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Morning poems

 / page 137 of 310 /

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The House Across the Way

© Ralph Hodgson

The leaves looked in at the window

Of the house across the way,

A Poem Beginning With A Line From Pindar

© Robert Duncan

But the eyes in Goya’s painting are soft,
diffuse with rapture absorb the flame.
Their bodies yield out of strength.
  Waves of visual pleasure
wrap them in a sorrow previous to their impatience.

Contemplation

© Francis Thompson

This morning saw I, fled the shower,
The earth reclining in a lull of power:
The heavens, pursuing not their path,
Lay stretched out naked after bath,
Or so it seemed; field, water, tree, were still,
Nor was there any purpose on the calm-browed hill.

The Boatswain’s Song

© Caroline Norton

A CHEER to keep our hearts up,
A cup to drown our tears,
And we'll talk of those who perished,
Our mates in former years.

9. The Ploughman’s Life

© Robert Burns

AS I was a-wand’ring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin’, thir words he did say,—
There’s nae life like the ploughman’s in the month o’ sweet May.

241. Written in Friars’ Carse Hermitage (Second Version)

© Robert Burns

THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.

18. The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm versified

© Robert Burns

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend
Of all the human race!
Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling place!

The Ballad of the White Horse

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night-
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

461. Song—Charlie, he’s my Darling

© Robert Burns

’TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier.

Howard At Atlanta

© John Greenleaf Whittier

RIGHT in the track where Sherman
Ploughed his red furrow,
Out of the narrow cabin,
Up from the cellar's burrow,

435. Song—Where are the Joys I have met

© Robert Burns

WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc’d to the lark’s early song?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand’ring,
At evening the wild-woods among?

Shyama -- English Translation

© Rabindranath Tagore

Yet after all these I cannot forget the pain
I couldn’t know her more!
One can hardly be nearest to what is beautiful
It ever remains far
When nearer it urges one ever
To know it ever more.

"Choose You This Day Whom Ye Will Serve"

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

YES, tyrants, you hate us, and fear while you hate
The self-ruling, chain-breaking, throne-shaking State!
The night-birds dread morning,--your instinct is true,--
The day-star of Freedom brings midnight for you!

263. Song—The Gardener wi’ his Paidle

© Robert Burns

WHEN rosy May comes in wi’ flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours,
The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle.

437. Song—Thine am I, my faithful Fair

© Robert Burns

THINE am I, my faithful Fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev’ry pulse along my veins,
Ev’ry roving fancy.

The Bards Who Lived at Manly

© Henry Lawson

The camp  of high-class spielers,

  Who sneered in summer dress,

Ecstasy

© Duncan Campbell Scott

The shore-lark soars to his topmost flight,
  Sings at the height where morning springs,
What though his voice be lost in the light,
  The light comes dropping from his wings.

Hans Carvel

© Matthew Prior

Hans Carvel, impotent and old,

Married a lass of London mould.

319. Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn

© Robert Burns

THE WIND blew hollow frae the hills,
By fits the sun’s departing beam
Look’d on the fading yellow woods,
That wav’d o’er Lugar’s winding stream:

3. Song—I dream’d I lay

© Robert Burns

I DREAM’D I lay where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam;
List’ning to the wild birds singing,
By a falling crystal stream:

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