Life poems
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The Wind Of March
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling, I watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowing
It is the wind of March.
A Hymn
© James Thomson
These, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
A Phonecall from Frank O’Hara
© Anne Waldman
“That all these dyings may be life in death”
I was living in San Francisco
Irish Peasant Song
© Louise Imogen Guiney
I TRY to knead and spin, but my life is low the while,
Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile;
Yet if I walk alone, and think of naught at all,
Why from me thats young should the wild tears fall?
Within and Without: Part IV: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
SCENE I.-Summer. Julian's room. JULIAN is reading out of a book of
poems.
Duty
© Peter McArthur
IF "Yea" and "Nay" were words enough for Him,
Who taught beyond the lessons of all teaching,
Kara
© George Essex Evans
Chequered with sunshine and shadethe umbrage of white clouds in motion
Rearing their summits to Heaven, broken like waves on their strands,
Northward and southward and seaward the mountains arise from the ocean
Poised on a height above all, Kara, the beautiful, stands.
Evangeline: Part The First. V.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
FOUR times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.
Full Fathom
© Jorie Graham
& sea swell, hiss of incomprehensible flat: distance: blue long-fingered ocean and its
nothing else: nothing in the above visible except
A Time Past
© Denise Levertov
The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
Paradise Regain'd: Book I (1671)
© Patrick Kavanagh
I Who e're while the happy Garden sung,
By one mans disobedience lost, now sing
The Old Dream
© Augusta Davies Webster
NAY, tell me not. I will not know.
Because of her my life is bare,
On The Downs
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
A faint sea without wind or sun;
A sky like flameless vapour dun;
A valley like an unsealed grave
That no man cares to weep upon,
Bare, without boon to crave,
Or flower to save.
Half an Hour
© Jean Valentine
Hurt, hurtful, snake-charmed,
struck white together half an hour we tear
through the half-dark after
The Character Of The Bore
© John Donne
Well; I may now receive and die. My sin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
Love Is Enough: Songs I-IX
© William Morris
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
