Power poems
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On the Morning of Christ's Nativity
© John Milton
This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King,Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace
The March into Virginia Ending in the First Manassas (July, 1861)
© Herman Melville
Did all the lets and bars appear To every just or larger end,Whence should come the trust and cheer? Youth must its ignorant impulse lend --Age finds place in the rear
View from a Suburban Window
© Phyllis McGinley
When I consider how my light is spent, Also my sweetness, ditto all my power,
Lines written under the conviction that it is not wise to read Mathematics in November after one’s fire is out
© James Clerk Maxwell
In the sad November time,When the leaf has left the lime,And the Cam, with sludge and slime, Plasters his ugly channel,While, with sober step and slow,Round about the marshes low,Stiffening students stumping go Shivering through their flannel
The River
© John Masefield
All other waters have their time of peace.Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought;But on these bars the tumults never cease,In violent death this river passes out.
The Blacksmith
© John Masefield
The blacksmith in his sparky forge,Beat on the white-hot softness there;Even as he beat he sang an airTo keep the sparks out of his gorge.
Lincoln, Man of the People [1922 version]
© Edwin Markham
When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind HourGreatening and darkening as it hurried on,She left the Heaven of Heroes and came downTo make a man to meet the mortal need
