Life poems

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Bob Polter

© William Schwenck Gilbert

BOB POLTER was a navvy, and
His hands were coarse, and dirty too,
His homely face was rough and tanned,
His time of life was thirty-two.

Fifteen by Leslie Monsour: American Life in Poetry #38 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

I'd guess that many women remember the risks and thrills of their first romantic encounters in much the same way California poet Leslie Monsour does in this poem.

The Mother's Prayer

© Edith Nesbit

This was my little son

Who leapt and laughed on my knee:

SATAN, that pride did hurry to thy fall,
Thou porter of the grim infernal hall -
Thou keeper of the courts of souls unshriven!
To shun thy shafts, to 'scape thy hellish thrall,
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!

The Epiphany

© John Keble

Star of the East, how sweet art Thou,
Seen in life's early morning sky,
Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow,
While yet we gaze with childish eye;

From A Lost Anthology

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

IN A STRANGE LAND.

By an unnamed river-anchorage have we raised a shrine to Apollo. If these strange winds cool the grass where he sleeps, we know not, nor if he will hear us. But round about grows the dark laurel, and here also the young oak fattens her acorns against the end of the wheat-harvest.

Sir Eldred Of The Bower : A Legendary Tale: In Two Parts

© Hannah More

There was a young and valiant Knight,
Sir Eldred was his name;
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.

H. C. M. H. S. J. K. W.

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

THE dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung,
The sad-voiced requiem sung;
On each white urn where memory dwells
The wreath of rustling immortelles
Our loving hands have hung,
And balmiest leaves have strown and tenderest blossoms flung.

In Heavenly Love Abiding

© Anna Laetitia Waring

In heavenly love abiding, no change my heart shall fear.
And safe in such confiding, for nothing changes here.
The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid,
But God is round about me, and can I be dismayed?

Jesus, We Look To Thee

© Charles Wesley

Jesus, we look to Thee,
Thy promised presence claim;
Thou in the midst of us shall be,
Assembled in Thy Name.

From The Woods

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

WHY should I, with a mournful, morbid spleen,
Lament that here, in this half-desert scene,
My lot is placed?
At least the poet-winds are bold and loud,--

Lamia. Part I

© John Keats

Upon a time, before the faery broods

Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,

A Womans Sonnets: VI

What have I lost? The faith I had that Right
Must surely prove itself than Ill more strong.
For see how little my poor prayers had might
To save me, at the trial's pinch, from wrong.

Epistle Of Condolence From A Slave-Lord To A Cotton-Lord

© Thomas Moore

Alas ! my dear friend, what a state of affairs !
How unjustly we both are despoil'd of our rights !
Not a pound of black flesh shall I leave to my heirs,
Nor must you any more work to death little whites.