Morning poems
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Lepanto
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade. . .
The Song Of Hiawatha VIII: Hiawatha's Fishing
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee,
On the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Nina's Reply (Les Reparties De Nina)
© Arthur Rimbaud
HE - Your breast on my breast,
Eh ? We could go,
With our nostrils full of air,
Into the cool light
A Pastoral Entertainment
© James Thomson
While in heroic numbers some relate
The amazing turns of wise eternal fate;
Exploits of heroes in the dusty field,
That to their name immortal honour yield;
Elegance by Linda Gregg: American Life in Poetry #142 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
There's that old business about the tree falling in the middle of the forest with no one to hear it: does it make a noise? Here Linda Gregg, of New York, offers us a look at an elegant beauty that can be presumed to exist and persist without an observer.
Elegance
Elegy On The Death Of Mr. Phillips
© Thomas Chatterton
No more I hail the morning's golden gleam,
No more the wonders of the view I sing;
Friendship requires a melancholy theme,
At her command the awful lyre I string!
The Rosciad
© Charles Churchill
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Soldier, Wake
© Sir Walter Scott
Soldier, wake - the day is peeping,
Honour ne'er was won in sleeping,
Winter Evening
© Alexander Pushkin
The storm wind covers the sky
Whirling the fleecy snow drifts,
Now it howls like a wolf,
Now it is crying, like a lost child,
Le Cygne (The Swan)
© Charles Baudelaire
Andromaque, je pense à vous! Ce petit fleuve,
Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit
L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve,
Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit,
Concepcion De Arguello
© Francis Bret Harte
Looking seaward, o'er the sand-hills stands the fortress, old and
quaint,
By the San Francisco friars lifted to their patron saint,--
The Golden Boy
© Katharine Tynan
IN times of peace, so clean and bright,
And with a new-washed morning face,
He walked Pall Mall, a goodly sight,
The finished flower of all the race.
Farewell To Spring
© Alfred Austin
I saw this morning, with a sudden smart,
Spring preparing to depart.
I know her well and so I told her all my heart.
Ursula
© Robert Fuller Murray
Upon the northern hill-top, looking down,
Like some sequestered saint upon the town,
Stands the great convent.
The Wife Of Manoah To Her Husband
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Against the sunset's glowing wall
The city towers rise black and tall,
Where Zorah, on its rocky height,
Stands like an armed man in the light.
The Painted Cup
© William Cullen Bryant
The fresh savannas of the Sangamon
Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass
Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts
Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire;
The wanderers of the prairie know them well,
And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup.
Lucretius
© Alfred Tennyson
Lucilla, wedded to Lucretius, found
Her master cold; for when the morning flush
Of passion and the first embrace had died
Between them, tho' he loved her none the less,
