Power poems

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Sonnet LV. Music And Poetry. 1.

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

SING, poets, as ye list, of fields, of flowers,
Of changing seasons with their brilliant round
Of keen delights, or themes still more profound —
Where soul through sense transmutes this world of ours.

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Satan

© Richard Crashaw

Below the bottom of the great Abyss,

There where one centre reconciles all things,

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The Farewell To The Dead

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Come near!-ere yet the dust
Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
  In still and solemn trust!
Come near!-once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!

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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXIX

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

THE LIMIT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE
There is a vice in the world's reasoning. Man
Has conquered knowledge. He has conquered power;
He has traced out the universal plan

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In Hospital

© Boris Pasternak

They stood, almost blocking the pavement,
As though at a window display;
The stretcher was pushed in position,
The ambulance started away.

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The True Heroes : Or, The Noble Army Of Martyrs

© Hannah More

You who love a tale of glory,
Listen to the song I sing:
Heroes of the Christian story
Are the heroes I shall bring.

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A Woman's Last Song. - From an Unpublished Romance

© Alaric Alexander Watts

'Tis now that softening hour

When love hath deepest power,

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The Death-Raven (From The Danish Of Oehlenslaeger)

© George Borrow

"The wealthy bird came towering,
Came scowering,
O'er hill and stream.
'Look here, look here, thou needy bird,
How gay my feathers gleam.'

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An Ode - In Imitation of Horace, Book III. Ode II.

© Matthew Prior

How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie

In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose

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Poems Of Joys

© Walt Whitman

O to make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments! full of grain and trees.

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A Dream, Written After the Author's Recovery from Illness

© Alaric Alexander Watts

O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please. ~ COLERIDGE.

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Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803

© William Wordsworth

THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,

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Laodamia

© William Wordsworth

  O terror! what hath she perceived?-O joy!
  What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
  Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
  His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
  It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
  And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!

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As weary pilgrim, now at rest

© Anne Bradstreet

As weary pilgrim, now at rest,

Hugs with delight his silent nest

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The Invocation

© William Blake

Daughters of Beulah! Muses who inspire the Poet's Song,
Record the journey of immortal Milton thro' your realms
Of terror and mild moony lustre, in soft Sexual delusions
Of varièd beauty, to delight the wanderer, and repose

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The Bride Of The Nile - Act III

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(Enter Barix and Boïlas conversing.)
Barix.  I always said it, Boïlas, it must come at last,
The day of annexation. Things have moved on fast,
Faster than we quite thought a week or two ago.
The mills of Rome grind slowly--quite absurdly slow.
It comes to the same thing.

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The Sibyls

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Out of the seas that streamed
In ghostly turbulence moving and glimmering about me
I saw the rising of vast and visionary forms.

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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VIII. -- Gudrun

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

On King Olaf's bridal night
Shines the moon with tender light,
And across the chamber streams
  Its tide of dreams.

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Solitude

© John Henry Newman

There is in stillness oft a magic power

To calm the breast, when struggling passions lower;

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Marmion: Introduction to Canto I

© Sir Walter Scott

November's sky is chill and drear,

November's leaf is red and sear: