Morning poems
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The Progress Of Marriage
© Jonathan Swift
So have I seen within a pen,
Young ducklings fostered by a hen;
But when let out, they run and muddle,
As instinct leads them, in a puddle;
The sober hen, not born to swim,
With mournful note clucks round the brim.
The Ardennes Forest
© Zbigniew Herbert
Cup your hands to scoop up sleep
as you would draw a grain of water
The Sensitive Plant
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
PART 1.
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
Prologue For A Modern Painter
© Arthur Symons
Hear the hymn of the body of man:
This is how the world began;
In these tangles of mighty flesh
The stuff of the earth is moulded afresh.
Mary in Bethlehem: A Nativity
© Arthur Symons
JOSEPH
The night is blue, with stars of gold;
The middle watch of night is past;
See now, it will be morning soon!
Yet there is time enough for sleep.
[He shuts the door, and stands near the manger. ]
After The Funeral (In Memory Of Ann Jones)
© Dylan Thomas
After the funeral, mule praises, brays,
Windshake of sailshaped ears, muffle-toed tap
Whatever Is--Is Best
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I know as my life grows older,
And mine eyes have clearer sight,
White Nassau
© Bliss William Carman
She's ringed with surf and coral, she's crowned with sun and palm;
She has the old-world leisure, the regal tropic calm;
The trade winds fan her forehead; in everlasting June
She reigns from deep verandas above her blue lagoon.
Song of the Guitar.
© Bai Juyi
In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was banished and demoted to be assistant official in Jiujiang. In the summer of the next year I was seeing a friend leave Penpu and heard in the midnight from a neighbouring boat a guitar played in the manner of the capital. Upon inquiry, I found that the player had formerly been a dancing-girl there and in her maturity had been married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to have her play for us. She told me her story, heyday and then unhappiness. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after I left her, I began to realize my banishment. And I wrote this long poem - six hundred and twelve characters.
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River,
The Fate of the Explorers (A Fragment)
© Henry Kendall
Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke:
And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke.
Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell,
Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well.
As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught,
Who may know the mournful secret who can tell us what he thought?
The Ruin And Its Flowers
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Breathe, fragrance! breathe, enrich the air,
Tho' wasted on its wing unknown!
Blow, flow'rets! blow, tho' vainly fair,
Neglected and alone!
The Morning Song of the Jungle
© Rudyard Kipling
One moment past our bodies cast
No shadow on the plain;
Harvests
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Other harvests there are than those that lie
Glowing and ripe neath an autumn sky,
Awaiting the sickle keen,
Harvests more precious than golden grain,
Waving oer hillside, valley or plain,
Than fruits mid their leafy screen.
Morningmeans
© Emily Dickinson
"Morning"means "Milking"to the Farmer
Dawnto the Teneriffe
Diceto the Maid
Morning means just Riskto the Lover
Just revelationto the Beloved
Hounds In London
© William Henry Ogilvie
If they find you a fox in Mayfair, will you show them
a right pack running,
With scorn of a Hyde Park holloa or a hat held up
in the Strand ?
'Vulgarised'
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
All round they murmur, 'O profane,
Keep thy heart's secret hid as gold';
But I, by God, would sooner be
Some knight in shattering wars of old,
Aurora Leigh: Book Fourth
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She, at that,
Looked blindly in his face, as when one looks
Through driving autumn-rains to find the sky.
He went on speaking.
