Morning poems
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Moeurs Contemporaines
© Ezra Pound
And by her left foot, in a basket,
Is an infant, aged about 14 months,
The infant beams at the parent,
The parent re-beams at its offspring.
The basket is lined with satin,
There is a satin-like bow on the harp.
How Is It?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
You who are loudly crying out for peace,
You who are wanting love to vanquish hate.
How is it in the four walls of your home
The while you wait?
" by Alfred Austin">The Reply Of Q. Horatius Flaccus To A Roman "Round-Robin"
© Alfred Austin
Good friends, you urge my Odes grow trite,
And that of worthless station,
Of fleeting youth and joy, I write
With endless iteration.
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - June
© George MacDonald
1.
FROM thine, as then, the healing virtue goes
The Slaves Of Martinique
© John Greenleaf Whittier
BEAMS of noon, like burning lances, through the tree-tops flash and glisten,
As she stands before her lover, with raised face to look and listen.
Dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancient Jewish song:
Scarcely has the toil of task-fields done her graceful beauty wrong.
November
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITHIN the deep-blue eyes of Heaven a haze
Of saddened passion dims their tender light,
For that her fair queen-child, the Summer bright,
Lies a wan corse amidst her mouldering bays:
The Huskers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IT was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain
Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again;
The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay
With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow flowers of May.
Artegal And Elidure
© William Wordsworth
WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
Sonnet CXXXII
© William Shakespeare
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
The Ghost - Book II
© Charles Churchill
A sacred standard rule we find,
By poets held time out of mind,
The Shepherd's Calendar - September
© John Clare
Harvest awakes the morning still
And toils rude groups the valleys fill
The Epic Of The Lion
© Victor Marie Hugo
A Lion in his jaws caught up a child--
Not harming it--and to the woodland, wild
Ave Maria
© Alfred Austin
In the ages of Faith, before the day
When men were too proud to weep or pray,
Dance Of The Sunbeams
© Bliss William Carman
WHEN morning is high o'er the hilltops
On river and stream and lake,
Wherever a young breeze whispers,
The sun-clad dancers wake.
The Garden
© Sara Teasdale
MY heart is a garden tired with autumn,
Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;
A Grammarian's Funeral Shortly After The Revival Of Learning
© Robert Browning
Let us begin and carry up this corpse,
Singing together.
Friendship Broken
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Mine was the mood that shows the dearest face
Thro' a long avenue, and voices kind
Idle, and indeterminate, and blind
July
© Lionel Pigot Johnson
SUMMER lightning, and rich rain:
Roses perfume the hot air.
All the breathless night is faint,
All the flowery night is fair.
Philomel her joy or plaint
Sings, and sings, and sings again.
The Kind Word
© Ada Cambridge
Speak kindly, wife; the little ones will grow
Fairest and straightest in the warmest sun.
The Monk in the Garden
© Adelaide Crapsey
He comes from Mass early in the morning
The sky's the very blue Madonna wears;
The air's alive with gold! Mark you the way
The birds sing and the dusted shimmer of dew
On leaf and fruit?..Per Bacco, what a day!
