Power poems

/ page 114 of 324 /

Order by :

1
. . .
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
. . .
324

Inebriety

© George Crabbe

The mighty spirit, and its power, which stains

The bloodless cheek, and vivifies the brains,

The Method

© George Herbert

Poore heart, lament,
For since thy God refuseth still,
There is some rub, some discontent,
Which cools his will.

Sonnet. Written In Answer To A Sonnet By J. H. Reynolds

© John Keats

Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,--the domain
Of Cynthia,--the wide palace of the sun,--
The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,--
The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun.

In Memoriam A. H. H.

© Alfred Tennyson

Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Anonymous Plays: XVII

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

YE TOO, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,

Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims

The Brus Book VI

© John Barbour

[Sir Ingram Umfraville praises the king;
the men of Galloway pursue him with a tracker dog]

An Outdoor Reception

© John Greenleaf Whittier

On these green banks, where falls too soon

The shade of Autumn's afternoon,

To The Same (Amanda) With A Copy Of The 'Seasons'

© James Thomson

Accept, loved Nymph, this tribute due

To tender friendship, love, and you:

Unity

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

Space is ample, east and west,

But two cannot go abreast,

Lord Lundy II - Second Canto

© Hilaire Belloc

It happened to Lord Lundy then,

As happens to so many men:

Time And Sentiment

© George Meredith

I see a fair young couple in a wood,

And as they go, one bends to take a flower,

A Legend Of Christ's Nativity

At Bethlehem upon the hill,
The day was done, the night was nigh,
The dusk was deep and had its will,
The stars were very small and still,
Like unblown tapers, faint and high.

Charity

Fairest and foremost of the train that wait

On man's most dignified and happiest state,

Sketch Of A Political Character

Would that some call he could not choose but heed--
Of private passion or of public need--
At last might sting to life that slothful power,
And snare him into greatness for an hour!

Edward Everett

WINTER'S cold drift lies glistening o'er his breast;
For him no spring shall bid the leaf unfold
What Love could speak, by sudden grief oppressed,
What swiftly summoned Memory tell, is told.

Loud rang the plaudits; with them rose the thought,
"Would he had learned the lesson he has taught!"
Used to the tributes of the noisy crowd,
The stately speaker calmly smiled and bowed;
The fire within a flushing cheek betrayed,
And eyes that burned beneath their penthouse shade.