Sad poems
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Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument
© John Bunyan
He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
Three Short Poems
© Mao Zedong
Mountains!
I whip my swift horse, glued to my saddle.
I turn my head startled,
The sky is three foot above me!
The Marriage of Sir Gawaine
© Thomas Percy
King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.
Moore
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
He sings the heroic tales of old
When Ireland yet was free,
Of many a fight and foray bold,
And raid beyond the sea.
Beauty And Toil (With English Translation)
© Josh Malihabadi
Ek dosheeza sarak par, dhoop mein hai be-qarar,
Choorian bajti hain kankar kootne mein bar, bar.
Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth
© George Gordon Byron
I now mean to be serious;--it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
Imelda
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
……………….Sometimes
The young forgot the lessons they had learnt,
And lov'd when they should hate, like thee, Imelda! ~ Italy, a Poem
Vanitas Vanitatum
© William Makepeace Thackeray
How spake of old the Royal Seer?
(His text is one I love to treat on.)
This life of ours he said is sheer
Mataiotes Mataioteton.
Psyche
© Robert Laurence Binyon
She is not fair, as some are fair,
Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay:
On her clear brow, come grief what may,
She suffers not too stern an air;
Oh! He's Nothing But A Soldier
© Anonymous
"Oh! he's nothing but a soldier,"
But he's coming here tonight,
Bronco Shod With Wings
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Sing me a home beyond the stars, and if the song be fair,
I'll dwell awhile with melody--as long as mortal dare.
But sing me to the earth again on wide, descending wings,
That I may not forget the touch of homely human things.
Moses
© Thomas Parnell
Ile sing to God, Ile Sing ye songs of praise
To God triumphant in his wondrous ways,
To God whose glorys in the Seas excell,
Where the proud horse & prouder rider fell.
Sonnet XXII. Pennyroyal.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
HEAVY with cares no winnowing hand could sift,
Wrapt in a sadness never to be told,
As o'er the fields and through the woods I strolled,
Following with restless footstep but the drift
Mustering Song
© Anonymous
The boss last night in the hut did say -
"We start to muster at break of day;
So be up first thing, and don't be slow;
Saddle your horses and off you go."
The Lady of the Lake: Canto V. - The Combat
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied,
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night
The Leaf-Cricket
© Madison Julius Cawein
I see thee quaintly
Beneath the leaf; thy shell-shaped winglets faintly-
(As thin as spangle
Of cobwebbed rain)-held up at airy angle;
I hear thy tinkle
With faery notes the silvery stillness sprinkle;
