Smile poems
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A Song Of Keats
© Roderic Quinn
'TIS a tarnished book and old,
Edges frayed and covers green!
But, between the covers, gold
Gold and jewels in between.
A Ballad Of Fair Ladies In Revolt
© George Meredith
See the sweet women, friend, that lean beneath
The ever-falling fountain of green leaves
Round the white bending stem, and like a wreath
Of our most blushful flower shine trembling through,
To teach philosophers the thirst of thieves:
Is one for me? is one for you?
The Philanthropic Society
© William Lisle Bowles
INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS.
When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,
Dixie's Land
© Daniel Decatur Emmett
I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
Old times dar am not forgotten;
Flower-Life
© Henry Timrod
I think that, next to your sweet eyes,
And pleasant books, and starry skies,
Lemnos Harbour
© Leon Gellert
The island sleeps,-but it has no delight
For em, to whom that sleep has been unkind.
My thoughts are long of what seems long ago,
And long, too, are my dreams. I do not know
These trailing glories of the star-strewn night
Or the slow sough of the wind.
The Man Im For
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'M for the happy man every time,
The man who smiles as he goes his way,
The Farmer's Boy - Autumn
© Robert Bloomfield
Again, the year's _decline_, midst storms and floods,
The thund'ring chase, the yellow fading woods,
Invite my song; that fain would boldly tell
Of upland coverts, and the echoing dell,
By turns resounding loud, at eve and morn
The swineherd's halloo, or the huntsman's horn.
William and Helen
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?"-
In Utroque Fidelis
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ALONG the woods the whispering night-airs swoon,
A single bird-note dies adown the trees,
Clear, pallid, mournful, droops the summer moon,
Dipped in the foam of cloudland's phantom seas;--
Soundless they heave above
The dim, ancestral home that holds my love.
Coombe-Ellen
© William Lisle Bowles
Call the strange spirit that abides unseen
In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes,
God Neither Known Nor Loved By The World
© William Cowper
Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove,
Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise!
In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove,
For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways.
Hymn, Sung At Christmas By The Scholars Of St. Helenas Island, S.C.
© John Greenleaf Whittier
OH, none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
The Brothers
© Richard Monckton Milnes
'Tis true, that we can sometimes speak of Death,
Even of the Deaths of those we love the best,
Without dismay or terror; we can sit
In serious calm beneath deciduous trees,
To Samuel E. Sewall And Harriet W. Sewall Of Melrose
© John Greenleaf Whittier
OLOR ISCANUS queries: "Why should we
Vex at the land's ridiculous miserie?"
So on his Usk banks, in the blood-red dawn
Of England's civil strife, did careless Vaughan
My Son the Man by Sharon Olds: American Life in Poetry #70 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
As a man I'll never gain the wisdom Sharon Olds expresses in this poem about motherhood, but one of the reasons poetry is essential is that it can take us so far into someone else's experience that we feel it's our own.
My Son the Man
A Dream Of Death
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WHERE shall we sail to-day?"--Thus said, methought,
A voice that only could be heard in dreams:
And on we glided without mast or oar,
A wondrous boat upon a wondrous sea.
Louis XVII (King Louis XVII)
© Victor Marie Hugo
On entendit des voix qui disaient dans la nue :
" Jeune ange, Dieu sourit à ta gloire ingénue;
Viens, rentre dans ses bras pour ne plus en sortir;
Et vous, qui du Très-Haut racontez les louanges,
Séraphins, prophètes, archanges,
Courbez-vous, c'est un Roi; chantez, c'est un Martyr! "
Wendover
© Jean Ingelow
Uplifted and lone, set apart with our love
On the crest of a soft swelling down
Cloud shadows that meet on the grass at our feet
Sail on above Wendover town.
The Cane-Bottom'd Chair
© William Makepeace Thackeray
In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars,
And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars,
Away from the world, and its toils and its cares,
I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs.
