Pet poems
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The Four Seasons : Spring
© James Thomson
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
The Second Booke Of Qvodlibets
© Robert Hayman
Epigrams are much like to Oxymell,
Hony and Vineger compounded well:
Hony, and sweet in their inuention,
Vineger in their reprehension.
As sowre, sweet Oxymell, doth purge though fleagme:
These are to purge Vice, take them as they meane.
Mr. Hosea Biglow's Speech In March Meeting
© James Russell Lowell
(N.B. Reporters gin'lly git a hint
To make dull orjunces seem 'live in print,
An', ez I hev t' report myself, I vum,
I'll put th' applauses where they'd _ough' to_ come!)
Carmina Festiva
© Henry Van Dyke
THE LITTLE-NECK CLAM
A modern verse-sequence, showing how a native American subject, strictly realistic, may be treated in various manners adapted to the requirements of different magazines, thus combining Art-for-Art's-Sake with Writing-for-the-Market. Read at the First Dinner of the American Periodical Publishers' Association, in Washington, April, 1904.
from 'The Princess'
© Alfred Tennyson
'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me.
Tamar
© Robinson Jeffers
Grass grows where the flame flowered;
A hollowed lawn strewn with a few black stones
And the brick of broken chimneys; all about there
The old trees, some of them scarred with fire, endure the sea
wind.
Croquet
© Alice Guerin Crist
In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay
And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze
Your maiden aunts and I, and you, demure and shy,
Played a sober game of croquet underneath the spreading trees.
Cyder: Book II
© John Arthur Phillips
Sometimes thou shalt with fervent Vows implore
A moderate Wind; the Orchat loves to wave
With Winter-Winds, before the Gems exert
Their feeble Heads; the loosen'd Roots then drink
Large Increment, Earnest of happy Years.
Leaving Early
© Sylvia Plath
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Stanzas. In A Drear-Nighted December
© John Keats
1.
In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
From Evangeline
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Father, I thank thee!
Summer Toils
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, it is not nice for a gray-headed man,
To be shamed by the work of a young nincompoop,
When he intends to get more dollars for his pay,
And e'en is not ashamed to pry out more seed grain.
O what became of the bewhiskered Prussian days,
When hired help was so cheep and so obedient?
The Sonnet
© Edith Wharton
PURE form, that like some chalice of old time
Contain'st the liquid of the poet's thought
Within thy curving hollow, gem-enwrought
With interwoven traceries of rhyme,
Cadenus And Vanessa
© Jonathan Swift
THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began
Accusing the false creature, man.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido
© Robert Browning
YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichitwo good Tuscan names:
The Angel In The House. Book II. The Epilogue
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
I
Ah, dearest Wife, a fresh-lit fire
Accolon Of Gaul: Part III
© Madison Julius Cawein
The eve now came; and shadows cowled the way
Like somber palmers, who have kneeled to pray
L'Amazone
© François Coppée
Devant le frais cottage au gracieux perron,
Sous la porte que timbre un tortil de baron,
Debout entre les deux gros vases de faïence,
L'amazone, déjà pleine d'impatience,
Satyr VI. The Spleen
© Thomas Parnell
Give ore my wanton fancy now give ore
the clouds are gath'ring & anon they'le powr
the pleasures of my groves are fled away
the sacred silence & ye shiny day
what have you then to lull you in your play
