Life poems
/ page 380 of 844 /
Easter-Day
© Alessandro Manzoni
Yes, HE IS RISEN. That hallowéd head
No longer lies wrapped in the cloth of the dead.
HE IS SURELY RISEN. At the side of the tomb
Lies the overturned door of the solitary room.
Like the valorous champion drunk after strife
The LORD has awaked to omnipotent life;
The Great Lover
© Rupert Brooke
O dear my loves, O faithless, once again
This one last gift I give: that after men
Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,
Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say "He loved".
To F. W. N. A Birthday Offering
© John Henry Newman
Dear Frank, this morn has usher'd in
The manhood of thy days;
A boy no more, thou must begin
To choose thy future ways;
To brace thy arm, and nerve thy heart,
For maintenance of a noble part.
Thorwaldsen
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Not in the fabled influence of some star,
Benign or evil, do our fortunes lie;
Heaven
© Rupert Brooke
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
The Bottom Drawer
© Anonymous
In the best chamber of the house,
Shut up in dim, uncertain light,
There stood an antique chest of drawers,
Of foreign wood, with brasses bright.
The Little Dog's Day
© Rupert Brooke
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began.
Whitechapel High Road
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Lusty life her river pours
Along a road of shining shores.
The moon of August beams
Mild as upon her harvest slopes; but here
A Thought of Henry Kendall
© Anonymous
Had I gone first he surely would have writ
Some kindly words in loving memory --
The Old Maid's Story
© Ada Cambridge
Ay, many and many a year's gone by,
Since the dawn of that day in spring,
Le Balcon (The Balcony)
© Charles Baudelaire
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses,
Ô toi, tous mes plaisirs! ô toi, tous mes devoirs!
Tu te rappelleras la beauté des caresses,
La douceur du foyer et le charme des soirs,
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses!
Art
© Herman Melville
In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
The Forester
© Robert Bloomfield
Born in a dark wood's lonely dell,
Where echoes roar'd, and tendrils curl'd
Chattanooga
© Herman Melville
(November, 1863)A kindling impulse seized the host
Inspired by heaven's elastic air;
Their hearts outran their General's plan,
Though Grant commanded there -
Gettysburg
© Herman Melville
O Pride of the days in prime of the months
Now trebled in great renown,
When before the ark of our holy cause
Fell Dagon down-
The Troubadour. Canto 2
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
