Morning poems
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The Renewal
© Robert Laurence Binyon
No more of sorrow, the world's old distress,
Nor war of thronging spirits numberless,
Immortal ardours in brief days confined,
No more the languid fever of mankind
The Roman: A Dramatic Poem
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
SCENE I.
A Plain in Italy-an ancient Battle-field. Time, Evening.
Persons.-Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the Unity of Italy, the Overthrow of Austrian Domination, and the Restoration of a great Roman Republic.--A number of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. 'The Monk' is musing.
Enter Dancers.
The Zenana
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.
Song From The Persian
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
AH, sad are they who know not love,
But, far from passion's tears and smiles,
The Story Of A Soul.
© James Brunton Stephens
WHO can say "Thus far, no farther," to the tide of his own nature?
Who can mould the spirit's fashion to the counsel of his will?
Mute Discourse.
© James Brunton Stephens
GOD speaks by silence. Voice-dividing man,
Who cannot triumph but he saith, Aha
If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley
© Franklin Pierce Adams
When you came you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread-
Smooth and pleasant,
I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
Otho The Great - Act II
© John Keats
SCENE I. An Ante-chamber in the Castle.
Enter LUDOLPH and SIGIFRED.
Gratefully And Affectionately Inscribed To Joel Chandler Harris
© James Whitcomb Riley
_You who to the rounded prime_
_Of a life of toil and stress_,
Sonnet. "Nay, let the Past be past, nor strive in vain"
© Frances Anne Kemble
Nay, let the Past be past, nor strive in vain,
From the dim backward vista of our years
A Reed Shaken In The Wind
© Madison Julius Cawein
To say to hope,--Take all from me,
And grant me naught:
The rose, the song, the melody,
The word, the thought:
Then all my life bid me be slave,--
Is all I crave.
A Childs Treasures
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Thou art home at last, my darling one,
Flushed and tired with thy play,
Italy : 9. The Alps
© Samuel Rogers
Who first beholds those everlasting clouds,
Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon and night,
Still where they were, steadfast, immovable;
Those mighty hills, so shadowy, so sublime,
The Christmas Spirit
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT'S HO for the holly and laughter and kisses,
It "s ho for the mistletoe bough in the hall!
Winter Cares
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, the fire consumes a lot of kindling wood,
When we warm up the house or cook a boiling pot.
Just think what kind of food we'd have to eat each day,
If there were no wood to burn and no helpful fire.
We'd have naught but sodden, sour swill to eat, like swine.
Rondeau
© Henry Austin Dobson
In after days when grasses high
O'er-top the stone where I shall lie,
Though ill or well the world adjust
My slender claim to honour'd dust,
I shall not question nor reply.
Miranda's Song
© Louisa Stuart Costello
Ye elves! when spangled starlight gleams,
That flit beneath the ray,
Aurora Leigh: Book Fifth
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
"A flower, a flower," exclaimed
My German student,-his own eyes full-blown
Bent on her. He was twenty, certainly.
Fair Rosamond
© Marriott Edgar
You've heard of King Henry II
And the story of how he got fond
Of one of his customer's daughters,
A lass called the " Fair Rosamond."
London's Summer Morning
© Mary Darby Robinson
Who has not waked to list the busy sounds
Of summer's morning, in the sultry smoke
