered, and all her limbs with shuddering failed,
And in her threadbare shawl was wrapped a child
That looked on him with wondering, wistful eyes.
The Hollow
© Madison Julius Cawein
Fleet swallows soared and darted
'Neath empty vaults of blue;
Thick leaves close clung or parted
To let the sunlight through;
Each wild rose, honey-hearted,
Bowed full of living dew.
To Lady Beaumont
© William Wordsworth
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;
Cicely
© Francis Bret Harte
Cicely says you're a poet; maybe,--I ain't much on rhyme:
I reckon you'd give me a hundred, and beat me every time.
Poetry!--that's the way some chaps puts up an idee,
But I takes mine "straight without sugar," and that's what's the matter with me.
Dedication - The Poems Of Goeth
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
By new-born flow'rs that full of dew-drops hung;
The youthful day awoke with ecstacy,
And all things quicken'd were, to quicken me.
Ye Wearie Wayfarer [A Dedication to the author of Holmby House"
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Fytte I
By Wood and Wold
[A Preamble]
Untitled 8
© Owen Suffolk
Thou sinless and sweet one - thy voice is a strain
Which yields solace to sadness, and balm to my pain,
When First We Faced
© Philip Larkin
When first we faced, and touching showed
How well we knew the early moves,
Behind the moonlight and the frost,
The excitement and the gratitude,
There stood how much our meeting owed
To other meetings, other loves.
Hope
© Mathilde Blind
But tired of these he craved a wider scope:
Then fair as Pallas from the brain of Jove
From his deep wish there sprang, full-armed, to cope
With all life's ills, even very death in love,
The only thing man never wearies of-
His own creation-visionary Hope.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
ON THE NATURE OF LOVE
You ask my love. What shall my love then be ?
A hope, an aspiration, a desire?
The soul's eternal charter writ in fire
To The Sun
© Ingeborg Bachmann
More beatiful than the remarkable moon and her noble light,
More beautiful than the stars, the famous medals of the night,
More beautiful than the fiery entrance a comet makes,
And called to a part far more splendid than any other planet's
Because daily your life and my life depend on it, is the sun.
The Soldier's Christmas Eve
© Anonymous
In a southern forest gloomy and old,
So lately the scene of a terrible fight,
The Rape Of Lucrece
© William Shakespeare
TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
The Pimpernel
© Celia Thaxter
SHE walks beside the silent shore,
The tide is high, the breeze is still;
Italy : 22. Ginevra
© Samuel Rogers
If thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance
To Modena, where still religiously
Among her ancient trophies is preserved
Bologna's bucket (in its chain it hangs
