Mom poems
/ page 159 of 212 /
The Dance To Death. Act I
© Emma Lazarus
This play is dedicated, in profound veneration and respect, to the
memory of George Eliot, the illustrious writer, who did most among
the artists of our day towards elevating and ennobling the spirit
of Jewish nationality.
Thanksgiving
© Edgar Albert Guest
Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,
An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;
An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they
Are growin' more beautiful day after day;
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLVIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Suddenly then my strange companion cried,
``Bring me the body.'' In a moment more
She had thrown off her hat, her veil untied,
And motioning all the women to the door,
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
The Improvisatore
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore ; here he comes. Kate has a favour
to ask of you, Sir ; it is that you will repeat the ballad [Believe me if
all those endearing young charms.--EHC's ? note] that Mr. ____ sang so
sweetly.
Such Is The Sickness Of Many A Good Thing
© Robert Duncan
so taut it taunts the song,
it resists the touch. It grows dark
to draw down the lovers hand
from its lightness to whats
underground.
Italy : 43. The Bag Of Gold
© Samuel Rogers
I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * and, I
should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table,
and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming
countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see
To William Wordsworth
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Friend of the Wise ! and Teacher of the Good !
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
Beauty. Part II
© Henry James Pye
Of all that Nature's rural prospects yield,
The chrystal fountain and the flow'ry field,
Epitaph On Two Young Men Of The Name Of Leitch, Who Were Drowned In Crossing The River Southesk, 175
© James Beattie
O thou! whose steps in sacred reverence tread
These lone dominions of the silent dead;
The Nightingale
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
Two Visions
© Alfred Austin
The curtains of the Night were folded
Over suspended sense;
So that the things I saw were moulded
I know not how nor whence.
Sonnet: XLVI
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Even in the moment of our earliest kiss,
When sighed the straitened bud into the flower,
The Captivity
© Oliver Goldsmith
FIRST PROPHET.
AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.
How Rumplestilz Held Out In Vain For A Bonus
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral is: All said and done,
There's nothing new beneath the sun,
And many times before, a title
Was incapacity's requital!
Inspiration
© Henry David Thoreau
But if with bended neck I grope
Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith superior to hope,
More anxious to keep back than forward it;
To Roosevelt {1}
© Rubén Dario
You are strong, proud model of your race;
you are cultured and able; you oppose Tolstoy.
You are an Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
breaking horses and murdering tigers.
(You are a Professor of Energy,
as current lunatics say).
The Mysterious Visitor
© Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
On A Recently Finished Statue
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Said Sculptor to immaculate marble-'Show
Thine essence; into necessary space
To William Wordsworth. Composed On The Night After His Recitation Of A Poem On The Growth Of An Indi
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Friend of the Wise! and Teacher of the Good!
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
