Smile poems
/ page 179 of 369 /
A Hidden Life
© George MacDonald
Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door,
Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare.
Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house.
Why seems it always that it should be ours?
A secret lies behind which Thou dost know,
And I can partly guess.
First Sunday After Epiphany
© John Keble
Lessons sweet of spring returning,
Welcome to the thoughtful heart!
Quieta Ne Movete II
© Edith Nesbit
IF one should wake one's frozen faith
In sunlight of her radiant eyes,
Laughing and Sneering
© Henry Lawson
WHAT tho' the world does me ill turns
And cares my life environ;
Id sooner laugh with Bobbie Burns
Than sneer with titl'd Byron.
Sea-Piece
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud-rolling Ocean,
And Fancy surveys thee with solemn delight;
When thy mountainous billows are wild in commotion,
And the tempest is rous'd by the spirits of night!
The King and the Siren
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The harsh King-Winter-sat upon the hills,
And reigned and ruled the earth right royally.
The Four Seasons : Summer
© James Thomson
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
A Lay Of St. Nicholas
© Richard Harris Barham
Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;
I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!'
The Glory That Slumbered In The Granite Rock
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A granite rock on the mountain side
Gazed on the world and was satisfied;
The Day's March
© Robert Nichols
The battery grides and jingles,
Mile succeeds to mile;
Shaking the noonday sunshine
The guns lunge out awhile,
And then are still awhile.
Fragment VIII
© James Macpherson
Such, Fingal! were thy words; but
thy words I hear no more. Sightless
I sit by thy tomb. I hear the wind in
the wood; but no more I hear my
friends. The cry of the hunter is over.
The voice of war is ceased.
The Troubadour. Canto 3
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
But sadness moved him when he gave
DE VALENCE to his lowly grave,--
The grave where the wild flowers were sleeping,
And one pale olive-tree was weeping,--
And placed the rude stone cross to show
A Christian hero lay below.
To The King Of Macedonia
© George Moses Horton
Thou may'st with pleasure hail the dawn,
And greet the morning's eye;
Remember, king, the night comes on,
The fleeting day will soon be gone,
Not distant, loud proclaims the funeral tone,
Phillip, thou hast to die.
Voices Of The Night : Prelude
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Pleasant it was, when woods were green,
And winds were soft and low,
To lie amid some sylvan scene,
Where, the long drooping boughs between
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
Alternate come and go;
Flora
© Charlotte Turner Smith
REMOTE from scenes, where the o'erwearied mind
Shrinks from the crimes and follies of mankind,
The Hermit of Thebaid
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O strong, upwelling prayers of faith,
From inmost founts of life ye start,-
The spirit's pulse, the vital breath
Of soul and heart!
The Wayfarers
© Rupert Brooke
Do you think theres a far border town, somewhere,
The deserts edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which Ill find you waiting; and well go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?
