Life poems
/ page 590 of 844 /
At Old Railroad Stations
© Franz Werfel
At these tiny old railroad stations,
Which my own train long ago left behind,
I fear for the pressing crush of people
Departing, who pass on this stretch of track.
The Watchman
© Ada Cambridge
To mothers and to men;
To take him for our heaven-sent guide
On seas he never voyaged-wide
And wild beyond his ken.
Lines Written At Sea (I)
© Frances Anne Kemble
Dear, yet forbidden thoughts, that from my soul,
While shines the weary sun, with stern control
History of the Twentieth Century (A Roadshow)
© Joseph Brodsky
Ladies and gentlemen and the day!
All ye made of sweet human clay!
Let me tell you: you are o'kay.
Mystery Of Mysteries
© Mathilde Blind
Is this the End? This handful of brown earth
For all releasing elements to take
And free for ever from the bonds of birth?
Or will true life from Life's disguises break,
Called to that vast confederacy of minds
Which casts all flesh as chaff to all the winds?
Song Of The Redwood-Tree
© Walt Whitman
A prophecy and indirection-a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air;
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing-or hamadryads departing;
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky,
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.
Opposite To Meloncholly
© William Strode
Returne my joyes, and hither bring
A tongue not made to speake but sing,
A jolly spleene, an inward feast,
A causelesse laugh without a jest,
On The Life Of Man
© William Strode
What is our life? a play of passion;
Our mirth the musick of division:
Our mother's wombes the tyring houses bee
Where wee are drest for tyme's short comedy:
On The Death Of Sir Thomas Lea
© William Strode
You that affright with lamentable notes
The servants from their beef, whose hungry throats
Vex the grume porter's surly conscience:
That blesse the mint for coyning lesse than pence:
On The Death Of Sir Rowland Cotton Seconding That Of Sir Robert
© William Strode
More Cottons yet? O let not envious Fate
Attempt the Ruine of our growing State.
O had it spar'd Sir Rowland, then might wee
Have almost spar'd Sir Robert's Library.
The Things You Can't Forget
© Edgar Albert Guest
They ain't much, seen from day to day--
The big elm tree across the way,
Day And Night
© Edith Nesbit
NIGHT, ambushed in the darkling wood,
Waited to seize the sleeping field,
On The Death Of Ladie Caesar
© William Strode
Though Death to good men be the greatest boone,
I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone.
She should have livde for others: Poor mens want
Should make her stande, though she herselfe should faynt.
The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book III
© William Butler Yeats
Fled foam underneath us, and round us, a wandering and milky smoke,
High as the Saddle-girth, covering away from our glances the tide;
And those that fled, and that followed, from the foam-pale distance broke;
The immortal desire of Immortals we saw in their faces, and sighed.
On The Death Of A Twin
© William Strode
Where are yee now, Astrologers, that looke
For petty accidents in Heavens booke?
Two Twins, to whom one Influence gave breath,
Differ in more than Fortune, Life and Death.
Love Of Life
© Alfred Austin
Why love life more, the less of it be left,
And what is left be little but the lees,
On John Dawson, Butler Of C.C.
© William Strode
Dawson the Butler's dead: Although I think
Poets were ne'er infusde with single drinke
Ile spend a farthing muse; some watry verse
Will serve the turne to cast upon his hearse;
