Morning poems
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The Pinafore
© George MacDonald
When peevish flaws his soul have stirred
To fretful tears for crossed desires,
Obedient to his mother's word
My child to banishment retires.
Come down, O Maid
© Alfred Tennyson
COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang),
The Ring And The Book - Chapter IV - Tertium Quid
© Robert Browning
Is so far clear? You know Violante now,
Compute her capability of crime
By this authentic instance? Black hard cold
Crime like a stone you kick up with your foot
I the middle of a field?
New Country
© Mary Hannay Foott
Conde had come with us all the way -
Eight hundred miles - but the fortnight's rest
Made him fresh as a youngster, the sturdy bay!
And Lurline was looking her very best.
The Sailor-Boy
© John Clare
Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside
To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide.
I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew,
And the groundlark left his nest like a neighbour which I knew.
Abner And The Widow Jones
© Robert Bloomfield
Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:-
Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones,
I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough,
To go and court the Widow Jones.
The Dreams That Came True
© Jean Ingelow
I saw in a vision once, our mother-sphere
The world, her fixed foredooméd oval tracing,
Rolling and rolling on and resting never,
While like a phantom fell, behind her pacing
The unfurled flag of night, her shadow drear
Fled as she fled and hung to her forever.
At The Making Of Man
© Bliss William Carman
First all the host of Raphael
In liveries of gold,
Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm
The spinning spheres are rolled,
The Seraphs of the morning calm
Whose hearts are never cold.
At Twenty-One
© Madison Julius Cawein
The rosy hills of her high breasts,
Whereon, like misty morning, rests
The Grave-Tree
© Bliss William Carman
LET me have a scarlet maple
For the grave-tree at my head,
With the quiet sun behind it,
In the years when I am dead.
Before Actium.
© Robert Crawford
Life is up and takes the morning;
Why should love still lie abed?
Lo! the charms of slumber scorning,
Tramps the troop that must be led.
The Dwellings Of Our Dead.
© Arthur Henry Adams
THEY lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places,
In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces,
Where seldom human tread
And never human trace is
A Hymn For Christmas Morning
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IT is the Christmas time:
And up and down 'twixt heaven and earth,
In glorious grief and solemn mirth,
The shining angels climb.
A Letter
© John Greenleaf Whittier
'TIS over, Moses! All is lost!
I hear the bells a-ringing;
Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea host
I hear the Free-Wills singing.*
Elmer Brown
© James Whitcomb Riley
Awf'lest boy in this-here town
Er anywheres is Elmer Brown!
He'll mock you--yes, an' strangers, too,
An' make a face an' yell at you,--
"_Here's_ the way _you_ look!"
A Familiar Epistle To A Friend
© James Russell Lowell
Yes, this _is_ life! And so the bard
Through briny deserts, never scarred
Since Noah's keel, a subject seeks,
And lies upon the watch for weeks;
That once harpooned and helpless lying,
What follows is but weary trying.
Elegy III
© Henry James Pye
The dewy morn her saffron mantle spreads
High o'er the brow of yonder eastern hill;
