Love poems
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Woman
© McLachlan Alexander
When my gloomy hour comes on me, And I shun the face of man,Finding bitterness in all things, As vex'd spirits only can:
We Lean on One Another
© McLachlan Alexander
Oh, come and listen while I sing A song of human nature;For, high or low, we're all akin To ev'ry human creature:We're all the children of the same, The great, the "mighty mother,"And from the cradle to the grave We lean on one another
Up and Be a Hero
© McLachlan Alexander
Up my friend, be bold and true,There is noble work to do,Hear the voice which calls on you, "Up, and be a hero!"
Ontario
© McLachlan Alexander
O far away from my forest home,In the land of the stranger I must roam;And sigh amid flowers and trailing vines,For mine own rude land of lakes and pines
The Death of the Ox
© McLachlan Alexander
And thou art gone, my poor dumb friend! thy troubles all are past;A faithful friend thou wert indeed, e'en to the very last!And thou wert the prop of my house, my children's pride and pet,--Who now will help to free me from this weary load of debt?
Here, single-handed, in the bush I battled on for years,My heart sometimes buoyed up with hope, sometimes bowed down with fears
Jottings of New York: A Descriptive Poem
© William Topaz McGonagall
Oh mighty City of New York! you are wonderful to behold,Your buildings are magnificent, the truth be it told,They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,Because many of them are thirteen storeys high
Reunion
© McGimpsey David
What is my news? Well, since graduating,I've raked it in and I've tossed it off,I've plucked the green peach and sodded the pitch
Precious
© McGimpsey David
Precious as the love between a manand either Betty or Veronica,sweet as spending the night in a vanwith a bottle of no-name Goldshläger
There Is No Death
© McCreery John Luckey
There is no death! The stars go down To rise upon some other shore,And bright in heaven's jeweled crown They shine for evermore.
In Flanders Fields
© John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.
Waste
© John Masefield
No rose but fades: no glory but must pass:No hue but dims: no precious silk but frets.Her beauty must go underneath the grass,Under the long roots of the violets.
[Let that which is to come be as it may...]
© John Masefield
Let that which is to come be as it may,Darkness, extinction, justice, life intenseThe flies are happy in the summer day,Flies will be happy many summers hence
The Blacksmith
© John Masefield
The blacksmith in his sparky forge,Beat on the white-hot softness there;Even as he beat he sang an airTo keep the sparks out of his gorge.
The Wind Our Enemy
© Marriott Anne
Windflattening its gaunt furious self againstthe naked siding, knifing in the woundsof time, pausing to tear aside the lastold scab of paint.
On Reading that I am ‘Elderly’
© Marriott Anne
As if the wordhas some dragging magicshe appearsthat woman who bentso carefully her black laced feetto fit the curveof the beachside walk(Victoria: a long moist springor was it autumn?)
