Life poems
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Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
© 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.
In The Round Tower At Jhansi
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming howling wretches below
Gained and gained and gained.
The Century Of Garibaldi
© George Meredith
That aim, albeit they were of minds diverse,
Conjoined them, not to strive without surcease;
For them could be no babblement of peace
While lay their country under Slavery's curse.
Power Of Music
© William Wordsworth
AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;--
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.
The Vain Question
© Ada Cambridge
Why should we court the storms that rave and rend,
Safe at our household hearth?
Why, starved and naked, without home or friend,
Unknowing whence we came or where we wend,
Follow from no beginning to no end
An uncrowned martyr's path?
A Vision of Poesy - Part 01
© Henry Timrod
In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame -
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.
The Canoe
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
My masters twain made me a bed
Of pine-boughs resinous, and cedar;
The Culprit Fay
© Joseph Rodman Drake
His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.
The Rose Of Flora
© William Makepeace Thackeray
On Brady's tower there grows a flower,
It is the loveliest flower that blows,
At Castle Brady there lives a lady,
(And how I love her no one knows);
Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora
Presents her with this blooming rose.
Sonnet 111: O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide
© William Shakespeare
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
White Pansies
© Archibald Lampman
Day and night pass over, rounding,
Star and cloud and sun,
Things of drift and shadow, empty
Of my dearest one.
The Ballad of St. Barbara
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
When the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,
We stood and drank of the last free air we never could taste again;
They had led us back from a lost battle, to halt we knew not where,
And stilled us; and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair.
The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless lands,
And a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands:
Sonnet 100: Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
© William Shakespeare
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
© 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.
The Poem.
© Robert Crawford
These bones have life, and this heart knows
The poem that this hand has writ
The wind of God within it blows,
The light of God, too, shines in it.
When You Wake In Your Crib
© William Ernest Henley
When you wake in your crib,
You, an inch of experience -
Affliction (I)
© George Herbert
When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
I thought the service brave;
So many joyes I writ down for my part,
Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of naturall delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.
A Miller, His Son, And Their Ass
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
THO' to Antiquity the Praise we yield
Of pleasing Arts; and Fable's earli'st Field
Own to be fruitful Greece; yet not so clean
Those Ears were reap'd, but still there's some to glean;
And from the Lands of vast Invention come
Daily new Authors, with Discov'ries home.
