Life poems
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The Angler's Ballad
© Charles Cotton
AWAY to the brook,
All your tackle out look,
Here's a day that is worth a year's wishing;
See that all things be right,
For 'tis a very spite
To want tools when a man goes a-fishing.
When Rody Came To Ironbark
© Alice Guerin Crist
When Rody came to Ironbark, 'twas fun to watch the girls,
Such sorting out of frills and frocks such pinning up of curls,
there were no 'bob's no 'shingles' then but ringlets floated down,
and the the curling tongs worked overtime, when Rody came to town.
As It Looks To The Boy
© Edgar Albert Guest
His comrades have enlisted, but his mother bids him stay,
His soul is sick with coward shame, his head hangs low to-day,
His eyes no longer sparkle, and his breast is void of pride
And I think that she has lost him though she's kept him at her side.
Oh, I'm sorry for the mother, but I'm sorrier for the lad
Who must look on life forever as a hopeless dream and sad.
Italy : 47. Monte Cassino
© Samuel Rogers
'What hangs behind that curtain?'--'Wouldst thou learn?
If thou art wise, thou wouldst not. 'Tis by some
Believed to be His master-work, who looked
Beyond the grave, and on the chapel-wall,
Jesse James
© Anonymous
Jesse James was a lad who killed many a man.
He robbed the Glendale train.
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,
Hed a hand and a heart and a brain.
Gathering Leaves in Grade School by Judith Harris: American Life in Poetry #183 Ted Kooser, U.S. Po
© Ted Kooser
Perhaps you made paper leaves when you were in grade school. I did. But are our memories as richly detailed as these by Washington, D.C. poet, Judith Harris?
Gathering Leaves in Grade School
Pharsalia - Book III: Massilia
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Phoenicians first (if story be believed)
Dared to record in characters; for yet
Papyrus was not fashioned, and the priests
Of Memphis, carving symbols upon walls
Of mystic sense (in shape of beast or fowl)
Preserved the secrets of their magic art.
Heroes
© Emma Lazarus
In rich Virginian woods,
The scarlet creeper reddens over graves,
Among the solemn trees enlooped with vines;
Heroic spirits haunt the solitudes,-
The noble souls of half a million braves,
Amid the murmurous pines.
The Deer-Stone
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And in a hollowed stone it shed
Its milk so warm and white,
And then, all timid, stood apart
To watch the babe's delight.
Come, come thou bleak December wind (fragment)
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life that wearies me.
Worship
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken,
And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan
Round fane and altar overthrown and broken,
O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone.
On Hearing Of The Intention Of A Gentleman To Purchase The Poet's Freedom
© George Moses Horton
When on life's ocean first I spread my sail,
I then implored a mild auspicious gale;
And from the slippery strand I took my flight,
And sought the peaceful haven of delight.
The Better Thing
© Edgar Albert Guest
It is better to die for the flag,
For its red and its white and its blue,
Clifton Chapel
© Sir Henry Newbolt
This is the Chapel: here, my son,
Your father thought the thoughts of youth,
White CanoeA Legend Of Niagara Falls
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
A CANTATA.
MINAHITA, Indian Maiden.
OREIKA, Her Friend.
TOLONGA, Minahitas Father.
DOLBREKA, Indian Chief.
The Grandmother
© Alfred Tennyson
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.
San Miniato
© Oscar Wilde
. SEE, I have climbed the mountain side
Up to this holy house of God,
Where once that Angel-Painter trod
Who saw the heavens opened wide,
Time's Garden
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow
In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be--
September
© John Payne
HOW is the world of Summer's splendours shorn!
The rose has had its day; from weald and wold
