Morning poems
/ page 41 of 310 /
One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue Part II
© Madison Julius Cawein
Here at last! And do you know
That again you've kept me waiting?
Wondering, anticipating,
If your "yes" meant "no."
Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur (excerpt)
© Alfred Tennyson
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter than the mist that all day long
Had held the field of battle was the King:
Come Home, Father!
© Henry Clay Work
'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The Hive At Gettysburg
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IN the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame,
So terrible alive,
Bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became
The wandering wild bees' hive;
Mediterranean Verses
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
The desert sand at day's swift flight
Drank of the dew--cold vivid night
Where Nile flows as he flowed
When first men reaped and sowed
Song. "The moment must come, when the hands that unite"
© Frances Anne Kemble
The moment must come, when the hands that unite
In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever;
Alfred. Book III.
© Henry James Pye
Fix'd on the arid spot, whose scanty bounds
On every side the deep morass surrounds,
The monarch, and his martial friend, with care,
'Gainst close surprise and bold attack prepare;
Exert each art their safety to ensure,
And every pass, with wary eye, secure.
Mostly Slavonic
© Henry Lawson
But they never dreamed, the brainless, boors that used to sneer and scoff,
That the dreamy lad beside themknown as Dutchy Mickyloff
Was a genius and a poet, and a Manno matter which
Was the Czar of all the Russias!Peter Michaelovich.
Saint Oluf (From The Old Danish)
© George Borrow
St. Oluf was a mighty king,
Who ruld the Northern land;
The holy Christian faith he preachd,
And taught it, sword in hand.
Sancho Sanchez
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Sancho Sanchez lay a--dying in the house of Mariquita,
For his life ebbed with the ebbing of the red wound in his side.
And he lay there as they left him when he came from the Corrida
In his gold embroidered jacket and his red cloak and his pride.
Some Songs After Master Singers
© James Whitcomb Riley
A little maid, of summers four--
Did you compute her years,--
And yet how infinitely more
To me her age appears:
The Grain Tribute
© Bai Juyi
There came an officer knocking by night at my door
In a loud voice demanding grain-tribute.
The Reapers In Autumn
© James Thomson
Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky,
And unperceived, unfolds the spreading day;
Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand,
In fair array.
Dead Leaves
© Edward Booth Loughran
When these dead leaves were green, love,
November's skies were blue,
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
Letter From The Town Mouse To The Country Mouse
© Horace Smith
I.
Oh for a field, my friend; oh for a field!
"Each morning I pass on my way to work"
© Lesbia Harford
Each morning I pass on my way to work
A clock in a tower
And I look towards it with anxious eyes
To make sure of the hour.
