Morning poems
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Zyps Of Zirl
© Madison Julius Cawein
The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines,
Where, foaming under the mountain spines,
The Inn's long water sounds and shines.
The Battle of Lexington
© Sidney Lanier
Now haste thee while the way is clear,
Paul Revere!
Haste, Dawes! but haste thee not, O Sun!
To Lexington.
A Winter's Tale
© Dylan Thomas
It is a winter's tale
That the snow blind twilight ferries over the lakes
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,
Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,
The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,
On Happiness In This Life
© Thomas Parnell
The morning opens very freshly gay
And life itself is in the month of May.
The Cane-Bottom'd Chair
© William Makepeace Thackeray
In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars,
And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars,
Away from the world, and its toils and its cares,
I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs.
Ave
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
FULL well I know the frozen hand has come
That smites the songs of grove and garden dumb,
And chills sad autumn's last chrysanthemum;
The Fair Morning
© Jones Very
The clear bright morning, with its scented air
And gaily waving flowers, is here again;
The Talking Oak
© Alfred Tennyson
Once more the gate behind me falls;
Once more before my face
I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls,
That stand within the chace.
The Best Of All
© Gamaliel Bradford
Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.
Beauty
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I think of a flower that no eye ever has seen,
That springs in a solitary air.
Is it no one's joy? It is beautiful as a queen
Without a kingdom's care.
The Foolish Elm
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The bold young Autumn came riding along
One day where an elm-tree grew.
An Appeal For "The Old South"
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall."
Inscriptions: III: Whoe'er Thou Art Whose Pat In Summer Lies
© Mark Akenside
Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies
Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove
The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fourth
© William Lisle Bowles
O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave
No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;
But angels, as the high pines wave,
Their half-heard "Miserere" sing.
Unofficial
© Edith Nesbit
ONE morning, my heart can remember,
I sat dreaming there,
In the 'governor's' chair
In the office. The month was November,
And the weather a subject for prayer.
The Headless Trooper.
© James Brunton Stephens
NO; not another step, for all
The troopers out of hell!
Pippa Passes: Part IV: Night
© Robert Browning
Thanks, friends, many thanks! I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared?Benedicto benedicatur . . . ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather: but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 't was full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go! [To the Intendant]
Not you, Ugo! [The others leave the apartment]
I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo.
An Essay On The Different Stiles Of Poetry
© Thomas Parnell
I hate the Vulgar with untuneful Mind,
Hearts uninspir'd, and Senses unrefin'd.
Hence ye Prophane, I raise the sounding String,
And Bolingbroke descends to hear me sing.
