Mom poems

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Sonnet XXXVI.

© Charlotte Turner Smith

SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,
Rest for a moment of the sultry hours,
And though his path through thorns and roughness lay,
Pluck the wild rose, or woodbine's gadding flowers,

Then they throng to my House, and my Maid they beseech,
To say, if her Mistress had quite lost her Speech.
Nell readily own'd, what they heard was too true;
That To--day I was dumb, give the Devil his Due:
And frankly confess'd, were it always the Case,
No Servant could e'er have a happier Place.

The Laughter of Women by Mary-Sherman Willis: American Life in Poetry #168 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Lau

© Ted Kooser

So often, reading a poem can in itself feel like a thing overheard. Here, Mary-Sherman Willis of Virginia describes the feeling of being stilled by conversation, in this case barely audible and nearly indecipherable. The Laughter of Women

From over the wall I could hear the laughter of women
in a foreign tongue, in the sun-rinsed air of the city.
They sat (so I thought) perfumed in their hats and their silks,

When you go Away

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

When you go away, my friend,
When you say your last good-bye,
Then the summer time will end,
And the winter will be nigh.

Tauler

© John Greenleaf Whittier

And as he walked he prayed. Even the same
Old prayer with which, for half a score of years,
Morning, and noon, and evening, lip and heart
Had groaned: "Have pity upon me, Lord!
Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind.
Send me a man who can direct my steps!"

Come Back to St Andrews

© Robert Fuller Murray

Come back to St. Andrews! Before you went away
You said you would be wretched where you could not see the Bay,
The East sands and the West sands and the castle in the sea
Come back to St. Andrews-St. Andrews and me.

The Bronze David Of Donatello

© Randall Jarrell

To so much strength, those overborne by it
Seemed girls, and death came to it like a girl,
Came to it, through the soft air, like a bird-
So that the boy is like a girl, is like a bird
Standing on something it has pecked to death.

Satiemus

© Ezra Pound

What if I know thy speeches word by word?

And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak?

On The Death Of His Mother

© James Thomson

Ye fabled Muses, I your aid disclaim,

Your airy raptures, and your fancied flame;

Hunger

© Gamaliel Bradford

I love to wander widely, but I understand a cell,
Where you tell and tell your beads because you've
nothing else to tell,
Where the crimson joy of flesh, with all its wild
fantastic tricks,
Is forgotten in the blinding glory of the crucifix.

Winged Rock

© Robinson Jeffers

The flesh of the house is heavy sea-orphaned stone, the imagination

of the house

American Boys, Hello!

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French

As along through France we go.

The Little Left Hand - Act III

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Interior of a Church--Davis, Bradshaw, and others.
Davis. The sword of the Lord and the sword of Gideon!
It was good To see the red--coats run before our multitude.
We broke them by sheer numbers--

Footfalls

The embers were blinking and clinking away,
The casement half open was thrown;
There was nothing but cloud on the skirts of the Day,
And I sat on the threshold alone!

In A Spring Garden

WHEN Heaven was stormy, Earth was cold,
And sunlight shunned the wold and wave,--
Thought burrowed in the churchyard mould,
And fed on dreams that haunt the grave:--

Merlin And Vivien

A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.