Life poems
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To John Keats, Poet, At Spring Time
© Countee Cullen
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats;
There never was a spring like this;
It is an echo, that repeats
My last year's song and next year's bliss.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
We vex each other with our presence, I
By my regrets and by my mocking face,
You by your laughter and mad gaiety,
The Mango-Tree
© Charles Kingsley
He wiled me through the furzy croft;
He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
Until I told him mine again.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 05 - part 05
© Torquato Tasso
LXV
But yet all ways the wily witch could find
Song.
© Arthur Henry Adams
TO a woman's wistful heart
In a startled wave of feeling,
Swift and sudden,
Sweeps love's flood in,
Soldiers Of Wei Bewail Separation From Their Families
© Confucius
List to the thunder and roll of the drum!
See how we spring and brandish the dart!
Some raise Ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home;
But we to the southward lonely depart.
Sonnets i
© William Shakespeare
SHALL I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Hermann And Dorothea - III. Thalia
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE BURGHERS.
THUS did the prudent son escape from the hot conversation,
Faute De Mieux
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN the corn is green and the poppies red
And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,
Sonnet VI "I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot"
© Henry Timrod
I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot
That pent my life within a city's bounds,
A Song Of "Twenty-Nine"
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE summer dawn is breaking
On Auburn's tangled bowers,
The Comrade
© Edith Wharton
And I have climbed with you by hidden ways
To meet the dews of morning, and have seen
The shy gods like retreating shadows fade,
Or on the thymy reaches have surprised
Old Chiron sleeping, and have waked him not . . .
With Esther
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE who has once been happy is for aye
Out of destruction's reach. His fortune then
On the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield, 1770
© Phillis Wheatley
Great Countess, we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;
New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn,
Their more than father will no more return.
Sonnet XVIII
© William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sonnet XVII
© William Shakespeare
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
Sketches In The Exhibition
© William Lisle Bowles
How clear a strife of light and shade is spread!
The face how touched with nature's loveliest red!
The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek!
The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek!
M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face,
But all is nature, dignity, and grace!
Sonnet XVI
© William Shakespeare
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
