Power poems
/ page 137 of 324 /
Threnodia Augustalis: Overture - A Solemn Dirge
© Oliver Goldsmith
ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,
And waken every note of woe;
When truth and virtue reach the skies,
'Tis ours to weep the want below!
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 06
© William Langland
"This were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
That [myghte] folwen us ech a foot' - thus this folk hem mened.
Of The Son of Man
© George MacDonald
I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust
To look with jealousy on her designs;
An Old Lesson From The Fields
© Archibald Lampman
Oh, light, I cried, and, heaven, with all your blue,
Oh, earth, with all your sunny fruitfulness,
And ye, tall lillies, of the wind-vexed field,
What power and beauty life indeed might yield,
Could we but cast away its conscious stress,
Simple of heart, becoming even as you.
Elegy
© James Beattie
Tired with the busy crowds, that all the day
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,
My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,
Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
Ghazal of Rumi
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
HIS Soul fared forth (as from the deep home-grove
The father-songster plies the hour-long quest),
Song II
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Why flatter thyself, Tyrant,
In ways great in evil?
The Lord's goodness ceases not
Keeping watch on the pious.
The Song Of Hiawatha XII: The Son Of The Evening Star
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Can it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
The Vision of the Rock
© Charles Harpur
I SATE upon a lonely peak,
A backwood rivers course to view,
Ode On Lord Hay's BirthDay
© James Beattie
A Muse, unskill'd in venal praise,
Unstain'd with flattery's art;
Who loves simplicity of lays
Breathed ardent from the heart;
To Englishmen
© John Greenleaf Whittier
You flung your taunt across the wave;
We bore it as became us,
The Surrender Of Spain
© John Hay
Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador!
Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power;
Cradle of world-grasping Emperors, grave of the reckless invader,
How art thou fallen, my Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour!
Bowed With a Sense of Sin
© Augustus Montague Toplady
Bowed with a sense of sin, I faint
Beneath the complicated load;
Father, attend my deep complaint,
I am Thy creature, Thou my God.
Praeceptor Amat
© Henry Timrod
How little I care
For your favorites, see! they are all of them, look!
On the spot where they fell, and - but here is your book!
To John Forbes, Esq.
© Helen Maria Williams
ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND
WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF
AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL BEAUTY.
SonnetXLVII. To G.W.C.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
STILL shines our August day, as calm, as bright
As when, long years ago, we sailied away
Down the blue Narrows and the widening bay
Into the wrinkling ocean's flashing light;
Thomas Winterbottom Hance
© William Schwenck Gilbert
IN all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.
Oh say not that my heart is cold
© Charles Wolfe
Oh say not that my heart is cold
To aught that once could warm it -
