Power poems

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The Son Of The Evening Star

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Can it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,

The Fire of Drift-wood

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem at the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner

"Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."

The Arsenal At Springfield

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But front their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Flowers

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

To A Child

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee,
With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,
Thou gazest at the painted tiles,
Whose figures grace,

The Goblet of Life

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;
And though my eyes with tears are dim,
I see its sparkling bubbles swim,
And chant a melancholy hymn
With solemn voice and slow.

The Day is Done

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I Dreamed My Genesis

© Dylan Thomas

I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breaking
Through the rotating shell, strong
As motor muscle on the drill, driving
Through vision and the girdered nerve.

V

© Tony Harrison

Next millennium you'll have to search quite hard
to find my slab behind the family dead,
butcher, publican, and baker, now me, bard
adding poetry to their beef, beer and bread.

Your Riches -- taught me -- Poverty.

© Emily Dickinson

Your Riches -- taught me -- Poverty.
Myself -- a Millionaire
In little Wealths, as Girls could boast
Till broad as Buenos Ayre --

Those who have been in the Grave the longest --

© Emily Dickinson

Those who have been in the Grave the longest --
Those who begin Today --
Equally perish from our Practise --
Death is the other way --

The Zeroes -- taught us -- Phosphorous --

© Emily Dickinson

The Zeroes -- taught us -- Phosphorous --
We learned to like the Fire
By playing Glaciers -- when a Boy --
And Tinder -- guessed -- by power

The Wind took up the Northern Things

The Wind took up the Northern Things
And piled them in the south --
Then gave the East unto the West
And opening his mouth

The power to be true to You,

The power to be true to You,
Until upon my face
The Judgment push his Picture --
Presumptuous of Your Place --

The Months have ends -- the Years -- a knot

The Months have ends -- the Years -- a knot --
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery --

The Clover's simple Fame

The Clover's simple Fame
Remembered of the Cow --
Is better than enameled Realms
Of notability.

That short -- potential stir

That short -- potential stir
That each can make but once --
That Bustle so illustrious
'Tis almost Consequence --

Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning --

Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning --
Lightning -- lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.