Morning poems

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House-Surgeon

© William Ernest Henley

Exceeding tall, but built so well his height

Half-disappears in flow of chest and limb;

Now I was hangin' round Nashville writin' songs and playin' 'em for all of the stars
Watchin' 'em laugh and hand 'em back livin' on hope and Hershey bars
So I pawned my guitar and bought a ticket home and I's headin' for the Trailway bus
When I seen an old fountain pen laying in the gutter so I stopped and picked it up

Siste Viator

© Augusta Davies Webster

WHAT is it that is dead?
Somewhere there is a grave, and something lies
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,
Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,
Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;
Something that was has hushed, and will not be.

For Whittiers Seventieth Birthday

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,
Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;
You remember the story,--those mornings in bed,--
'T was the turn of a copper,--a tale or a head.

Bitter Strawberries

© Sylvia Plath

All morning in the strawberry field
They talked about the Russians.
Squatted down between the rows
We listened.
We heard the head woman say,
'Bomb them off the map.'

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

© William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

The Golden Legend: V. A Covered Bridge At Lucerne

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

_Prince Henry_ The grim musician
Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,
To different sounds in different measures moving;
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,
To tempt or terrify.

Shall I See My Boy Again

© Anonymous

Must I die so soon? ah, far away

By blue Ohio's shore,

John

© Edgar Bowers

Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measure

That living in the future gives a farm-

The Grand Question Debated: Whether Hamiltons Bawn Should Be Turned Into A Barrack Or Malt-House

© Jonathan Swift

Thus spoke to my lady the knight full of care,
"Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
This Hamilton's bawn, while it sticks in my hand
I lose by the house what I get by the land;

A Hidden Life

© George MacDonald

Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door,
Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare.
Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house.
Why seems it always that it should be ours?
A secret lies behind which Thou dost know,
And I can partly guess.

The New Recruit

© Katharine Tynan

The lads were once my comrades,
They stay at home content.
And now's the time of cricket,
They count the days well spent.

The Captains Well

© John Greenleaf Whittier

From pain and peril, by land and main,

The shipwrecked sailor came back again;

First Sunday After Epiphany

© John Keble

Lessons sweet of spring returning,

Welcome to the thoughtful heart!

The Rose Upon My Balcony

The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming,
Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring;
You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming,
It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing.

Paradise Regain'd : Book I.

© John Milton

I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,

Sea-Piece

SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud-rolling Ocean,
And Fancy surveys thee with solemn delight;
When thy mountainous billows are wild in commotion,
And the tempest is rous'd by the spirits of night!

The Four Seasons : Summer

From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,

Another Spring Carol

Now Winter hath drifted
To bygone years,
And the sod is uplifted
By crocus spears;
And out of the hive the bee wings humming,
And we know that the Spring, the Spring, is coming.