Morning poems
/ page 232 of 310 /
Herbert
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AH! you tricksy little elf,
How you idolize yourself!
And believe the world was made
Like a gay-hued masquerade,
The Angels
© William Henry Drummond
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.
We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:
The Ideal
© Charles Harpur
Spirit of Dreams! When many a toilsome height
Shut paradise from exiled Adams sight,
The Passions. An Ode to Music
© William Taylor Collins
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the sound himself had made.
To Lady Jane
© Vachel Lindsay
Romance was always young.
You come today
Just eight years old
With marvellous dark hair.
Euclid
© Vachel Lindsay
OLD Euclid drew a circle
On a sand-beach long ago.
He bounded and enclosed it
With angles thus and so.
An Indian Summer Day on the Prarie
© Vachel Lindsay
THE sun is a huntress young,
The sun is a red, red joy,
The sun is an indian girl,
Of the tribe of the Illinois.
Death and Birth
© George MacDonald
Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks.
Mortar there? No need to mix?
That is well. And picks and hammers?
Verily these are no shammers!-
There, my friend, build up that niche,
That one with the painting rich!
An Exotic
© Henry Timrod
Not in a climate near the sun
Did the cloud with its trailing fringes float,
Whence, white as the down of an angel's plume,
Fell the snow of her brow and throat.
With Scindia to Delphi
© Rudyard Kipling
More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi,
an Indian Prince rode fifty miles after the day was lost
with a beggar-girl, who had loved him and followed him in all his camps,
on his saddle-bow. He lost the girl when almost within sight of safety.
The Wage-Slaves
© Rudyard Kipling
Oh, glorious are the guarded heights
Where guardian souls abide--
Self-exiled from our gross delights--
Above, beyond, outside:
The Undertaker's Horse
© Rudyard Kipling
The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course;
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.
To the True Romance
© Rudyard Kipling
Thy face is far from this our war,
Our call and counter-cry,
I shall not find Thee quick and kind,
Nor know Thee till I die,
The Truce of the Bear
© Rudyard Kipling
Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go
By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below.
Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in --
Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin.
Somewhere This
© Eli Siegel
Trees standing in rain;
Footfalls on the pavement, feet crushing leaves;
A little girl leaving her house;
The moon, barely to be seen, shining dully in the gray sky;
A Tale of Two Cities
© Rudyard Kipling
Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles
On his byles;
Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow
Come and go;
A St. Helena Lullaby
© Rudyard Kipling
"A Priest in Spite of Himself"
"How far is St. Helena from a little child at play!"
What makes you want to wander there with all the world
between.
Oh, Mother, call your son again or else he'll run away.
(No one thinks of winter when the grass is green!)
The Songs of the Lathes
© Rudyard Kipling
1918Being the Words of the Tune Hummed at Her Lathe by Mrs. L. Embsay, Widow
The fans and the beltings they roar round me.
The power is shaking the floor round me
Till the lathes pick up their duty and the midnight-shift takes over.
It is good for me to be here!
Autograph Verses
© Joseph Furphy
"Prove what Life can give of gladness;
Seek for aught that merits trust
