Power poems
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Sonnet CL
© William Shakespeare
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Sonnet C
© William Shakespeare
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Vanity of Vanities
© Robert Fuller Murray
Be ye happy, if ye may,
In the years that pass away.
Ye shall pass and be forgot,
And your place shall know you not.
Sonnet 94: They that have power to hurt and will do none
© William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing, they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,
The Funeral Tree of the Sokokis. 1756
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Around Sebago's lonely lake
There lingers not a breeze to break
The mirror which its waters make.
An Octopus
© Marianne Clarke Moore
of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat,
it lies "in grandeur and in mass"
A May Night on the Mountains
© Henry Lawson
Tis a wonderful time when these hours begin,
These long small hours of night,
Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
© William Shakespeare
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
The Problem
© Henry Timrod
Not to win thy favor, maiden, not to steal away thy heart,
Have I ever sought thy presence, ever stooped to any art;
Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
© William Shakespeare
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.
The Destiny Of Nations. A Vision.
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured
To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!
To the Will Absolute, the One, the Good!
The I AM, the Word, the Life, the Living God!
The Vanity of Wealth
© Samuel Johnson
No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With avarice painful vigils keep:
Sonnet 150: O from what power hast thou this powerful might
© William Shakespeare
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Power Of Music
© William Wordsworth
AN Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;--
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.
Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
© William Shakespeare
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Don't Drink
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Don't drink, boys, don't!
There is nothing of happiness, pleasure, or cheer,
In brandy, in whiskey, in rum, ale, or beer.
If they cheer you when drunk, you are certain to pay
In headaches and crossness the following day.
Don't drink, boys, don't!
A Vision of Poesy - Part 01
© Henry Timrod
In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame -
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.
The Culprit Fay
© Joseph Rodman Drake
His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.
Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair
© William Shakespeare
In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame.
To The City Of Bombay
© Rudyard Kipling
The Cities are full of pride,
Challenging each to each -
This from her mountain-side,
That from her burthened beach.
