Morning poems
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No News From The War
© Augusta Davies Webster
"IS she sitting in the meadow
Where the brook leaps to the mill,
Leaning low against the poplar,
Dreamily and still?
Dawn
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.
This World
© George MacDonald
Thy world is made to fit thine own,
A nursery for thy children small,
The playground-footstool of thy throne,
Thy solemn school-room, Father of all!
When day is done, in twilight's gloom,
We pass into thy presence-room.
The Shrine
© Sara Teasdale
There is no lord within my heart,
Left silent as an empty shrine
Where rose and myrtle intertwine,
Within a place apart.
A Modest Request
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SCENE,--a back parlor in a certain square,
Or court, or lane,--in short, no matter where;
Time,--early morning, dear to simple souls
Who love its sunshine and its fresh-baked rolls;
Persons,--take pity on this telltale blush,
That, like the AEthiop, whispers, "Hush, oh hush!"
Tyre
© James Bayard Taylor
THE wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire;
The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre, --
Tamerton Church-Tower, Or, First Love
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III.
You paint a leaflet, here and there;
And not the blossom: tell
What mysteries of good and fair
These blazon'd letters spell.
A Fragment, Supposed To Be Written Near The Temple, On The Night Before The Murder Of Louis The Sixt
© Mary Darby Robinson
Now Midnight spreads her sable vest
With starry rays light tissued o'er;
Now from the Desart's thistled breast
The chilling dews begin to soar;
The owl shrieks from the tott'ring tow'r,
Dread watch bird of the witching hour!
The Shepherd's Week : Saturday; or, The Flights
© John Gay
Bowzybeus.
Sublimer strains, O rustic muse, prepare;
Consolation
© William Taylor Collins
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.
Ein Weib
© Heinrich Heine
They loved each other with love so deep,
She was a tramp and he was a thief.
When he was plying his naughty craft,
She lay on the bed and laughed.
The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto II
© Richard Savage
What scene of agony the garden brings;
The cup of gall; the suppliant king of kings!
The crown of thorns; the cross, that felt him die;
These, languid in the sketch, unfinish'd lie.
Aurora Leigh: Book Seventh
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I broke on Marian there. "Yet she herself,
A wife, I think, had scandals of her own,-
A lover not her husband."
Ode To Sleep
© Pablius Papinius Statius
Lulled are the shuttering waves of the ocean,
Seas in the lap of the land lie at peace.
Only for me in monotonous motion
Day follows day, and there comes no release.
Recollections Of A Dreamland
© James Clerk Maxwell
Rouse ye! torpid daylight-dreamers, cast your carking cares away!
As calm air to troubled water, so my night is to your day;
All the dreary day you labour, groping after common sense,
And your eyes ye will not open on the night's magnificence.
Ye would scow were I to tell you how a guiding radiance gleams
On the outer world of action from my inner world of dreams.
The Pleasures of Memory - Part II.
© Samuel Rogers
Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours.
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
Tannhauser
© Emma Lazarus
Far into Wartburg, through all Italy,
In every town the Pope sent messengers,
Riding in furious haste; among them, one
Who bore a branch of dry wood burst in bloom;
The pastoral rod had borne green shoots of spring,
And leaf and blossom. God is merciful.
The Love-Sick Boy
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When first my old, old love I knew,
My bosom welled with joy;
