Smile poems

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Sonnet From The Portuguese Of Semedo

© William Cullen Bryant

It is a fearful night; a feeble glare

Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky;

A Summer In Tuscany

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Do you remember, Lucy,
How, in the days gone by
We spent a summer together,
A summer in Tuscany,
In the chestnut woods by the river,
You and the rest and I?

Cretonne Tropics

© Grace Hazard Conkling

The cretonne in your willow chair

Shows through a zone of rosy air,

Here's a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord,
If his heart be true, I care not what his pocket may afford;
And may he ever pleasantly each gallant sport pursue,
If he takes his liquor fairly, and his fences fairly, too.

The Search

© James Russell Lowell

I went to seek for Christ,

And Nature seemed so fair

The Old Year

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

O good old Year! this night's your last.
And must you go? With you I've passed
Some days that bear revision.
For these I'd thank you, ere you make

When the Ladies Come to the Shearing Shed

© Henry Lawson

THE LADIES are coming, the super says

To the shearers sweltering there,

Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio

© John Keats

I.

Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!

Tour Abroad of Wilfrid the Great

© Alexander MacGregor Rose

W'en Queen Victoria calls her peup's
For mak' some Jubilee,
She sen' for men from all de worl' -
And from her colonie.

Fragment

© Joseph Rodman Drake

I.

TUSCARA! thou art lovely now,

The Sky A-Clearen

© William Barnes

The drevèn scud that overcast

The zummer sky is all a-past,

Seven Poems

© John Masefield

VI
I went into the fields, but you were there
Waiting for me, so all the summer flowers
Were only glimpses of your starry powers;
Beautiful and inspired dust they were.

Bride Song (From 'The Prince's Progress')

Too late for love, too late for joy,

Too late, too late!

In Autumn

© Rubén Dario

I know there are those who ask: Why does he not
sing with the same wild harmonies as before?
But they have not seen the labors of an hour
the work of a minute, the prodigies of a year.

Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 12

Dull, dull indeed! What, shall it e'er be thus?
And why? Are not Thy promises, my Lord,
Rich, quick'ning things? How should my full cheeks blush
To find me thus? And those a lifeless word?
My heart is heedless: unconcerned hereat:
I find my spirits spiritless and flat.