Life poems
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Wuthering Heights
© Sylvia Plath
The horizons ring me like faggots,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
I Have A Rendezvous With Life
© Countee Cullen
I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Old Adam, The Carrion Crow
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Old Adam, the carrion crow,
The old crow of Cairo;
Written Upon A Blank Leaf In "The Complete Angler."
© William Wordsworth
WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport,
Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign!
On Burning Some Old Letters
© James Russell Lowell
Rarest woods were coarse and rough,
Sweetest spice not sweet enough,
Too impure all earthly fire
For this sacred funeral-pyre;
These rich relics must suffice
For their own dear sacrifice.
Sonnet: Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,-behind, lurk Fear
Morning Peace.
© Arthur Henry Adams
THE sudden sunbeams slant between the trees
Like solid bars of silver. moonlight kissed,
And strike the supine shadows where they rest
Stretched sleeping; while a timid, new-born Breeze
Recollections Of A Faded Beauty
© Caroline Norton
There was a certain Irishman, indeed,
Who borrowed Cupid's darts to make me bleed.
My aunt said he was vulgar; he was poor,
And his boots creaked, and dirtied her smooth floor.
She hated him; and when he went away,
He wrote--I have the verses to this day:--
In Collins Street
© George Essex Evans
I stood in the heart of the city street,
I felt the throb of her pulses beat,
"Upon the mountain's distant head"
© William Cullen Bryant
Upon the mountain's distant head,
With trackless snows for ever white,
Where all is still, and cold, and dead,
Late shines the day's departing light.
Mons Angelorum
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Joshua O father of my soul, I cannot tell.
The burden of the Lord is heavy on me,
And I am broken beneath it.
Sleep Compared To The Sea.
© Robert Crawford
The tide comes in, a surge from the great sea,
And every little muddy creek and inlet
Now sweltering in the heat, will soon be filled
With the salt sweetness; even as sleep comes
The Stranger's Friend
© Henry Lawson
It is true to the region of adjectives when I say that the spree was grim,
For to go on the spree was a sacred rite, or a heathen rite, to him,
To shout for the travellers passing through to the land where the lost soul bakes
Till they all seemed devils of different breeds, and his pockets were filled with snakes.
Women Of The West
© George Essex Evans
They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,
The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,
The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:
For love they faced the wilderness -the Women of the West.
Fragment Of A Meditation
© Allen Tate
In the beginning the irresponsible Verb
Connived with chaos whence I've seen it start
Riddles in the head for the nervous heart
To count its beat on: all beginnings run
Like water the easiest way or like birds
Fly on their cool imponderable flood.
Economy, A Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets
© William Shenstone
Insanis; omnes gelidis quaecunqne lacernis
Sunt tibi, Nasones Virgiliosque vides. ~Mart.
Imitation.
--Thou know'st not what thou say'st;
In garments that scarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.
Here And There
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HERE the warm sunshine fills
Like wine of gods the deepening, cup-shaped dells,
Embossed with marvellous flowers; the happy rills
Roam through the autumnal fields whose rich increase
