Respect poems
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The Conversation Of Eiros And Charmion
© Edgar Allan Poe
Dreams are with us no more;but of these mysteries
anon. I rejoice to see you looking life-like and rational.
The film of the shadow has already passed from off your
eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing. Your allotted days of
stupor have expired, and to-morrow I will myself induct you
into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence.
The Dark Lady Sonnets (127 - 154)
© William Shakespeare
CXXVII
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,
Tale IV
© George Crabbe
harm;
Give me thy pardon," and he look'd alarm:
Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived
Her soul to question, and she then revived.
"See! my good friend," and then she raised her
Satyr II. To T:--- M.---y. On Law.
© Thomas Parnell
That angry Justice to her heaven went
There seems not so confessd an argument,
As Lawyers thriving in her name below,
When were she here again, again she'd go.
Thus courtiers, if a Kings from care wthdrawn,
Rise without meritt, & with fraud rule on.
Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter V
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Griselda's madness lasted forty days,
Forty eternities! Men went their ways,
And suns arose and set, and women smiled,
And tongues wagged lightly in impeachment wild
Tale XVI
© George Crabbe
cause -
This creature frights her, overpowers, and awes."
Six weeks had pass'd--"In truth, my love, this
The Borough. Letter XIV: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Life Of Blaney
© George Crabbe
ground:
He gave employ that might for bread suffice,
Correct his habits and restrain his vice.
Here Blaney tried (what such man's miseries
The Grand Question Debated: Whether Hamiltons Bawn Should Be Turned Into A Barrack Or Malt-House
© Jonathan Swift
Thus spoke to my lady the knight full of care,
"Let me have your advice in a weighty affair.
This Hamilton's bawn, while it sticks in my hand
I lose by the house what I get by the land;
Homage To Sextus Propertius - III
© Ezra Pound
Midnight, and a letter comes to me from our mistress:
Telling me to come to Tibur:
At once!!
'Bright tips reach up from twin towers,
'Anienan spring water falls into flat-spread pools.'
A Hidden Life
© George MacDonald
Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door,
Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare.
Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house.
Why seems it always that it should be ours?
A secret lies behind which Thou dost know,
And I can partly guess.
The Four Seasons : Summer
© James Thomson
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
Fragments - Lines 1327 - 1334
© Theognis of Megara
My boy, as long as your cheeks and chin are smooth, I shall never
Cease to praise you, not even if I am fated to die.
Magellanic Penguin
© Pablo Neruda
Penguin, static traveler,
deliberate priest of the cold,
I salute your vertical salt
and envy your plumed pride.
My Prayer
© Hristo Botev
O my God, my righteous God.
Not you, in heaven apart,
but you, who are within me, God -
within my soul and heart
Jinny the Just
© Matthew Prior
Releas'd from the noise of the butcher and baker
Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her,
And from the soft duns of my landlord the Quaker,
Julian and Maddalo : A Conversation
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow
Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand
Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand,
Alfred. Book IV.
© Henry James Pye
"I come," the stranger said, "from fields of fame,
A Saxon born, and Aribert my name.
I come from Devon's shores, where Devon's lord
Waves o'er the prostrate Dane the British sword.
Freedom might yet revisit Britain's coast,
Did Alfred live to lead her victor host."
The Task: Book II. -- The Time-Piece
© William Cowper
In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.
A La Chabot
© Richard Lovelace
Object adorable et charmant!
Mes souspirs et mes pleurs tesmoignent mon torment;
Mais mon respect m'empeche de parler.
Ah! que peine dissimuler!
Et que je souffre de martyre,
D'aimer et de n'oser le dire!
