Morning poems
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Winter - The Fourth Pastoral, or Daphne
© Alexander Pope
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring,
Venetian Morning
© Rainer Maria Rilke
Windows pampered like princes always see
what on occasion deigns to trouble us:
the city that, time and again, where a shimmer
of sky strikes a feeling of floodtide,
The Old Fools
© Philip Larkin
What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Why Did I Dream Of You Last Night?
© Philip Larkin
Why did I dream of you last night?
Now morning is pushing back hair with grey light
Memories strike home, like slaps in the face;
Raised on elbow, I stare at the pale fog
beyond the window.
The Windigo
© William Henry Drummond
Cyprien is los' hees w'issle, Cyprien is los' hees
chain
Injun Johnnie he mus' fin' it, even if de win'
is high
Truth in advertising
© Yahia Lababidi
morning epiphany
applicable to love and life
in haiku-like purity:
Crying For Bread
© Henry Clay Work
"On! driver, on! they have all gone before us,
And I will not be late at the ball," Beauty said;
And wintry winds echoed her answer in chorus
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!
An Old-Year Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
The Book Of Joyous Children
© James Whitcomb Riley
Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
Edged with trellised buds and flowers
Dear Reader
© William Taylor Collins
Baudelaire considers you his brother,
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs
as if to make sure you have not closed the book,
and now I am summoning you up again,
attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing
in the doorway of these words.
Andromeda Unfettered
© Muriel Stuart
Nay, what do you seek?
If of men we be chained,
Our chains be of gold,
If the fetters we break
What conquest is gained?
Shall a hill-top out-spread a pavilion more safe than our palace hold?
"Veruca Salt..."
© Roald Dahl
"Veruca Salt, the little brute,
Has just gone down the garbage chute,
(And as we very rightly thought
That in a case like this we ought
To The Querulous Poets
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THROW by the trappings of your tinsel rhyme!
Hush the crude voice, whose neverending wail
Blights the sweet song of thrush, or nightingale,--
Set to the treble of our querulous time;
The Rape of the Trap. A Ballad
© William Shenstone
'Twas in a land of learning,
The Muse's favourite city,
Such pranks of late
Were play'd by a rat,
As-tempt one to be witty.
Sirena
© Michael Drayton
NEAR to the silver Trent
SIRENA dwelleth;
She to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth;
Wordsworth's Grave
© William Watson
The old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here;
Beneath its shadow high-born Rotha flows;
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near,
And with cool murmur lulling his repose
There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left
© Kenneth Patchen
For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the
world. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I
cover her against any hurt.
The Orange Bears
© Kenneth Patchen
I remember you would put daisies
On the windowsill at night and in
The morning they'd be so covered with soot
You couldn't tell what they were anymore.
