Men poems

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The Friar's Prologue and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales

© Geoffrey Chaucer

{{Folio 73v}}¶The prologe of the ffreres tale This worthy lymytour / this noble frere He made alwey / a manere louryng cheere Vp on the Somnour / but for hone{s}tee No vileyns word / as yet to hym spak he But atte la{s}te / he seyde vn to the wyf ¶ Dame quod he god yeue yow right good lyf Ye han heer touched / al {s}o mote I thee In scole matere / greet difficultee Ye han seyd muche thyng/ right wel I seye But dame / here as we ryden by the weye Vs nedeth nat/ to speken / but of game And lete Auctoritees / on goddes name To prechyng/ and to scole of clergye But/ if it like / to this compaignye I wol yow / of a Somnour telle a game Pardee / ye may wel knowe by the name That of a Somn
our
/ may no good be {s}ayd I praye / that noon of yow / be ypayd A somnour / is a rennere vp and doun With mandementz / for fornicacioun And is ybet/ at euery townes ende ¶ Oure hoo{s}t tho spak / a sire ye sholde be hende{{Folio 74r}} And curteys / as a man of youre e{s}taat/ In compaignye / we wol no debaat/ Telleth youre tale / and lat the Somn
our

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth

© George Gordon Byron

I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!

II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers

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Hudibras: Part I

© Samuel Butler

THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST CANTO

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No Baby in the House

© Burtchaell Clara G.

No baby in the house, I know, -- 'Tis far too nice and clean;No toys by careless fingers strewn, Upon the floors are seen

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The Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne

© Gelett Burgess

WAKE! For the Hack can scatter into flightShakespere and Dante in a single Night! The Penny-a-liner is Abroad, and strikesOur Modern Literature with blithering Blight.

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Aurora Leigh

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Book I I am like,They tell me, my dear father

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Waggawocky

© Brooks Shirley

A parody on "Jabberwocky, the Chattertonian poem" in Mr. Lewis Carroll's fairy book "Alice through the Looking Glass."

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To my Beloved Vesta

© Brooks Shirley

Miss, I'm a Pensive Protoplasm,Born in some pre-historic chasm

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The Golden Rule

© Brooks Shirley

(Improved from Watts and Gladstone.)

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The Testament of Beauty

© Robert Seymour Bridges

from Book I, Introduction

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A Vision out West

© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

Far reaching down's a solid sea sunk everlastingly to rest,And yet whose billows seem to be for ever heaving toward the westThe tiny fieldmice make their nests, the summer insects buzz and humAmong the hollows and the crests of this wide ocean stricken dumb,Whose rollers move for ever on, though sullenly, with fettered wills,To break in voiceless wrath upon the crumbled bases of far hills,Where rugged outposts meet the shock, stand fast, and hurl them back again,An avalanche of earth and rock, in tumbled fragments on the plain;But, never heeding the rebuff, to right and left they kiss the feetOf hanging cliff and bouldered bluff till on the farther side they meet,And once again resume their march to where the afternoon sun dipsToward the west, and Heaven's arch salutes the Earth with ruddy lips

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How Polly Paid for her Keep

© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

Do I know Polly Brown? Do I know her? Why, damme!You might as well ask if I know my own name!It's a wonder you never heard tell of old Sammy,Her father, my mate in the Crackenback claim.

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London I

© Bell Julian Heward

The melancholy verse Sings to the waterfall; Wring writing harsh and worse, The jarring beauties fall.

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After Binyon

© Barwin Gary

I shall not grow oldas the part of me that's leftgrows oldrage shall not weary menor the damn years

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An Ode

© Richard Barnfield

As it fell upon a dayIn the merry month of May,Sitting in a pleasant shadeWhich a grove of myrtles made,Beasts did leap and birds did sing,Trees did grow and plants did spring;Every thing did banish moan,Save the nightingale alone

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A Thought on Death: November, 1814

© Anna Lætitia Barbauld

When life as opening buds is sweet,And golden hopes the fancy greet,And Youth prepares his joys to meet,--Alas! how hard it is to die!

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Spring

© Anonymous

Lenten ys come with love to toun{