Morning poems
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I learnedat leastwhat Home could be
© Emily Dickinson
I learnedat leastwhat Home could be
How ignorant I had been
Of pretty ways of Covenant
How awkward at the Hymn
Bouche-Mignonne
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
BOUCHE-MIGNONNE lived in the mill,
Past the vineyards shady,
Where the sun shone on a rill
Jewelled like a lady.
A Walk In The Shrubbery
© Charlotte Turner Smith
To the Cistus or Rock Rose, a beautiful plant, whose flowers
expand, and fall off twice in twenty-four hours.
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
The Two Friends
© Charles Godfrey Leland
I HAVE two friendstwo glorious friendstwo better could not be,
And every night when midnight tolls they meet to laugh with me.
Two Sonnets. To Haydon, With A Sonnet Written On Seeing The Elgin Marbles
© John Keats
I.
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak
The Guest House
© John Le Gay Brereton
What imps are these that come with scowl and leer?
Black motes upon the mornings amber beam,
Hyperion. Book II
© John Keats
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
Growing Attachment
© John Kenyon
With the freshness and placid sensations of morning,
As yet all unconscious of hope or of plan,
Ad Finem
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
On the white throat of useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath
Times Defence
© Alfred Austin
``Why am I deemed an enemy of men
Who would beyond Life's limit life prolong?
Sonnet Composed On A March Morning In The Woods
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE winds are loud and trumpet-clear to-day;
They seem to sound in onset, half in ire,
Half in the wildness of a vague desire
To force spring's fairy vanguard to delay;
Italy : 49. The Feluca
© Samuel Rogers
Day glimmered; and beyond the precipice
(Which my mule followed as in love with fear,
Or as in scorn, yet more and more inclining
To tempt the danger where it menaced most)
Hope Deferred
© Robert Fuller Murray
When the weary night is fled,
And the morning sky is red,
Then my heart doth rise and say,
`Surely she will come to-day.'
Ars Longa, Vita Brevis
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I STARTED on a lonely road.
A few companions with me went.
Some fell behind, some forward strode,
But all on one high purpose bent:
Brave Alum Bey
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Oh, big was the bosom of brave ALUM BEY,
And also the region that under it lay,
In safety and peril remarkably cool,
And he dwelt on the banks of the river Stamboul.
Love's Seasons
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine
And the summer days are in their bloom,
Then my love is deepest, oh, dearest heart of mine,
When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine.
The Song Of Songs
© Madison Julius Cawein
I HEARD a Spirit singing as, beyond the morning winging,
Its radiant form went swinging like a star:
In its song prophetic voices mixed their sounds with trumpet-noises,
As when, loud, the World rejoices after war.
On The Death Of The Bishop Of Ely. Anno Aet. 17. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
My lids with grief were tumid yet,
And still my sullied cheek was wet
