Life poems
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Confiteor
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
The shore-boat lies in the morning light,
By the good ship ready for sailing;
To Mr. [S.T.] C[oleridge]
© Bliss William Carman
Midway the hill of science, after steep
And rugged paths that tire the unpractised feet,
The Intellectual
© Ishmael Reed
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
The man behind the book may not be man,
His own man or the book’s or yet the time’s,
But still be whole, deciding what he can
In praise of politics or German rimes;
Sonnet On The American War. "Triumph not, fools! and weep not, ye faint-hearted!"
© Frances Anne Kemble
Triumph not, fools! and weep not, ye faint-hearted!
Have ye believed that the supreme decree
The Bridge of Change
© John Logan
The bridge barely curved that connects the terrible with the tender.
—Rilke
Seventh Street
© Jean Toomer
Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,
Bootleggers in silken shirts,
Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs,
Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks.
The Evening Of The Year
© Mathilde Blind
The grief of many partings near
Wails like an echo in the wind:
The days of love lie far behind,
The days of loss lie shuddering near.
Life's morning-glory who shall bind?
It is the evening of the year.
Medea in Athens
© Augusta Davies Webster
Dimly I recall
some prophecy a god breathed by my mouth.
It could not err. What was it? For I think;-
it told his death¹.
Ask What I Shall Give Thee (I)
© John Newton
Come, my soul, thy suit prepare,
Jesus loves to answer prayer;
He Himself has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.
Our Sailor
© John Jay Chapman
OH yes, he came again! But 'twas not he.
A youth no longer ours, nay, taller, older;
Strange
© Edgar Albert Guest
He thought that he'd be happy if a fortune he could make,
If he were rich he thought that he'd be gay,
He often thought it would be nice an ocean trip to take
Whenever he desired to go away.
Portrait of a Figure near Water
© Jane Kenyon
Rebuked, she turned and ran
uphill to the barn. Anger, the inner
arsonist, held a match to her brain.
She observed her life: against her will
it survived the unwavering flame.
Madmen
© Billy Collins
They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.
The Cottager
© John Clare
True as the church clock hand the hour pursues
He plods about his toils and reads the news,
Jolly Good Ale and Old
© William Stevenson
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
Intimations Of The Beautiful
© Madison Julius Cawein
The hills are full of prophecies
And ancient voices of the dead;
Of hidden shapes that no man sees,
Pale, visionary presences,
That speak the things no tongue hath said,
No mind hath thought, no eye hath read.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 116
© Alfred Tennyson
Is it, then, regret for buried time
That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
And meets the year, and gives and takes
The colours of the crescent prime?
