Pet poems
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Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur (excerpt)
© Alfred Tennyson
Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter than the mist that all day long
Had held the field of battle was the King:
The Garden of Shadow
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.
Into The World
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Out over childhood's borders,
Manhood's brave banners unfurled,
Weighed down with precepts and orders
A boy has gone into the world.
Mount Erebus: (A Fragment)
© Henry Kendall
A MIGHTY theatre of snow and fire,
Girt with perpetual Winter, and sublime
Fire Pictures
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O! THE rolling, rushing fire!
O! the fire!
How it rages, wilder, higher,
Like a hot heart's fierce desire,
Epilogue To Lessing's Laocooen
© Matthew Arnold
One morn as through Hyde Park we walk'd,
My friend and I, by chance we talk'd
Mostly Slavonic
© Henry Lawson
But they never dreamed, the brainless, boors that used to sneer and scoff,
That the dreamy lad beside themknown as Dutchy Mickyloff
Was a genius and a poet, and a Manno matter which
Was the Czar of all the Russias!Peter Michaelovich.
Gregory Parable, LL.D.
© William Schwenck Gilbert
He knew no guile, this simple man,
No worldly wile, or plot, or plan,
Except that plot of freehold land
That held the cot, and MARY, and
Her worthy father, named by me
GREGORY PARABLE, LL.D.
Toplesstown
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Talk about a hit! They're packed in and linin' up
A cover and a minimum--coffee $2 a cup
Lucy's pullin' down a thousand a week with tips and all
Workin' double shifts while startin' to bitch how
Her arches are beginning to fall.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
The Spies
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Young Robin from the field in the deep shadow runs,
Singing boy, pretty maid tossing the hay, he shuns,
The Merchant Of Venice: A Legend Of Italy
© Richard Harris Barham
With a pack,
Like a sack
Of old clothes at his back,
And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack,
Saying, 'Rest you fair, Signior Antonio!- vat, pray,
Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay!'
On A Picture
© John Kenyon
This pictured work, with ancient graces fraught,
(Or so they say) Albertinelli wrought.
Ballade
© Antoinette du Ligier de la Garde Deshoulières
À caution tous amants sont sujets:
Cette maxime en ma tête est écrite.
Tale XX
© George Crabbe
flown:
All swept away, to be perceived no more,
Like idle structures on the sandy shore,
The chance amusement of the playful boy,
That the rude billows in their rage destroy.
Poor George confess'd, though loth the truth to
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXXIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Such was the legend. I had read it through
Twice ere I thought of thinking what it meant.
And as I turned with a sigh because I knew
That I alone perhaps of all who went
A Vagrant Heart
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
O to be a woman! to be left to pique and pine,
When the winds are out and calling to this vagrant heart of mine.
Don Juan: Canto The Ninth
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton'--for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
And thus I first beheld her, standing calm
In the swayed crowd upon her husband's arm,
One opera night, the centre of all eyes,
So proud she seemed, so fair, so sweet, so wise.
Some one behind me whispered ``Lady L.!
His Lordship too! and thereby hangs a tale.''
