Life poems

/ page 351 of 844 /

Order by :

1
. . .
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
. . .
844

Hidden Love

© Sara Teasdale

I hid the love within my heart,
And lit the laughter in my eyes,
That when we meet he may not know
My love that never dies.

Ambition

© Edward Thomas

Unless it was that day I never knew

Ambition. After a night of frost, before

Ode To The Poppy

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Written by a deceased friend.

NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,

Song

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

WHO calls me bold because I won my love,

And did not pine,

Now I know when will come the last morning - when the Light no more scares away Night and Love - when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the flood of the world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the Night - truly he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest.

On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles - tabernacles of peace, there longs and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring - afloat above remains what is earthly, and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love, runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep.

In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo

© Alfred Austin

But if now I slept, I should sleep to wake
To the sleepless pang and the dreamless ache,
To the wild babe blossom within my heart,
To the darkening terror and swelling smart,
To the searching look and the words apart,
And the hint of the tell-tale cuckoo.

No End of No-Story

© George MacDonald

There is a river

whose waters run asleep

Living

© William Dean Howells

HOW passionately I will my life away
Which I would give all that I have to stay;
How wildly I hurry, for the change I crave.
To hurl myself into the changeless grave!

Bagpipe Music

© Louis MacNeice

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.

Not To Be

© Augusta Davies Webster

THE rose said "Let but this long rain be past,
And I shall feel my sweetness in the sun
And pour its fullness into life at last."
But when the rain was done,
But when dawn sparkled through unclouded air,
She was not there.

When We Are All Asleep

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

WHEN He returns, and finds the world so drear,

All sleeping, young and old, unfair and fair,

Ghazal 3

© Daagh Dehlvi

na maza hai dushmani main na hai lutf dosti main
koi gair gair hota koi yar yar hota

Echo.

Here, Echo, was thy reign of old,
Among these hills, a mystic crowd
Whose thunder rolled
When they speak loud

Love Sonnet XXVIII

My Poet, let the tempest rise once more,
Until from spirit out of spirit, wise
And free, we draw our own youth back again
My dimpled chin, your eyes; and learn the lore
Of everlasting life and all emprise
From the sweet child that comes to us through pain.

To------.

Have yet some pity, and forbear to strike
One without power to strive, or fly alike,
Nor trample on a heart, which now must be
Towards all defencelessmost of all towards thee.