Morning poems
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The Warden Of The Cinque Ports. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A mist was driving down the British Channel,
The day was just begun,
And through the window-panes, on floor and panel,
Streamed the red autumn sun.
The Rape Of Lucrece
© William Shakespeare
TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 01 - Proem
© Lucretius
O thou who first uplifted in such dark
So clear a torch aloft, who first shed light
Sunrise
© Sidney Lanier
I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide:
I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide
In your gospelling glooms, -- to be
As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.
Eve
© Francis Ernley Walrond
The gray of the morning
Creeps in the room like fear.
It is growing lighter,
But I sit crouched and shivering.
The Progress of Error
© William Cowper
Sing, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long
May find a muse to grace it with a song),
Once When We Bought Valentines
© Margaret Widdemer
Slow we tiptoed in the shop, scarlet-cheeked and shy,
Half-elate, half-afraid to be asked to buy,
Sidling toward the prettiest on their swaying strings,
Laughing at the ugliest, monstrous painted things.
(Still the little thrill of fear life was strange, you knew
What if someone sometime sent one of those to you?)
Italy : 38. Foreign Travel
© Samuel Rogers
It was in a splenetic humour that I sat me down to my
scanty fare at Terracina ; and how long I should have
contemplated the lean thrushes in array before me, I
cannot say, if a cloud of smoke, that drew the tears
Ode To The Poppy
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written by a deceased friend.
NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,
Hymns to the Night : 4
© Novalis
Now I know when will come the last morning - when the Light no more scares away Night and Love - when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the flood of the world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the Night - truly he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest.
On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles - tabernacles of peace, there longs and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring - afloat above remains what is earthly, and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love, runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep.
In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo
© Alfred Austin
But if now I slept, I should sleep to wake
To the sleepless pang and the dreamless ache,
To the wild babe blossom within my heart,
To the darkening terror and swelling smart,
To the searching look and the words apart,
And the hint of the tell-tale cuckoo.
At The Linn-Side
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
O LIVING, living water,
So busy and so bright,
Aye flashing in the morning beams,
And sounding through the night;
"A Brave Refrain"
© James Whitcomb Riley
When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot
Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot,
And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!
Ode To Liberty
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.--BYRON.
I.
A glorious people vibrated again
Rose Mary
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone
Lost the first, but the second won.
The Death Of Adam
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Cedars, that high upon the untrodden slopes
Of Lebanon stretch out their stubborn arms,
Through all the tempests of seven hundred years
Fast in their ancient place, where they look down
To a Sky-Lark
© William Wordsworth
Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,
As full of gladness and as free of heaven,
I, with my fate contented, will plod on,
And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done.
Svanhvit's Colloquy
© Per Daniel Amadeus Atterbom
What countless paths wind down, from divers points,
To yonder city gates!--Oh, wilt not thou,
My star, appear to me on one of them?
Whate'er I said,--thou art my worshiped sun.
Then pardon me;--thou art not cold; oh, no!
Too warm, too glowing warm, art thou for me.
Battle Of Brunanburgh
© Alfred Tennyson
Theirs was a greatness
Got from their Grandsires-
Theirs that so often in
Strife with their enemies
Struck for their hoards and their hearths and their homes.
