Mom poems
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On The Death of Leopold: King of The Belgians
© Charles Kingsley
A King is dead! Another master mind
Is summoned from the world-wide council hall.
Ah, for some seer, to say what links behind-
To read the mystic writing on the wall!
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book I - Astra Darsana (The Tournament)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
The scene of the Epic is the ancient kingdom of the Kurus which
flourished along the upper course of the Ganges; and the historical
fact on which the Epic is based is a great war which took place
between the Kurus and a neighbouring tribe, the Panchalas, in the
thirteenth or fourteenth century before Christ.
Paradise Regain'd : Book IV.
© John Milton
Perplexed and troubled at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric
The Hour And The Ghost
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I have thee close, my dear,
No terror can come near;
Only far off the northern light shines clear.
The Wood Carver's Wife
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
JEAN MARCHANT, the wood-carver.
DORETTE, his wife.
LOUIS DE LOTBINIERE.
SHAGONAS, an Indian lad.
A Clock Striking Midnight
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Hark to the echo of Times footsteps; gone
Thise moments are into the unseen grave
Fuite En Sologne
© Victor Marie Hugo
Ami, viens me rejoindre.
Les bois sont innocents.
Il est bon de voir poindre
L'aube des paysans.
Fainting by the Way
© Henry Kendall
Swarthy wastelands, wide and woodless, glittering miles and miles away,
Where the south wind seldom wanders and the winters will not stay;
The Fan : A Poem. Book II.
© John Gay
But see, fair Venus comes in all her state;
The wanton Loves and Graces round her wait;
With her loose robe officious Zephyrs play,
And strow with odoriferous flowers the way.
In her right hand she waves the fluttering fan,
And thus in melting sounds her speech began.
November 1813
© William Wordsworth
Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe,
Insensible. He sits deprived of sight,
The Temple of Fame
© Alexander Pope
In that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
The Australian Bell-Bird
© Jean Ingelow
And 'Oyez, Oyez' following after me
On my great errand to the sundown went.
Lost, lost, and lost, whenas the cross road flee
Up tumbled hills, on each for eyes attent
A carriage creepeth.
Thefts of the Morning
© Edith Matilda Thomas
BIND us the Morning, mother of the stars
And of the winds that usher in the day!
Ere her light fingers slide the eastern bars,
A netted snare before her footsteps lay;
Ere the pale roses of the mist be strown,
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
The Pine Forest Of The Cascine Near Pisa
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
Nova
© Robinson Jeffers
That Nova was a moderate star like our good sun; it stored no
doubt a little more than it spent
A day 8 Years Ago (At bachar ager Ekadin)
© Jibanananda Das
It was heard
They took him to the morgue.
Last night in the February dark
When the crescent moon, five days toward full, had set
He'd had the urge to die.
Fireflies
© Rabindranath Tagore
My fancies are fireflies,
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
