Sad poems
/ page 21 of 140 /
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
Moonlight Reveries
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The moon from solemn azure sky
Looked down on earth below,
Kalmuck Bride
© Padraic Colum
I HAVE saddled your white steed, and I have burnished them-
Your belt with crystal clasps, your lance, your scimitar,
Your carbine silver-chased; now ere you mount and ride
Across the sky-wide steppe, a horseman to the war:
Au Lecteur (To The Reader)
© Charles Baudelaire
La sottise, l'erreur, le péché, la lésine,
Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps,
Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords,
Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine.
New Year
© Julia A Moore
Farewell to the old year forever,
And all its sorrows and care
We'll bury in our hearts, and endeavor
New troubles and trials to bear.
The Mourner
© George Crabbe
He had his wish, had more; I will not paint
The lovers' meeting: she beheld him faint, -
With tender fears, she took a nearer view,
Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew;
He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said,
"Yes! I must die," and hope for ever fled.
Sonnet VII. To Burke
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:
She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale.
A Word to Texas Jack
© Henry Lawson
You may talk about your ridin in the city, bold an free,
Talk o ridin in the city, Texas Jack, but whered yer be
When the stock horse snorts an bunches all is quarters in a hump,
And the saddle climbs a sapling, an the horse-shoes split a stump?
The Grave Of A Poetess
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I stood beside thy lowly grave;
Spring-odours breath'd around,
And music, in the river-wave,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
Stanzas For Music
© Robert Fuller Murray
I loved a little maiden
In the golden years gone by;
She lived in a mill, as they all do
(There is doubtless a reason why).
A Tale Of True Love
© Alfred Austin
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
Bereft, She Thinks She Dreams
© Thomas Hardy
I dream that the dearest I ever knew
Has died and been entombed.
A Little Budding Rose
© Emily Jane Brontë
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The Lady Of La Garaye - Conclusion
© Caroline Norton
PEACE to their ashes! Far away they lie,
Among their poor, beneath the equal sky.
Among their poor, who blessed them ere they went
For all the loving help and calm content.
The Borough. Letter V: The Election
© George Crabbe
YES, our Election's past, and we've been free,
Somewhat as madmen without keepers be;
My Four Little Johnny-Cakes
© Anonymous
Hurrah for the Lachlan, boys, and join me in a cheer;
That's the place to go to make a cheque every year.
With a toadskin in my pocket, that I borrowed from a friend,
Oh, isn't it nice and cosy to be camping in the bend!
Your Picture
© Boris Pasternak
It's with your laughing picture that I'm living now,
You whose wrists are so slender and crackle at the joints,
You who wring your hands yet are unwilling to go,
You whose guests stay for hours sharing sadness and joys.
