Morning poems
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The Deepest Dream
© Mark van Doren
And then we wake. Or do we? Sleep endures
More than the morning can, when shadows lie
Sharper than mountains, and the cleft is real
Between us and our kings. What sun assures
Our courage, and what evening by and by
Descends to rest us, and perhaps to heal?
Morning Worship
© Mark van Doren
I wake and hearing it raining.
Were I dead, what would I give
Lazily to lie here,
Like this, and live?
Ode to Borrowdale
© Amelia Opie
Hail , Derwent's beauteous pride!
Whose charms rough rocks in threatening grandeur guard,
Whose entrance seems to mortals barred,
But to the Genius of the storm thrown wide.
We Are The Choice Of The Will
© William Ernest Henley
We tracked the winds of the world to the steps of their very
thrones;
The secret parts of the world were salted with our bones;
The Man In The Dead Machine
© Donald Hall
High on a slope in New Guinea
The Grumman Hellcat
lodges among bright vines
as thick as arms. In 1943,
Name of Horses
© Donald Hall
All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.
An old life
© Donald Hall
Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
The Waggoner - Canto Fourth
© William Wordsworth
THUS they, with freaks of proud delight,
Beguile the remnant of the night;
And many a snatch of jovial song
Regales them as they wind along;
Arabian Nights
© Nimah Nawwab
When the call of the hudud,
Echoes through the palm fronds
Carrying in their mists,
Visions, memories:
An awful Tempest mashed the air
© Emily Dickinson
An awful Tempest mashed the air
The clouds were gaunt, and few
A Black as of a Spectre's Cloak
Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
Remembering Mountain Men
© William Stafford
I put my foot in cold water
and hold it there: early mornings
they had to wade through broken ice
to find the traps in the deep channel
Just Thinking
© William Stafford
Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.
Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing
© William Stafford
The light along the hills in the morning
comes down slowly, naming the trees
white, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate.
July 10
© David Lehman
The sky was a midnight blue
velvet cloth draping
a birdcage and no moon
but the breeze was whistling
Shake The Superflux!
© David Lehman
I like walking on streets as black and wet as this one
now, at two in the solemnly musical morning, when everyone else
in this town emptied of Lestrygonians and Lotus-eaters
is asleep or trying or worrying why
Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps]
© William Wordsworth
A passing word erewhile did lightly touch
On wanderings of my own, that now embraced
With livelier hope a region wider far.
Eleventh Hour
© David Lehman
The bloom was off the economic recovery.
"I just want to know one thing," she said.
What was that one thing? He'll never know,
Because at just that moment he heard the sound
Paradise Lost : Book XII.
© John Milton
As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
"I dare not leave the splendid town"
© Lesbia Harford
I dare not leave the splendid town
To go where morning meadows are,
For somewhere here the Future's hid
In factory, shop, or liquor bar.
April 21
© David Lehman
I'm a very average person,
and I think most people are.
I vote with the common man.
I have two kids, a boy and a girl.
