Morning poems

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Jimmy

© Edgar Albert Guest

I NEVER knew him, for he never grew

Up as so many strong little ones do;

I Loved a Lass

© George Wither

I loved a lass, a fair one,

As fair as e'er was seen;

Ryton Firs

© Lascelles Abercrombie

All round the knoll, on days of quietest air,
Secrets are being told; and if the trees
Speak out let them make uproar loud as drums
'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd.

The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell

© John Gay

Hobnelia.

Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,

Excerpts from "LES HEURES CLAIRES" (English translations)

© Emile Verhaeren

Oh, splendour of our joy and our delight,
Woven of gold amid the silken air!
See the dear house among its gables light,
And the green garden, and the orchard there!

The Voyage of Telegonus

© Henry Kendall

Ill fares it with the man whose lips are set

To bitter themes and words that spite the gods;

The Pennsylvania Pilgrim

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay

A Sicilian Idyll

© Thomas Sturge Moore

Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.

Jerusalem Delivered - Book 01 - part 05

© Torquato Tasso

LVI

Guascher and Raiphe in valor like there was.

The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Third

© William Lisle Bowles

My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought

That the dark tide of time might one day close,

The Retreat From Moscow

© George Moses Horton

Sad Moscow, thy fate do I see,
Fire! fire! in the city all cry;
Like quails from the eagle all flee,
Escape in a moment or die.

Good-Night

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

THE lark is silent in his nest,

The breeze is sighing in its flight,

On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

© Patrick Kavanagh

On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went
With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
Less for use than for devilment.

Fredman's song no. 10

Drink till after twelve or more,

Live it up with madmen !

Whisper, O wings of the wind! Sing me your song, O sea!
Grey is the weary world, and grey is the heart of me!
Into my shadowy heart pierce like the star of old,
Pearl of the tender dawn, kissed by the trembling gold!

The Mary (A Sea-Side Sketch)

© Thomas Hood

Lov'st thou not, Alice, with the early tide
To see the hardy Fisher hoist his mast,
And stretch his sail towards the ocean wide,
Like God's own beadsman going forth to cast