Men poems
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The Comparison
© John Donne
As the sweet sweat of roses in a still,As that which from chaf'd musk cat's pores doth trill,As the almighty balm of th' early east,Such are the sweat drops of my mistress' breast;And on her neck her skin such lustre sets,They seem no sweat drops, but pearl carcanets
La Mort de l'aigle
© Alfred de Vigny
Sur la neige des monts, couronne des hameaux,L'Espagnol a blessé l'aigle des Asturies,Dont le vol menaçait ses blanches bergeries;Hérissé, l'oiseau part et fait pleuvoir le sang,Monte aussi vite au ciel que l'éclair en descend,Regarde son Soleil, d'un bec ouvert l'aspire,Croit reprendre la vie au flamboyant empire;Dans un fluide d'or il nage puissamment,Et parmi les rayons se balance un moment:Mais l'homme l'a frappé d'une atteinte trop sûre;Il sent le plomb chasseur fondre dans sa blessure;Son aile se dépouille, et son royal manteauVole comme un duvet qu'arrache le couteau
Les Montreurs
© Leconte de Lisle
Tel qu'un morne animal, meurtri, plein de poussière,La chaîne au cou, hurlant au chaud soleil d'été,Promène qui voudra son cœur ensanglantéSur ton pavé cynique, ô plèbe carnassière!
Pour mettre un feu stérile en ton œil hébété,Pour mendier ton rire ou ta pitié grossière,Déchire qui voudra la robe de lumièreDe la pudeur divine et de la volupté
Le Corbeau et le renard
© Jean de La Fontaine
Maître corbeau, sur un arbre perché, Tenoit en son bec un fromage;Maître renard, par l'odeur alléché, Lui tint à peu près ce langage:"Hé bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau
Musophilus
© Samuel Daniel
Power above powers, O heavenly eloquence, That with the strong rein of commanding words Dost manage, guide, and master th' eminence Of men's affections more than all their swords: Shall we not offer to thy excellence The richest treasure that our wit affords? Thou that canst do much more with one poor pen Than all the powers of princes can effect, And draw, divert, dispose, and fashion menBetter than force or rigour can direct: Should we this ornament of glory then, As th' unmaterial fruits of shades, neglect?Or should we, careless, come behind the rest In power of words, that go before in worth? Whenas our accents, equal to the best, Is able greater wonders to bring forth; When all that ever hotter spirits express'd, Comes better'd by the patience of the north
Give my Regards to Broadway
© Cohan George M.
Did you ever see two Yankees part upon a foreign shoreWhen the good ship's just about to start for Old New York once more?With a tear-dimmed eye they say goodbye, they're friends without a doubt;When the man on the pier shouts, "Let them clear!", as the ship strikes out
The Assassination of Indira Gandhi
© Clarke George Elliott
In Kitchener, Hallowe'en frost chokes roses,The spruce gangrene, and haystacks flame in fieldsWhere Mennonites preach black, scorched-earth gospels
Yowr Yen Two Woll Sle me Sodenly
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Yowr yen two woll sle me sodenly.I may the beaute of them not susteneSo wondeth it thorow out my herte kene.
The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 58r}}¶Here bigynneth the prologe of the taleof the Wyf of BatheEXperience / thogh noon AuctoriteeWere in this world / is right ynogh for meTo speke of wo / that is in mariageffor lordynges / sith
þt
I twelf yeer was of ageThonked be god / that is eterne on lyueHou{s}bondes atte chirche dore / I haue had fyueIf I so ofte / myghte han wedded beAnd alle were worthy men / in hir degreeBut me was told certeyn / noght longe agon isThat sith
þt
The Summoner's Prologue and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 78v}}¶The Prologe of the Somnours taleThis Somnour in his Stiropes / hye he {s}toodVp on this frere / his herte was {s}o woodThat lyk an A{s}pen lief / he quook for Ire¶Lordynges quod he / but o thyng I de{s}ireI yow bi{s}eke / that of youre curtei{s}yeSyn ye had herd / this fal{s}e frere lyeAs suffreth me / I may my tale telleThis frere bo{s}teth / that he knoweth helleAnd god it woot/ that it is litel wonderffreres and feendes / been but lyte a {s}onder{{Folio 79r}}ffor pardee / ye han ofte tyme herd telleHow that a frere / rauy{ss}hed was to helleIn Spirit ones / by avi{s}iounAnd as an Aungel / ladde hym vp and downTo shewen hym / the peynes
þt
ther wereIn al the place / say he nat a frereOf oother folk / he say ynowe in woVn to this Aungel / spak the frere tho¶Now Sire quod he / han freres swich a
gra
The Shipman's Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 204r}}¶Here bigynneth the Shipmannes tale A Marchant whilom / dwelled at Seint Denys That riche was / for which men helde hym wys A wyf he hadde / of excellent beautee And compaignable / and reuelous was she Which is a thyng/ that cau{s}eth moore di{s}pence Than worth / is al the cheere and reuerence That men hem doon / at fe{s}tes and at daunces Swiche salutacions / and contenances Pa{ss}en / as dooth a shadwe vp on the wal But wo is hym / that payen moot for al The sely hou{s}bonde / algate he moot paye He moot vs clothe / and he moot vs arraye Al for his owene wor{s}hip / richely In which array / we dauncen iolily And if
þt
he noght may /
per
The Pardoner's Introduction, Prologue, and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 195r}}¶The myry talkyng/ of the hoo{s}t/ to the Phi{s}cienOure hoo{s}t gan to swere / as he were woodHarrow quod he / by nayles and by bloodThis was a fals cherl / and a fals Iu{s}ti{s}eAs shameful deeth / as herte may deuy{s}eCome to thi{s}e Iuges / and hir aduocatzAlgate this sely mayde / is slayn allasAllas / to deere boghte she beauteeWherfore I seye alday /
þt
men may {s}eThat yiftes of ffortune / and of natureBeen cau{s}e of deeth / to many a creatureOf bothe yiftes /
þt
The Miller's Prologue and Tale from the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 41r}}¶The prologe of the Milleres taleWHan that the knyght/ hadde thus his tale ytooldIn al the compaignie / nas ther yong ne ooldThat he ne seyde / it was a noble StorieAnd worthy / for to drawen to memorieAnd namely / the gentils euerichon¶Oure hoo{s}t lough / and swoor / {s}o moot I gonThis gooth aright/ vnbokeled is the maleLat se now / who shal telle another taleffor trewely / the game is wel bigonneNow telleth ye sire Monk / if
þt
ye konneSom what / to quite with the knyghtes tale¶The Millere / that for dronken was a paleSo that vnnethe / vp on his hors he satHe nolde aualen / neither hood ne hatNe abiden no man / for his curtei{s}yeBut in Pilates voys / he gan to cryeAnd swoor by armes / and by blood and bonesI kan a noble tale / for the nonesWith which / I wol now quite the knyghtes tale¶Oure hoo{s}t saugh /
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The General Prologue from the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales
© Geoffrey Chaucer
{{Folio 2r}}Here bygynneth the Book{/} of the tales of Can
ter
buryWhan that Aueryll
with
