Sad poems

 / page 106 of 140 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To An Aeolian Harp

© Sara Teasdale

The winds have grown articulate in thee,
And voiced again the wail of ancient woe
That smote upon the winds of long ago:
The cries of Trojan women as they flee,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Food In Travel

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

IF to her eyes' bright lustre I were blind,

No longer would they serve my life to gild.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Right Honourable Edmund Burke

© William Lisle Bowles

Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind

  Science has stored, and Piety refined,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Romance Of The Knight

© Thomas Chatterton

The pleasing sweets of spring and summer past,

The falling leaf flies in the sultry blast,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Song Written to a Hindoo Air

© Amelia Opie

Ask not, whence springs my ceaseless sadness,
But let me still the secret keep:
Ask not, why thus in restless madness
Pass the long hours once given to sleep:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Dream Land

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Reynard the Fox - Part 1

© John Masefield

Poor Polly's dying struck him queer,
He was a darkened man thereafter,
Cowed, silent, he would wince at laughter
And be so gentle it was strange
Even to see. Life loves to change.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Star of Australasia

© Henry Lawson

We boast no more of our bloodless flag, that rose from a nation's slime;
Better a shred of a deep-dyed rag from the storms of the olden time.
From grander clouds in our `peaceful skies' than ever were there before
I tell you the Star of the South shall rise -- in the lurid clouds of war.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Song Of Old Joe Swallow

© Henry Lawson

When I was up the country in the rough and early days,
I used to work along ov Jimmy Nowlett's bullick-drays;
Then the reelroad wasn't heered on, an' the bush was wild an' strange,
An' we useter draw the timber from the saw-pits in the range --
Load provisions for the stations, an' we'd travel far and slow
Through the plains an' 'cross the ranges in the days of long ago.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Peter Anderson And Co.

© Henry Lawson

They tried everything and nothing 'twixt the shovel and the press,
And were more or less successful in their ventures -- mostly less.
Once they ran a country paper till the plant was seized for debt,
And the local sinners chuckle over dingy copies yet.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Autumn On Parade

© Millosh Gjergj Nikolla

An oak tree, reflected in the tears of heaven,
Tosses and bleeds in gigantic passion.
"To live! I want to live!" - it fights for breath,
Piercing the storm with cries of grief.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Dan, The Wreck

© Henry Lawson

Manner puts a man in mind of
Old club balls and evening dress,
Ugly with a handsome kind of
Ugliness.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Tom Moody

© William Henry Ogilvie

Death had beckoned with grisly hand

To the finest Whip in hunting-land.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, and the Well

© Henry Lawson

THERE WAS a Squatter in the land—
  So runs the truthful tale I tell—
There also were three cornstalks, and
  There also was the Squatter’s Well.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The City Bushman

© Henry Lawson

It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went,
For you sought the greener patches and you travelled like a gent;
And you curse the trams and buses and the turmoil and the push,
Though you know the squalid city needn't keep you from the bush;
But we lately heard you singing of the `plains where shade is not',
And you mentioned it was dusty -- `all was dry and all was hot'.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Ben Duggan

© Henry Lawson

Jack Denver died on Talbragar when Christmas Eve began,
And there was sorrow round the place, for Denver was a man;
Jack Denver's wife bowed down her head -- her daughter's grief was wild,
And big Ben Duggan by the bed stood sobbing like a child.
But big Ben Duggan saddled up, and galloped fast and far,
To raise the longest funeral ever seen on Talbragar.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Candidate

© George Crabbe

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY

REVIEW.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

How Jack Found That Beans May Go Back On A Chap

© Guy Wetmore Carryl

Without the slightest basis 

For hypochondriasis 

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Shearers

© Henry Lawson

No church-bell rings them from the Track,
No pulpit lights theirblindness--
'Tis hardship, drought, and homelessness
That teach those Bushmen kindness:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Glass On The Bar

© Henry Lawson

Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn,
And one of them called for the drinks with a grin;
They'd only returned from a trip to the North,
And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.
He absently poured out a glass of Three Star.
And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.