Smile poems
/ page 181 of 369 /
The Troubadour. Canto 2
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
Jazz Chick
© Bob Kaufman
Music from her breast, vibrating
Soundseared into burnished velvet.
Silent hips deceiving fools.
Rivulets of trickling ecstacy
Ode On The Death Of A Favourite Cat Drowned In A Tub Of Gold Fishes
© Thomas Gray
Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Three Seasons
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
'A cup for hope!' she said,
In springtime ere the bloom was old:
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red.
Iris, Her Book
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I PRAY thee by the soul of her that bore thee,
By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee,
Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee!
Himself
© Alice Guerin Crist
Last night, when I was listenin
Alone, to wind and rain,
He took the chair beside me,
Himself - come home again.
Costanza
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Thro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow
Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna brow,
The Christ upon the Hill
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
A couple old sat o'er the fire,
And they were bent and gray;
They burned the charcoal for their Lord,
Who lived long leagues away.
Magellanic Penguin
© Pablo Neruda
Penguin, static traveler,
deliberate priest of the cold,
I salute your vertical salt
and envy your plumed pride.
Lovethou art high
© Emily Dickinson
Lovethou art high
I cannot climb thee
But, were it Two
Who know but we
Taking turnsat the Chimborazo
Ducalat laststand up by thee
I Like For You To Be Still
© Pablo Neruda
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
Apparitions
© Robert Browning
Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!
XIII. O Time! Who Know'st a Lenient Hand to Lay...
© William Lisle Bowles
O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence,
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
Stealest the long-forgotten pang away;
In Winter
© Alice Guerin Crist
Golden and white in the garden walk,
Chrysanthemums gather their bravest show,
Mid withered blossom and wilted stalk
Where never a rosebud dares to blow.
Sonnet. On A Picture Of Leander
© John Keats
Come hither all sweet Maidens soberly
Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light
I. Written at Tinemouth, Northumberland, after a Tempestuous Voyage
© William Lisle Bowles
AS slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide,
Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day
© William Lisle Bowles
Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day
I journey on, yet pensive turn to view
(Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue)
The streams and vales, and hills, that steal away.
