Power poems

 / page 195 of 324 /
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Hero and Leander

© Christopher Marlowe

The First Sestiad
(excerpt)

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A Sonnet, To His Mother As A New Year's Gift From Cambridge

© George Herbert

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,

  Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn,

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In These Soft Trinities

© Patricia Goedicke

In an aura of charged air I remember
 my poor mother turned into royalty,
 my sister and me in bobby socks

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Knitting Socks

© Anonymous

CLICK, click! how the needles go

Through the busy fingers, to and fro--

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Little Elegy

© Elinor Wylie

Withouten you

No rose can grow;

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To -- --

© Edgar Allan Poe

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,


 In the mad pride of intellectuality,

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To a Young Lady, With Some Lampreys

© John Gay

With lovers, ’twas of old the fashion


By presents to convey their passion;

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Thou Art My Lute

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,—

  My being is attuned to thee.

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Fanny

© John Betjeman

Part Four of “Pro Femina”


At Samoa, hardly unpacked, I commenced planting,

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Exultation

© Emma Lazarus

BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,
The fields of June were bathed in dew and lustre,
The hills were clad with light as with a garment.

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The Spirit Of The Snow

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

The night brings forth the morn-
Of the cloud is lightning born;
From out the darkest earth the brightest roses grow.
Bright sparks from black flints fly,
And from out a leaden sky
Comes the silvery-footed Spirit of the Snow.

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Mozart's Requiem

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

 Not so, it is not so!
 The warning voice I know,
From other worlds a strange mysterious tone;
 A solemn funeral air
 It call'd me to prepare,
And my heart answer'd secretly my own!

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To the Angel Spirit of the Most Excellent Sir Philip Sidney

© Mary Sidney Herbert

(Variant printed in Samuel Daniel’s 1623 Works)


To thee, pure spirit, to thee alone addressed

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Remarks Of Increase D. O'phace, Esquire

© James Russell Lowell

At An Extrumpery Caucus In State Street, Reported By Mr. H. Biglow

No? Hez he? He haint, though? Wut? Voted agin him?

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Upon Nothing

© John Wilmot

Nothing! thou Elder Brother ev’n to Shade,

That hadst a Being ere the World was made,

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Answer To Some Elegant Verses Sent By A Friend To The Author, Complaining That One Of His Descriptio

© George Gordon Byron

'But if any old lady, knight, priest or physician
Should condemn me for printing a second edition;
If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse,
May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?'~New Bath Guide.

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Pauline, A Fragment of a Question

© Robert Browning


And I can love nothing-and this dull truth
Has come the last: but sense supplies a love
Encircling me and mingling with my life.

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An Excelente Balade of Charitie

© Thomas Chatterton

In Virgynë the sweltrie sun gan sheene,


And hotte upon the mees did caste his raie;

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Sonnet 38: This Night While Sleep Begins

© Sir Philip Sidney

This night while sleep begins with heavy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that unbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powers are brought
To leave the scepter of all subject things,

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Mrs. Hill

© Boris Pasternak

I am so young that I am still in love
with Battle Creek, Michigan: decoder rings,
submarines powered by baking soda, 
whistles that only dogs can hear. Actually, 
not even them. Nobody can hear them.