Morning poems
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This Morning in a Morning Voice by Todd Boss : American Life in Poetry #221 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet La
© Ted Kooser
Sometimes, it's merely the sound of a child's voice in a nearby room that makes a parent feel immensely lucky. To celebrate Father's Day, here's a joyful poem of fatherhood by Todd Boss, who lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.
This Morning in a Morning Voice
to beat the froggiest
The Dilemma
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Now, by the blessed Paphian queen,
Who heaves the breast of sweet sixteen;
Bearing The Light
© Denise Levertov
Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appearrs, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds - the indivisible shared out in endless abundance
Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
And thus I first beheld her, standing calm
In the swayed crowd upon her husband's arm,
One opera night, the centre of all eyes,
So proud she seemed, so fair, so sweet, so wise.
Some one behind me whispered ``Lady L.!
His Lordship too! and thereby hangs a tale.''
O true and tried
© Alfred Tennyson
Tho I since then have numberd oer
Some thrice three years: they went and came,
Remade the blood and changed the frame,
And yet is love not less, but more;
By The Fireside : Tegner's Death (Tegner's Drapa)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard a voice, that cried,
"Balder the Beautiful
Is dead, is dead!"
And through the misty air
Passed like the mournful cry
Of sunward sailing cranes.
Let's Voyage Into The New American House
© Richard Brautigan
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
Winter Journey Over The Hartz Mountain
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
LIKE the vulture
Who on heavy morning clouds
With gentle wing reposing
Looks for his prey,-
Hover, my song!
Gentle Alice Brown
© William Schwenck Gilbert
It was a robber's daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN,
Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;
But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.
Lilith
© Henry Kendall
Father, whose years have been many and weary
Elder, whose life is as lovely as light
Shining in ways that are sterile and dreary
Tell me the name of this beautiful peri,
Flashing on me like the wonderful white
Star, at the meeting of morning and night.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VIII.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Kiss
I saw you take his kiss! 'Tis true.
O, modesty! 'Twas strictly kept:
He thought me asleep; at least, I knew
He thought I thought he thought I slept.
A Tale Of True Love
© Alfred Austin
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
Epitaph On Her Son H. P. At St. Syths Church Wher Her Body Also Lies Interred
© Katherine Philips
What on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Amours De Voyage, Canto II
© Arthur Hugh Clough
P.S.
Mary has seen thus far.-I am really so angry, Louisa,-
Quite out of patience, my dearest! What can the man be intending?
I am quite tired; and Mary, who might bring him to in a moment,
Lets him go on as he likes, and neither will help nor dismiss him.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter I - The Ring And The Book
© Robert Browning
DO you see this Ring?
Tis Rome-work, made to match
"Now no-one will be listening to songs"
© Anna Akhmatova
Now no-one will be listening to songs.
The days long prophesied have come to pass.
The world has no more miracles. Don't break
My heart, song, but be still: you are the last.
Can a kiss be sweeter? (Canti di Milosao, excerpt from canto IV)
© Jeronim de Rada
It was Sunday morning
And the son of the noble matron
Mary Lemaine
© Henry Lawson
She heard a few words, but those words were enough
The troopers were all on the track of Jim Duff.
The super, his rival, was planning a trap
To capture the scamp in Maginniss Gap.
Ive warned him before, and Ill do it again;
Ill save him to-night, whispered Mary Lemaine.
Mary Magdalene
© George MacDonald
With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,
She hither, thither, goes;
Her speech, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.
