Mom poems
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The Bloom of Life, fading in a happy Death.
© Mather Byles
I.
Great GOD, how frail a Thing is Man!
How swift his Minutes pass!
His Age contracts within a Span;
He blooms and dies like Grass.
Hellas: A Lyrical Drama
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The curtain of the Universe
Is rent and shattered,
The splendour-wingèd worlds disperse
Like wild doves scattered.
Out From Behind His Mask
© Walt Whitman
As on the road, or at some crevice door, by chance, or open'd window,
Pausing, inclining, baring my head, You specially I greet,
To draw and clench your Soul, for once, inseparably with mine,
Then travel, travel on.
Lars
© Celia Thaxter
"Tell us a story of these Isles," they said,
The daughters of the West, whose eyes had seen
For the first time the circling sea, instead
Of the blown prairie's waves of grassy green:
Book Tenth {Residence in France continued]
© William Wordsworth
IT was a beautiful and silent day
That overspread the countenance of earth,
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - September
© George MacDonald
1.
WE are a shadow and a shining, we!
Darkness
© George Gordon Byron
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Of Some Renown by Jean L. Connor: American Life in Poetry #22 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20
© Ted Kooser
In this short poem by Vermont writer Jean L. Connor, an older speaker challenges the perception that people her age have lost their vitality and purpose. Connor compares the life of such a person to an egret fishing. Though the bird stands completely still, it has learned how to live in the world, how to sustain itself, and is capable of quick action when the moment is right.
Reynard The Fox - Part 2
© John Masefield
Down in the village men awoke,
The chimneys breathed with a faint blue smoke;
The fox slept on, though tweaks and twitches,
Due to his dreams, ran down his flitches.
Lines On The Death Of Sir William Russel
© William Cowper
Doomed, as I am, in solitude to waste
The present moments, and regret the past,
Song XVIII. - Imitated from the French
© William Shenstone
Yes, these are the scenes where with Iris I stray'd,
But short was her sway for so lovely a maid!
In the bloom of her youth to a cloister she run,
In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove,
So fatal to beauty, so killing to love!
The Parting.
© Adelaide Crapsey
Was it love breathed on us as on the skies
Dawn breathes for a short space and then is fled;
Parisina
© George Gordon Byron
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
Es ist alles eitel
© Andreas Gryphius
Du siehst, wohin du siehst, nur Eitelkeit auf Erden.
Was dieser heute baut, reißt jener morgen ein;
Wo jetzund Städte stehn, wird eine Wiese sein,
Auf der ein Schäferskind wird spielen mit den Herden;
October
© John Jay Chapman
A day all zenith; the enclosing air,
Like to the lens of a vast telescope,
Shows the enameled globe, which now doth wear
Its gayest motley; every jutting slope
And quiet spire appears both far and near,
Seen through the splendor of the atmosphere.
