Sad poems
/ page 65 of 140 /
Dark spring
© Yvor Winters
My very breath
Disowned
In nights of study,
And page by page
I came on spring.
Bedouin
© James Whitcomb Riley
O love is like an untamed steed!--
So hot of heart and wild of speed,
Grant At Rest-- August 8, 1885
© James Whitcomb Riley
Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and held no
path but as wild adventure led him... And he returned and came again to his
horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and
unlaced his helm, and ungirdled his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon
his shield before the cross. --Age of Chivalary
On A Dog
© John Kenyon
Thy happy years of deep affection past,
Cartouche! our faithful friend, rest hereat last.
We loved thee for a love man scarce might mate;
And now we place thee here with sadness, great
As man may own for brute. Might less be given
To love so pure as thine and so unriven?
The Australian Bell-Bird
© Jean Ingelow
And 'Oyez, Oyez' following after me
On my great errand to the sundown went.
Lost, lost, and lost, whenas the cross road flee
Up tumbled hills, on each for eyes attent
A carriage creepeth.
The Legend of St. Laura
© Thomas Love Peacock
Saint Laura, in her sleep of death,
Preserves beneath the tomb
--'Tis willed where what is willed must be--
In incorruptibility
Her beauty and her bloom.
A Half-Way Pause
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The turn of noontide has begun.
In the weak breeze the sunshine yields.
Rip Van Winkle. Canto I.
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip,
Of the paternal block a genuine chip,âÂ
A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap;
He, like his grandsire, took a mighty nap,
Whereof the story I propose to tell
In two brief cantos, if you listen well.
The Borough. Letter III: The Vicar--The Curate
© George Crabbe
THE VICAR.
WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space,
Fireflies
© Rabindranath Tagore
My fancies are fireflies,
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
Sunday Next Before Advent
© John Keble
Will God indeed with fragments bear,
Snatched late from the decaying year?
The Autumn Wind
© Caroline Norton
Back to the barren hill and lonely glen!
Here let the wandering of thy echoes cease;
Sadly thou soundest to the hearts of men,--
Hush thy wild voice, and let the earth have peace;
Or, if no chain thy restless will can bind,
Sweep thro' the desert, moaning autumn wind!
The Linnet And The Cat
© Helen Maria Williams
WHEN fading Autumn's latest hours
Strip the brown wood, and chill the flowers,--
Sonnet I The Nightingale
© Cornelius Webb
Not farther than a fledgling's weak first flight,
In a low dell, standeth an antique grove;
The Rain Comes Sobbing to the Door
© Henry Kendall
The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane;
There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain.
The Giaour: A Fragment Of A Turkish Tale
© George Gordon Byron
No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?
Communicants
© Madison Julius Cawein
Who knows the things they dream, alas!
Or feel, who lie beneath the ground?
Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, and grass
That close them round.
January Jumps About
© George Barker
January jumps about
in the frying pan
trying to heat
his frozen feet
like a Canadian.
The Last Muster
© William Henry Ogilvie
And in at the open window the lowing of cattle came -
A mob that had never a laggard and never a beast that was lame;
And wethers, a thousand thousand, and ewes with their lambs beside,
Moved over the green flats feeding, spread river to ranges wide.
