Mom poems

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The Art Of War. Book V.

© Henry James Pye

Pallas, whose hand can through each devious road
Conduct your steps to Victory's bright abode,
Teach you success in every hour to find,
And for each season form the Hero's mind,
Shall now in verse the prudent art disclose,
To guard your peaceful quarter's calm repose.

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May Asda (From The Danish Of Oehlenslaeger)

© George Borrow

May Asda is gone to the merry green wood;
Like flax was each tress on her temples that stood;
Her cheek like the rose-leaf that perfumes the air;
Her form, like the lily-stalk, graceful and fair:

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Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain

© William Wordsworth

I
A TRAVELLER on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
Pursued his vagrant way, with feet half bare;
Stooping his gait, but not as if to gain

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Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts III.-V.

© John Logan

What venerable father stands aghast
In yonder porch? Beneath the weight of years,
And crush of sorrow to the earth he bends.
He wrings his hands; casts a wild look to heaven,
And rends his hoary locks.  He comes this way.
Heavens, it is Albemarle!-

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Aunt Dorothy's Lecture

© Ada Cambridge

Come, go and practise-get your work-

 Do something, Nelly, pray.

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The Mortal Lease

© Edith Wharton

Because we have this knowledge in our veins,
Shall we deny the journey’s gathered lore—
The great refusals and the long disdains,
The stubborn questing for a phantom shore,
The sleepless hopes and memorable pains,
And all mortality’s immortal gains?

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Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)

© Alfred Tennyson

  To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
  Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
  Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
  Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
  Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
  And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

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Third Sunday After Easter

© John Keble

Well may I guess and feel

 Why Autumn should be sad;

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Paradise Lost : Book VII.

© John Milton


Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name

If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine

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Beauty And The Beast

© Charles Lamb


"My Lord, I swear upon my knees,
"I did not mean to harm your trees;
"But a lov'd Daughter, fair as spring,
"Intreated me a Rose to bring;
"O didst thou know, my lord, the Maid!"-

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Saint Romualdo

© Emma Lazarus

I give God thanks that I, a lean old man,

Wrinkled, infirm, and crippled with keen pains

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Modern Love

© George Meredith

I

By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:

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The Banks Of Wye - Book II

© Robert Bloomfield

Return, my Llewellyn, the glory
That heroes may gain o'er the sea,
  Though nations may feel
  Their invincible steel,
By falsehood is tarnish'd in story;
Why tarry, Llewellyn, from me?

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The Inevitable by Allan Peterson: American Life in Poetry #159 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2

© Ted Kooser

Bad news all too often arrives with a ringing telephone, all too early in the morning. But sometimes it comes with less emphasis, by regular mail. Here Allan Peterson of Florida gets at the feelings of receiving bad news by letter, not by directly stating how he feels but by suddenly noticing the world that surrounds the moment when that news arrives.

The Inevitable

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Mogg Megone - Part II.

© John Greenleaf Whittier

"O, tell me, father, can the dead
Walk on the earth, and look on us,
And lay upon the living's head
Their blessing or their curse?
For, O, last night she stood by me,
As I lay beneath the woodland tree!"

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When Mother Sleeps

© Edgar Albert Guest

When mother sleeps, a slamming door

  Disturbs her not at all;

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The Troubadour

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THE wind blows salt from off the sea
  And sweet from where the land lies green;
I travel down the great highway
  That runs so straight and white between--
I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet,
The land-wind toss the yellow wheat!

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The Island: Canto II.

© George Gordon Byron

I.

How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,

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The Muses Threnodie: Third Muse

© Henry Adamson

These be the first memorials of a bridge,
Good Monsier, that we truely can alledge.
Thus spoke good Gall, and I did much rejoyce
To hear him these antiquities disclose;
Which I remembering now, of force must cry—
Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?

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Red Carnations

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

One time in Arcadie's fair bowers
There met a bright immortal band,
To choose their emblems from the flowers
That made an Eden of that land.