Morning poems

 / page 54 of 310 /
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At Crown Hill

© James Whitcomb Riley

Leave him here in the fresh
greening grasses and trees
And the symbols of love, and the solace of these-
The saintly white lilies and blossoms he keeps

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Sonnet To Spenser

© John Keats

Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine,
A forester deep in thy midmost trees,
Did last eve ask my promise to refine
Some English that might strive thine ear to please.

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London Excursion

© John Gould Fletcher

We gallop along
Alert and penetrating,
Roads open about us,
Housetops keep at a distance.

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The Village Schoolmaster

© Oliver Goldsmith

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way

With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,

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The Morning In The Country

© James Thomson

When from the opening chambers of the east
The morning springs, in thousand liveries drest,
The early larks their morning tribute pay,
And, in shrill notes, salute the blooming day.

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The Wild Kangaroo

© Henry Kendall

The rain-clouds have gone to the deep -

The East like a furnace doth glow;

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An Epilogue To Love

© Arthur Symons

I

Love now, my heart, there is but now to love;

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The Merchant Ship

© Henry Kendall

The Sun o’er the waters was throwing

 In the freshness of morning its beams;

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The Ballad Of The Solemn Ass

© Henry Van Dyke

Recited at the Century Club, New York: Twelfth Night. 1906

Come all ye good Centurions and wise men of the times,

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Light

© George MacDonald

Dull horrid pools no motion making!
No bubble on the surface breaking!
The dead air lies, without a sound,
Heavy and moveless on the marshy ground.

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The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War by James Doyle: American Life in Poetry #9 Ted Koo

© Ted Kooser

In eighteen lines—one long sentence—James Doyle evokes two settings: an actual parade and a remembered one. By dissolving time and contrasting the scenes, the poet helps us recognize the power of memory and the subtle ways it can move us.

The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War

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The Deeds Of Anger

© Edgar Albert Guest

I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around
An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound;
I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed,
An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last;
But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret,
For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget.

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Tale XIV

© George Crabbe

dwell,
While he was acting (he would call it) well;
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell;
There was no fraud, and he demanded cause
Why he was troubled when he kept the laws?"
  "My laws!" said Conscience.  "What," said he, "

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An Ode On The Peace

© Helen Maria Williams

I.

As wand'ring late on Albion's shore

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New College Gardens, Oxford

© Edith Nesbit


The enchantment of the dreaming limes,
  The magic of the quiet hours,
Breathe unheard tales of other times
  And other destinies than ours;

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Daphles. An Argive Story

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

But the Queen's host by skilful champions led,
Its powers meanwhile concentred to a head,
Lay, an embattled force with wary eye,
Ready to ward or strike whene'er the cry
Of coming foemen on their ears should fall,
Nigh the huge towers which guard the capital.

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Isaiah’s Coal

© John Frederick Nims

what more can man desire?


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The Golden Legend: Prologue & 1.

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  _Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten!
O ye spirits!
From its station drag the ponderous
Cross of iron, that to mock us
Is uplifted high in air!

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Extracts From Leon. An Unfinished Poem

© Joseph Rodman Drake

It is an eve that drops a heavenly balm,
To lull the feelings to a sober calm,
To bid wild passion's fiery flush depart;
And smooth the troubled waters of the heart;
To give a tranquil fixedness to grief,
A cherished gloom, that wishes not relief.

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Bless The Dear Old Verdant Land

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

Bless the dear old verdant land!

  Brother, wert thou born of it?