Morning poems

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Dreams

© David Herbert Lawrence

All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

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Zoheyr

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.

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Searching For Pittsburgh

© Jack Gilbert

The fox pushes softly, blindly through me at night,
between the liver and the stomach. Comes to the heart
and hesitates. Considers and then goes around it.
Trying to escape the mildness of our violent world.

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Recovering Amid The Farms

© Jack Gilbert

Every morning the sad girl brings her three sheep
and two lambs laggardly to the top of the valley,
past my stone hut and onto the mountain to graze.
She turned twelve last year and it was legal

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The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart

© Jack Gilbert

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according

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Tear It Down

© Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.

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Maud II

© Alfred Tennyson

O that 'twere possible
  After long grief and pain
  To find the arms of my true love
  Round me once again!

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Stern Truths Transfigured

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

THOSE mountain forms of giant girth
Are rooted deep in moveless earth;
But lo! their yearning heights withdrawn,
Are melting in soft seas of dawn.

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To Baynard Taylor

© Sidney Lanier

To range, deep-wrapt, along a heavenly height,
O'erseeing all that man but undersees;
To loiter down lone alleys of delight,
And hear the beating of the hearts of trees,
And think the thoughts that lilies speak in white
By greenwood pools and pleasant passages;

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The Dying Hour

© Caroline Norton

OH! watch me; watch me still
Thro' the long night's dreary hours,
Uphold by thy firm will
Worn Nature's sinking powers!
II.

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The Palm And The Pine

© Sidney Lanier

In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps: around it snows have thrown
A covering of white.

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Strange Jokes

© Sidney Lanier

Well: Death is a huge omnivorous Toad
Grim squatting on a twilight road.
He catcheth all that Circumstance
Hath tossed to him.
He curseth all who upward glance
As lost to him.

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Resurrection

© Sidney Lanier

Sometimes in morning sunlights by the river
Where in the early fall long grasses wave,
Light winds from over the moorland sink and shiver
And sigh as if just blown across a grave.

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Nilsson

© Sidney Lanier

A rose of perfect red, embossed
With silver sheens of crystal frost,
Yet warm, nor life nor fragrance lost.

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Napoleon

© George Meredith

Alive in marble, she conceived in soul,
With barren eyes and mouth, the mother's loss;
The bolt from her abandoned heaven sped;
The snowy army rolling knoll on knoll
Beyond horizon, under no blest Cross:
By the vulture dotted and engarlanded.

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Once More I Put My Bonnet On

© Joseph Howe

  A finer form, a fairer face
  Ne'er bent before the stole,
  With more restraint, no spotless lace
  Did firmer orbs control,
  I shine, the Beauty of the place,
  And yet I look all soul.

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Delos

© Richard Monckton Milnes

Though Syra's rock was passed at morn,
The wind so faintly arched the sail,
That ere to Delos we were borne,
The autumn day began to fail,
And only in Diana's smiles
We reached the bay between the isles.

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A Song For Labor

© Madison Julius Cawein

I.

  Oh, the morning meads, the dewy meads,

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Hymns Of The Marshes.

© Sidney Lanier

I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide:
I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide
In your gospelling glooms, -- to be
As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.

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Sonnet. To Generall Goring, After The Pacification At Berwi

© Richard Lovelace

  I.
  Now the peace is made at the foes rate,
Whilst men of armes to kettles their old helmes translate,
  And drinke in caskes of honourable plate.