Life poems
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The First Part: Sonnet 12 - Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest,
© William Henry Drummond
Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest,
And your tumultuous broils a while appease;
The Song Of Life
© George Essex Evans
Sing thou of Toil,
Of toil that moulds to-day the larger morrow!
Move with stout heart on Lifes great battle-field
And wear the motto Progress on thy shield.
All that is best is won through toil and sorrow.
Sing thou of Toil!
Beowulf's Expedition To Heort
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thus then, much care-worn,
The son of Healfden
Sic Vita
© Henry David Thoreau
A nosegay which Time clutched from out
Those fair Elysian fields,
With weeds and broken stems, in haste,
Doth make the rabble rout
That waste
The day he yields.
To A New-Born Baby Girl
© Grace Hazard Conkling
And did thy sapphire shallop slip
Its moorings suddenly, to dip
Rumors from an Aeolian Harp
© Henry David Thoreau
There love is warm, and youth is young,
And poetry is yet unsung.
For Virtue still adventures there,
And freely breathes her native air.
On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
© Henry David Thoreau
On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
The Broadstone
© Robinson Jeffers
NEAR FINVOY, COUNTY ANTRIM
We climbed by the old quarries to the wide highland of heath,
Prayer
© Henry David Thoreau
That my weak hand may equal my firm faith
And my life practice what my tongue saith
That my low conduct may not show
Nor my relenting lines
That I thy purpose did not know
Or overrated thy designs.
The Summer Rain
© Henry David Thoreau
Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?
Inspiration
© Henry David Thoreau
But if with bended neck I grope
Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith superior to hope,
More anxious to keep back than forward it;
Conscience
© Henry David Thoreau
Conscience is instinct bred in the house,
Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin
By an unnatural breeding in and in.
I say, Turn it out doors,
Composed In Autumn
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITH these dead leaves stripped from a withered tree,
And slowly fluttering round us, gentle friend,
Some faithless soul a sad presage might blend;
To me they bring a happier augury;
My life has been the poem
© Henry David Thoreau
My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.
To-morrow
© Ada Cambridge
The lighthouse shines across the sea;
The homing fieldfares sing for glee:
Written In March
© William Wordsworth
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
Resolution And Independence
© William Wordsworth
I There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
To Roosevelt {1}
© Rubén Dario
You are strong, proud model of your race;
you are cultured and able; you oppose Tolstoy.
You are an Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
breaking horses and murdering tigers.
(You are a Professor of Energy,
as current lunatics say).
Paradise Lost : Book V.
© John Milton
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
