Life poems

/ page 565 of 844 /

Order by :

1
. . .
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
. . .
844

Isolation

© Edward Booth Loughran

Man lives alone; star-like, each soul
In its own orbit circles ever;
Myriads may by or round it roll -
The ways may meet, but mingle never.

Song #8.

© Robert Crawford

I wonder if, when done with
Is all earth's pain and care,
When we at length are one with
The Dead, and with them bear

To the Moon [Late Version]

© Charles Harpur

With musing mind I watch thee steal

Above those envious clouds that hid

The Eve Of Saint Mark. A Fragment

© John Keats

At length her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom;
Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine
At Venice,--

Sage Franklin next arose with cheerful mien,
And smiled unruffled o'er the solemn scene;
His locks of age a various wreath embraced,
Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal graced;
Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne,
And the tame thunder from the tempest torn.

The Linnet

© Walter de la Mare

Upon this leafy bush

With thorns and roses in it,

Nemesis

© Henry Lawson

It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,
When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,
When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark
That the blackest lies are written, told, and printed after dark.
Tis the time of late editions. It is night when, as of old,
Foulest things are done for hatred, for ambition, love and gold.

Life

© Peter McArthur

DEAR God, I thank Thee for this resting place,

This fleshly temple where my soul may dwell,

Grey Hours: Naples

© Arthur Symons

There are some hours when I seem so indifferent; all things fade

To an indifferent greyness, like that grey of the sky;

Neighbors in October by David Baker: American Life in Poetry #5 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-

© Ted Kooser

Though many of us were taught that poems have hidden meanings that must be discovered and pried out like the meat from walnuts, a poem is not a puzzle, but an experience. Here David Baker makes a gift to us through his deft description of an ordinary scene. Reading, we accept the experience of a poem and make it a part of our lives, just as we would take in the look of a mountain we passed on a trip. The poet's use of the words "we" and "neighbors" subtly underline the fact that all of us are members of the human community, much alike, facing the changing seasons together.

O Moon

© Mathilde Blind

O moon, large golden summer moon,
Hanging between the linden trees,
Which in the intermittent breeze
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!

Le Vampire (The Vampire)

© Charles Baudelaire

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;
Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau
De démons, vins, folle et parée,

The Four Wishes

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Father! a youthful hero said, bending his lofty brow
On the world wide I must go forththen bless me, bless me, now!
And, ere I shall return oh say, what goal must I have won
What is the aim, the prize, that most thou wishest for thy son?

Shakuntala Act VII (Final Act)

© Kalidasa

ACT VII
King Dushyant with Matali in the chariot of Indra (king of gods in heaven and also god of thunder), supposed to be above the clouds.
King Dushyant: I am sensible, O Matali, that, for having executed the commission which Indra gave me, I deserved not such a profusion of honours.

The Song

© Jones Very

When I would sing of crooked streams and fields,

On, on from me they stretch too far and wide,

The Ancient Blessing

'Neath a hazel's green, gathered in a ring

Sat the men of age, who had known life's sting.

New Water by Sharon Chmielarz: American Life in Poetry #99 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

My maternal grandparents got their drinking water from a well in the yard, and my disabled uncle carried it sloshing to the house, one bucket of hard red water early every morning. I couldn't resist sharing this lovely little poem by Minnesota poet, Sharon Chmielarz.