Morning poems
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Sonnet 102: Wher Be Those Roses Gone
© Sir Philip Sidney
Where be those roses gone, which sweeten'd so our eyes?
Where those red cheeks, which oft with fair increase did frame
The height of honor in the kindly badge of shame?
Who hath the crimson weeds stol'n from my morning skies?
Plymouth Rock Joe
© Edgar Lee Masters
Why are you running so fast hither and thither
Chasing midges or butterflies?
Some of you are standing solemnly scratching for grubs;
Some of you are waiting for corn to be scattered.
Edith Conant
© Edgar Lee Masters
We stand about this place -- we, the memories;
And shade our eyes because we dread to read:
"June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days."
And all things are changed.
Julia Miller
© Edgar Lee Masters
We quarreled that morning,
For he was sixty-five, and I was thirty,
And I was nervous and heavy with the child
Whose birth I dreaded.
Butch Weldy
© Edgar Lee Masters
After I got religion and steadied down
They gave me a job in the canning works,
And every morning I had to fill
The tank in the yard with gasoline,
The Widow Of Crescentius : Part I.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Midst Tivoli's luxuriant glades,
Bright-foaming falls, and olive shades,
Winds Of The Morning
© Edgar Albert Guest
WINDS of the morning, whisper low,
Lingered you in the valley where
Sleeps my love of the Long Ago,
Under the pale green grasses there?
The Mower
© Philip Larkin
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
When Love Is Lost
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
When love is lost, the day sets towards the night,
Albeit the morning sun may still be bright,
And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky.
Yet from the places where it used to lie
Gone is the lustrous glory of the light.
Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
LAST high star of the years whose thunder
Still mens listening remembrance hears,
Last light left of our fathers years,
Watched with honour and hailed with wonder
Thee too then have the years borne under,
Thou too then hast regained thy peers.
Turning Fifty
© Judith Wright
Having known war and peace
and loss and finding,
I drink my coffee and wait
for the sun to rise,
A Nightmare
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is
taboo'd by anxiety,
The Falcon
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Who would not be Sir Hubert, for his birth and bearing fine,
His rich sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine;
The French Mariner
© Robert Bloomfield
An Old _French Mariner_ am I,
Whom Time hath render'd poor and gray;
Hear, conquering _Britons_, ere I die,
What anguish prompts me thus to say.
Today My Daughter and I
© Sukasah Syahdan
today my daughter and I
walked the morning sun
the first time again
To Jeoffry His Cat
© Christopher Smart
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily
The Marriage Of Tirzah And Ahirad
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne
Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song:
From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan,
'How long, O Lord, how long?'
The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see,
Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'
Reminiscence
© Sukasah Syahdan
I am reminiscing you; and the little boy who often stole some change from the left pocket of your pants that would hang behind the door in the front room; his pride in bringing home for Mom, his three brothers and as many sisters, a plastic bagful of bananas or oranges from the money hed stolen; the one afternoon you once asked him about the vanishing money; how he could bring home oleh-oleh for the family; the childish lies and made-up stories; and the relief he felt when you did not pursue the truth hidden in his pinkish heart
