Power poems

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I
Tomorrow let loveless, let lover tomorrow make love :
O spring, singing spring, spring of the world renew!
In spring lovers consent and the birds marry
When the grove receives in her hair the nuptial dew.

For The Burns Centennial Celebration

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

His birthday.--Nay, we need not speak
The name each heart is beating,--
Each glistening eye and flushing cheek
In light and flame repeating!

In Hospital

© Robert Laurence Binyon

I
Nothing of itself is in the still'd mind, only
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,

Lines Addressed To A Young Lady

© George Gordon Byron

Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,
And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

You'll Tell Her, Won't You?

© Anonymous

You'll tell her, won't you? Say to her I died

As a brave soldier should - true to the last;

A Faith On Trial

© George Meredith

On the morning of May,

Ere the children had entered my gate

"I swear to you, Love, by your arrows"

© Gaspara Stampa

For theres a virtue born from suffering,
That dims and conquers the sense of pain,
So that its barely felt, seems scarcely hurting.
No! This, that torments soul and body again,
This is the real fear presaging my dying:
What if my fire be only straw and flame?

Luther Benson

© James Whitcomb Riley

AFTER READING HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY

POOR victim of that vulture curse

The Crosse

© George Herbert

What is this strange and uncouth thing
To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die,
Untill I had some place, where I might sing,
And serve thee; and not onely I,
But all my wealth, and familie might combine
To set thy honour up, as our designe.

The Library

© George Crabbe

When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd,

Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest;

The Ogre Slam-The-Door

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

There is a certain castle that is beautiful and fair,
And plants, and birds, and pretty things, fill every room and hall,
But alas! for the unhappy folks who make their dwelling there,
A dreadful ogre haunts the house and tries to kill them all.
Some day I fear will find them dead and stretched out in their gore
The victims of this ogre grim, this wicked Slam-the-door!

Greek Religion

© Richard Monckton Milnes

Thou art become, oh Echo! a voice, an inanimate image;
Where is the palest of maids, dark--tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half--opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
Quickly repeated the words that burst on her lonely recesses,
Low in a love--lorn tone, too deep--distracted to answer?

The Resurrection

The day of wintry wrath is o'er,
The whirlwind and the storm have pass'd,
The whiten'd ashes of the snow
Enwrap the ruined world no more;
Nor keenly from the orient blow
The venom'd hissings of the blast.