Morning poems
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On The Death Of Lieut. William Howard Allen, Of The American Navy
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
He hath been mourned as brave men mourn the brave,
And wept as nations weep their cherished dead,
With bitter, but proud tears, and o'er his head
The eternal flowers whose root is in the grave,
Nature, For Nature's Sake
© Jean Ingelow
White as white butterflies that each one dons
Her face their wide white wings to shade withal,
Many moon-daisies throng the water-spring.
While couched in rising barley titlarks call,
And bees alit upon their martagons
Do hang a-murmuring, a-murmuring.
Loraine
© George Essex Evans
In her dark-ringed eyes shone the sad unrest
That spoke in the heave of her troubled breast,
And her face was white as the chiselled stone,
And her lips pressed madly against my own,
And her heart beat wildly against my heart,
And we strove to go, but we could not part.
Gratitude
© Edgar Albert Guest
Be grateful for the kindly friends that walk along your way;
Be grateful for the skies of blue that smile from day to day;
Be grateful for the health you own, the work you find to do,
For round about you there are men less fortunate than you.
Enlisted Today
© Anonymous
I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing,
And the summer sends kisses by beautiful May -
The Poet And The Muse
© Alfred Austin
Whither, and whence, and why hast fled?
Thou art dumb, my muse; thou art dumb, thou art dead,
As a waterless stream, as a leafless tree.
What have I done to banish thee?
The Bonnie House O' Airly
© Andrew Lang
It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
When the corn grew green and yellow,
That there fell out a great dispute
Between Argyle and Airly.
The Indian Lover. Morning Song.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
O'ER flowery fields of waving maize,
The breeze of morning lightly plays;
Arise, my Zumia! let us rove,
The cool and fragrant citron grove!
Isabel
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
In the most early morn
I rise from a damp pillow, tempest-tost,
To seek the sun with silent gaze forlorn,
And mourn for thee, my lost
Isabel.
Mighty Eagle
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
O'er the misty mountain forest,
And amid the light of morning
Like a cloud of glory hiest,
And when night descends defiest
The embattled tempests warning!
Vain Death
© Archibald Thomas Strong
ALL the first night she might not weep
But watched till morning came,
He Loves And He Rides Away
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
'Twas in that island summer where
They spin the morning gossamer,
Grass From The Battle-Field
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Small sheaf
Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed
Thy story, lo! I see thee once more green
And growing on the battle-field,
On that last day that ever thou didst grow!
Near The Snow-Line
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SLOW toiling upward from' the misty vale,
I leave the bright enamelled zones below;
Fand, A Feerie Act I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Eithne's Spinning Song
Things of the Earth and things of the Air,
Strengths that we feel though we cannot share,
Shapes that are round us and everywhere.
At the Edge of Town by Don Welch: American Life in Poetry #56 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20
© Ted Kooser
When I complained about some of the tedious jobs I had as a boy, my mother would tell me, Ted, all work is honorable. In this poem, Don Welch gives us a man who's been fixing barbed wire fences all his life.
At the Edge of Town
Hard to know which is more gnarled,
the posts he hammers staples into
or the blue hummocks which run
across his hands like molehills.
The Origin Of Death
© Anonymous
In the Day ere Man came,
In the Morning of Life,
They came together
The Father, the Mother,
Debating.
