Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love,
Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were:
Jove's golden shield did eagle sables bear,
Whose talons held young Ganymede above:

The Child Of The Islands - Spring

© Caroline Norton

I.
WHAT shalt THOU know of Spring? A verdant crown
Of young boughs waving o'er thy blooming head:
White tufted Guelder-roses, showering down

Naples

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between
Our human hearts and Thee.

Mid Atlantic

© Robert Laurence Binyon

If this were all!--A dream of dread
Ran through me; I watched the waves that fled
Pale--crested out of hollows black,
The hungry lift of helpless waves,

They could not quell the grieved and shuddering air,
That breathed about me its forlorn despair:
It almost seemed as if stern Triumph sped
To one whose hopes were dead,
And flaunting there his fortune's ruddier grace,
Smote--with a taunt--wan Misery in the face!

Gracia

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her,
My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
Thou art my friend, but if thou dost defame her
I shall not hesitate to challenge thee.

Not they who soar

High up there are no thorns to prod,
Nor boulders lurking 'neath the clod
To turn the keenness of the share,
For flight is ever free and rare;
But heroes they the soil who've trod,
Not they who soar!

Postman Cheval

© André Breton

We are the birds always charmed by you from the top of these belvederes

And that each night form a blossoming branch between your shoulders and the arms of your well beloved wheelbarrow

A Tale

© John Logan

Where pastoral Tweed, renown'd in song,
With rapid murmur flows;
In Caledonia's classic ground,
The hall of Arthur rose.

A Voice from the City

© Henry Lawson

On western plain and eastern hill

Where once my fancy ranged,

To Rutherford Birchard Hayes

How to address him? awkward, it is true
Call him "Great Father," as the Red Men do?
Borrow some title? this is not the place
That christens men Your Highness and Your Grace;
We tried such names as these awhile, you know,
But left them off a century ago.

© Emma Lazarus

(The Garden of Life in Spenser's "Faerie Queene.")
IT is no fabled garden in the skies,
But bloometh here this is no world of death;
And nothing that once liveth, ever dies,