Life poems
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Passion Past
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WERE I a boy, with a boy's heart-beat
At glimpse of her passing adown the street,
Of a room where she had entered and gone,
Or a page her hand had written on,--
Book Seventh [Residence in London]
© William Wordsworth
Returned from that excursion, soon I bade
Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats
Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower,
And every comfort of that privileged ground,
Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among
The unfenced regions of society.
Sayings
© James Russell Lowell
In life's small things be resolute and great
To keep thy muscle trained: know'st thou when Fate
Thy measure takes, or when she'll say to thee,
'I find thee worthy; do this deed for me'?
To The White Julienne
© Mary Hannay Foott
AGAIN above thy fragile flowers
I bend, to bring their perfume nigh;
Lint by Gary Metras : American Life in Poetry #257 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Often when I dig some change out of my jeans pocket to pay somebody for something, the pennies and nickels are accompanied by a big gob of blue lint. So it’s no wonder that I was taken with this poem by a Massachusetts poet, Gary Metras, who isn’t embarrassed.
Lint
It doesn’t bother me to have
Indian Woman's Death-Song
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Non, je ne puis vivre avec un coeur brisé® Il faut que je retrouve la joie, et que je m'unisse aux esprits libres de l'air.
Bride of Messina,
Madame De Stael
Let not my child be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman.
The Prairie.
The Sermon in the Stocking
© Anonymous
The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And in the wood-fire's glow
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago,
Friars Song
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Some love the matin-chimes, which tell
The hour of prayer to sinner:
Ilicet
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
THERE is an end of joy and sorrow;
Peace all day long, all night, all morrow,
But never a time to laugh or weep.
The end is come of pleasant places,
The end of tender words and faces,
The end of all, the poppied sleep.
An Episode
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Along a narrow Moorish street
A blue-eyed soldier strode.
(Ah, well-a-day.)
Veiled from her lashes to her feet
She stepped from her abode,
(Ah, lack-a-day.)
The Poets
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
When this young Land has reached its wrinkled prime,
And we are gone and all our songs are done,
Sweet Danger
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The danger of war, with its havoc of life,
The danger of ocean, when storms are rife,
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Yarrow Unvisited
© William Wordsworth
FROM Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
"This dainty instrument, this tabletoy"
© Richard Monckton Milnes
This dainty instrument, this table--toy,
Might seem best fitted for the use and joy
Of some high Ladie in old gallant times,
Or gay--learned weaver of Provencal rhymes:
A Tree
© Kostas Karyotakis
With calm, indifferent brow
I'll greet the afternoons, the dawns.
A tree, I'll stand and gaze at both
the tempest and the azure sky.
On Mrs. Blandford
© Hannah More
Meek shade, farewell! go seek that quiet shore
Where sin shall vex, and sorrow wound no more;
