Morning poems
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Esse Quam Videri
© John Hay
The knightly legend of thy shield betrays
The moral of thy life; a forecast wise,
The Oats
© Jeppe Aakjaer
Here I stand with tinkling bells galore,
Twenty on each straw, I think, or more.
But the farmer, bless his honest soul,
Calls me oats and speaks of twenty fold.
A Goodnight
© William Carlos Williams
Go to sleepthough of course you will not
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
The Princess (part 2)
© Alfred Tennyson
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
The Black Wallflower
© Frances Anne Kemble
Lo! with the dawn the black buds open'd slowly;
Within each cup a colour deep and holy,
As sacrificial blood, glow'd rich and red,
And through the velvet tissue mantling spread;
While in the midst of this dark crimson heat
A precious golden heart did throb and beat;
The Widow's Home
© Mary Darby Robinson
Close on the margin of a brawling brook
That bathes the low dell's bosom, stands a Cot;
O'ershadow'd by broad Alders. At its door
A rude seat, with an ozier canopy
The Trumpeter, an Old English Tale
© Mary Darby Robinson
It was in the days of a gay British King
(In the old fashion'd custom of merry-making)
The Palace of Woodstock with revels did ring,
While they sang and carous'd--one and all:
The Shepherd's Dog
© Mary Darby Robinson
I.A Shepherd's Dog there was; and he
Was faithful to his master's will,
For well he lov'd his company,
Along the plain or up the hill;
The Reply to Time
© Mary Darby Robinson
O TIME, forgive the mournful song
That on thy pinions stole along,
When the rude hand of pain severe
Chas'd down my cheek the burning tear;
The Lascar
© Mary Darby Robinson
I. "Another day, Ah! me, a day
"Of dreary Sorrow is begun!
"And still I loath the temper'd ray,
"And still I hate the sickly Sun!
The Hermit of Mont-Blanc
© Mary Darby Robinson
High, on the Solitude of Alpine Hills,
O'er-topping the grand imag'ry of Nature,
Where one eternal winter seem'd to reign;
An HERMIT'S threshold, carpetted with moss,
The Deserted Cottage
© Mary Darby Robinson
Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot,
Why is it thus forsaken?
It seems, by all the world forgot,
Above its path the high grass grows,
And through its thatch the northwind blows
--Its thatch, by tempests shaken.
Not Intrigued With Evening
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Night birds may think
daybreak a kind of darkness, because
that's all they know.
Where's My Billy Goat Gone To?
© Henry Clay Work
Take my home! Take my farm!
Yes, me too (if you want to);
But tell me! tell me!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Pretty little Billy, Billy - Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Interval of Joy
© Giorgos Seferis
"É cannot explain it," you said, "É cannot explain it,"
É find people impossible to understand
however much they may play with colors
they are all black.
Harvest-Home
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O'ER all the fragrant land this harvest day,
What bounteous sheaves are garnered, ear and blade!
Whether the heavens be golden-glad, or gray,--
And the swart laborers toil in sun or shade:--
The Gallant Peter Clarke
© Anonymous
On Walden's Range at morning time
The sun shone brightly down;
It shone across the winding Page
Near Murrurundi town.
