Morning poems

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To the Memory of a young Commander slain in a Battle with the Indians, 1724.

© Mather Byles

I.
While rosey Cheeks their Bloom confess,
And Youth thy Bosom warms,
Let Vertue, and let Knowledge dress,
Thy Mind in brighter Charms.

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In Hospital

© Robert Laurence Binyon

I
Nothing of itself is in the still'd mind, only
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,

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A Faith On Trial

© George Meredith

On the morning of May,

Ere the children had entered my gate

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Amours De Voyage, Canto III

© Arthur Hugh Clough

- domus Albuneae resonantis,
Et praeceps Anio, et Tibuni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis

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The Golden Hoofprints

© William Henry Ogilvie

I WALKED one day on a road in Devon —
A road that rose till it touched the blue,
Where high in the curtained halls of Heaven
The God of all beauty reigned, I knew.

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The Incarnation, And Passion

© Henry Vaughan

LORD, when Thou didst Thyself undress,
  Laying by Thy robes of glory,
To make us more, Thou wouldst be less,
  And becam'st a woful story.

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Imploring To Be Resigned At Death

© George Moses Horton

Let me die and not tremble at death,
But smile at the close of my day,
And then, at the flight of my breath,
Like a bird of the morning in May,
Go chanting away.

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A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence

© Confucius

So full am I of anxious thought,
  Though all the morn king-grass I've sought,
  To fill my arms I fail.
  Like wisp all-tangled is my hair!
  To wash it let me home repair.
  My lord soon may I hail!

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The Library

© George Crabbe

When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,

Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;

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The Huxter

© Edward Thomas

He has a hump like an ape on his back;
He has of money a plentiful lack;
And but for a gay coat of double his girth
There is not a plainer thing on the earth
This fine May morning.

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Top-O'-The-Morning

© William Henry Ogilvie

Top-o'-THE Morning's shoes are off ;

He runs in the orchard, rough, all day,

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In The Tents Of Akbar

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

In the tents of Akbar
  Are dole and grief to-day,
  For the flower of all the Indies
  Has gone the silent way.

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My Friend, Come In These Rains -- English Translation

© Rabindranath Tagore

On this misty overclouded rainy day

Evading all

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The King Of Brentford

© William Makepeace Thackeray

There was a king in Brentford,—of whom no legends tell,
But who, without his glory,—could eat and sleep right well.
His Polly's cotton nightcap,—it was his crown of state,
He slept of evenings early,—and rose of mornings late.

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The Door Of Humility

© Alfred Austin

ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
  And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
  The How and Why of such as He;

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The Dominion Of Australia {A Forecast}

© James Brunton Stephens

SHE is not yet, but he whose ear  

Thrills to that finer atmosphere  

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Ballade Of The Breakfast Table

© Franklin Pierce Adams


Autocratesses, forgive my heat,
  But isn't it time to change that stuff?
Small is the benison I entreat--
  Why don't they ever have spoons enough?

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The Happiest Man In England

© William Henry Ogilvie

The happiest man in England rose an hour before the dawn;

The stars were in the purple and the dew was on the lawn;

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When The Rain Is On The Roof

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

Lord, I am poor, and know not how to speak,
But since Thou art so great,
Thou needest not that I should speak to Thee well.
All angels speak unto Thee well.

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The Staff and Scrip

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

“Who rules these lands?” the Pilgrim said.

“Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.”