Pet poems
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The Laird Of Waristoun
© Andrew Lang
Down by yon garden green,
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
Afrodites Dampe
© Sophus Niels Christen Claussen
O Venus, holdes, schönes Weib,
Ihr seid eine Teufelinne
King Volmer and Elsie
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth
© George Gordon Byron
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
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 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
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 01 - part 05
© Torquato Tasso
LVI
Guascher and Raiphe in valor like there was.
Marching To Germany
© Jessie Pope
SWING along together, lads ; we'll have a little song,
Kits won't be so heavy and the way won't be so long.
We're goin' to cook " the Sossiges," to cook 'em hot and strong
While we go marching to Germany.
With A Pressed Flower
© James Russell Lowell
This little blossom from afar
Hath come from other lands to thine;
For, once, its white and drooping star
Could see its shadow in the Rhine.
From The Portuguese
© Edith Nesbit
And they from the village of youth
Run by our doorsteps laughing,
Calling, to shew each other
The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan,
The new rose, the new lover.
The Spellin'-Bee
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I NEVER shall furgit that night when father hitched up Dobbin,
An' all us youngsters clambered in an' down the road went bobbin'
The Pearl Of Them All
© William Henry Ogilvie
Gaily in front of the stockwhip
The horses come galloping home,
Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts III.-V.
© John Logan
What venerable father stands aghast
In yonder porch? Beneath the weight of years,
And crush of sorrow to the earth he bends.
He wrings his hands; casts a wild look to heaven,
And rends his hoary locks. He comes this way.
Heavens, it is Albemarle!-
Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."
With Head Erect I Fought The Fight
© John Philip Bourke
And so we write as Nature sets her gauge
No worse than most, and better, p'raps, than some;
But should a man remain for ever dumb
When only rhyming fills his aimless page?
To His Mistress
© Ovid
YOUR husband will be with us at the Treat;
May that be the last Supper he shall Eat.
The Mother Of A Poet
© Sara Teasdale
She is too kind, I think, for mortal things,
Too gentle for the gusty ways of earth;
God gave to her a shy and silver mirth,
And made her soul as clear
