Morning poems

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The gods of Asaheim, incensed with Loke,
A whirlwind yoked with thunder-footed steeds,
And, carried thus, boomed o'er the booming seas,
Far as the teeming wastes of Jotunheim,
To punish Loke for all his wily crimes.

Music:To A Boy Of Four Years Old, On Hearing Him Play The Harp

© Fitz-Greene Halleck

SWEET boy! before thy lips can learn
In speech thy wishes to make known,
Are "thoughts that breathe and words that burn"
Heard in thy music's tone.

To My Mother

© George Barker

She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all her faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning.

The Old Superb

© Sir Henry Newbolt

So Westward ho! for Trinidad, and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And "Ship ahoy!" a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way.

The Gardener LXXIX: I Often Wonder

© Rabindranath Tagore

I often wonder where lie hidden

the boundaries of recognition between

To The Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned

© John Keats

WHAT is there in the universal Earth

More lovely than a Wreath from the bay tree?

An Ultimatum To Myrtilla

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said--
And your tone was earnest, very--
You would never deck your head
With this vernal millinery.

Spring (Fragment 3)

© Boris Pasternak

Is it only dirt you notice?
Does the thaw not catch your glance?
As a dapple-grey fine stallion
Does it not through ditches dance?

On Tweed River

© Sir Walter Scott

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright,

Both current and ripple are dancing in light.

On a Spanish Cathedral

© Henry Kendall

DEEP under the spires of a hill, by the feet of the thunder-cloud trod,

I pause in a luminous, still, magnificent temple of God!

Winter Landscape

© John Berryman

The three men coming down the winter hill
In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds
At heel, through the arrangement of the trees,
Past the five figures at the burning straw,
Returning cold and silent to their town,

February

© Hilaire Belloc

The winter moon has such a quiet car

The Little Sister Of The Prophet

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Then the little brown mother smiled,
As one does on the words of a well-loved child,
And, "Son," she replied, "have the oxen been watered and fed ?
For work is to do, though the skies be never so red,
And already the first sweet hours of the day are spent."
And he sighed, and went.

Now With Creation's Morning Song

Now with creations morning song
Let us, as children of the day,
With wakened heart and purpose strong,
The works of darkness cast away.

The Cherry Tree by David Wagoner: American Life in Poetry #202 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2

© Ted Kooser

Its oldest branches now, the survivors carved
by knife blades, rain, and wind, are sending shoots
straight up, blood red, into the light again.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright Â©2008 by David Wagoner, whose most recent book of poetry is âGood Morning and Good Night,â? University of Illinois Press, 2005. Reprinted from âCrazyhorse,â? No. 73, Spring 2008, by permission of David Wagoner. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Hollyhocks

Old-fashioned flowers! I love them all:

The morning-glories on the wall,

If a Tree could Wander

Oh, if a tree could wander
and move with foot and wings!
It would not suffer the axe blows
and not the pain of saws!

The Vicksburg Jail

© Anonymous

O, when the poar pris'ner is put in the jaile,
he is put in a cell and his doors are all bar'd
With a great long chane he is bound to the floor,
And dam thear mean soles thay can do nothing more.