Morning poems

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Honour's Martyr

© Emily Jane Brontë

The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens bright
With leaves of frozen dew.

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West Wind In Winter

© Alice Meynell

Another day awakes.  And who -
Changing the world-is this?
He comes at whiles, the Winter through,
West Wind!  I would not miss
His sudden tryst:  the long, the new
Surprises of his kiss.

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The Frogs

© Archibald Lampman

Often to me who heard you in your day,
With close wrapt ears, it could not choose but seem
That earth, our mother, searching in that way,
Men's hearts might know her spirit's inmost dream,
Ever at rest beneath life's change and stir,
Made you her soul, and bade you pipe for her.

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Archy's Song from Charles I (A Widow Bird Sate Mourning)

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Heigho! the lark and the owl!
 One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,
 Sings like the fool through darkness and light.

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The Child Of The Islands - Summer

© Caroline Norton

I.
FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,

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The Ballad of Reading Gaol

© Oscar Wilde

He walked amongst the Trial Men
 In a suit of shabby gray;
A cricket cap was on his head,
 And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
 So wistfully at the day.

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The Kalevala - Rune XX

© Elias Lönnrot

THE BREWING OF BEER.


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Summer near the River

© John Betjeman

I am as monogamous as the North Star,
But I don’t want you to know it. You’d only take advantage. 
While you are as fickle as spring sunlight.
All right, sleep! The cat means more to you than I. 
I can rouse you, but then you swagger out.
I glimpse you from the window, striding toward the river.

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The "William P. Frye"

© Jeanne Robert Foster

I saw her first abreast the Boston Light
  At anchor; she had just come in, turned head,
  And sent her hawsers creaking, clattering down.
  I was so near to where the hawse-pipes fed

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Peacock Display by David Wagoner: American Life in Poetry #11 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20

© Ted Kooser

Here David Wagoner, a distinguished poet living in Washington state, vividly describes a peacock courtship, and though it's a poem about birds, haven't you seen the males of other species, including ours, look every bit as puffed up, and observed the females' hilarious indifference? Peacock Display

He approaches her, trailing his whole fortune,
Perfectly cocksure, and suddenly spreads
The huge fan of his tail for her amazement.

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The Knight Of Toggenburg

© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller

.   "I Can love thee well, believe me,

  As a sister true;

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First turn to me. . . .

© Bernadette Mayer

First turn to me after a shower,

you come inside me sideways as always

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Above The Gaspereau

© Bliss William Carman

How still through the sweet summer sun, through the soft summer rain,
They have stood there awaiting the summons should bid them attain
The freedom of knowledge, the last touch of truth to explain
The great golden gist of their brooding, the marvellous train
Of thought they have followed so far, been so strong to sustain,—
The white gospel of sun and the long revelations of rain!

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My Garden

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

If I could put my woods in song
And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

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On An Icicle That Clung To The Grass Of A Grave

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
Oh! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes,
Waft repose to some bosom as faithful as fair,
In which the warm current of love never freezes,

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Delia XXXVI

© Samuel Daniel

But love whilst that thou mayst be loved again,


Now whilst thy May hath filled thy lap with flowers,

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Morning And Night

© Madison Julius Cawein


  ... Fresh from bathing in orient fountains,
  In wells of rock water and snow,
  Comes the Dawn with her pearl-brimming fingers
  O'er the thyme and the pines of yon mountain;
  Where she steps young blossoms fresh blow....

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Fog

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Magically awakened to a strange, brown night
The streets lie cold. A hush of heavy gloom
Dulls the noise of the wheels to a murmur dead:
Near and sudden the passing figures loom;

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The Shepherds Calendar - January- Winters Day

© John Clare

Withering and keen the winter comes
While comfort flyes to close shut rooms
And sees the snow in feathers pass
Winnowing by the window glass