Morning poems
/ page 94 of 310 /
Andrew Rykmans Prayer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Andrew Rykman's dead and gone;
You can see his leaning slate
In the graveyard, and thereon
Read his name and date.
Morning
© Henry Reed
Look, my love, on the wall, and here, at this Eastern picture.
How still its scene, and neither of sleep nor waking:
No shadow falls from the tree or the golden mountain,
The boats on the glassy lake have no reflection,
No echo would come if you blew a horn in those valleys.
A Panegyric Of The Dean In The Person Of A Lady In The North
© Jonathan Swift
Resolved my gratitude to show,
Thrice reverend Dean, for all I owe,
Too long I have my thanks delay'd;
Your favours left too long unpaid;
Christmas Morning
© Eugene Field
The angel host that sped last night,
Bearing the wondrous news afar,
Came in their ever-glorious flight
Unto a slumbering little star.
My Daughter
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THOU hast thy mother's eyes, my child--
Her deep dark eyes: the undefiled
Sweetness which breathes around her mouth,
A perfect rosebud of the south,
June Thunder
© Louis MacNeice
The Junes were free and full, driving through tiny
Roads, the mudguards brushing the cowparsley,
Through fields of mustard and under boldly embattled
Mays and chestnuts
The Virtuoso: In Imitation of Spenser's Style And Stanza
© Mark Akenside
--- Videmus
Nugari solitos.
-Persius
Caracol (A Shell)
© Rubén Dario
En la playa he encontrado un caracol de oro
macizo y recamado de las perlas más finas;
Europa le ha tocado con sus manos divinas
cuando cruzó las ondas sobre el celeste toro.
A Nocturnal Reverie
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
In such a Night, when every louder Wind
Is to its distant Cavern safe confin'd;
Temple
© John Donne
With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe,
Joseph, turn back ; see where your child doth sit,
Tale X
© George Crabbe
It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes
Present the object, but the Mind descries;
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff'rence
A Fantasy of War
© Henry Lawson
The Bells and the Child.
The gongs are in the templethe bells are in the tower;
The tom-tom in the jungle and the town clock tells the hour;
And all Thy feathered kind at morn have testified Thy power.
The Princess (part 3)
© Alfred Tennyson
Morn in the wake of the morning star
Came furrowing all the orient into gold.
We rose, and each by other drest with care
Descended to the court that lay three parts
In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched
Above the darkness from their native East.
