Smile poems
/ page 205 of 369 /
Ferdiah; Or, The Fight At The Ford
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,
Time for the fearful combat to prepare;
For hither with the anger in his eyes,
To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair.
The Slave Mother
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Heard you that shriek? It rose
So wildly on the air,
It seem’d as if a burden’d heart
Was breaking in despair.
from Venus and Adonis
© William Shakespeare
Even as the sunne with purple-colourd face,
Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne,
Rose-cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace,
Hunting he lou'd, but loue he laught to scorne,
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him,
And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him.
September, 1819
© André Breton
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
Amoretti LXXXI: Fayre is my love, when her fayre golden heares
© Edmund Spenser
Fayre is my love, when her fayre golden heares,
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke:
A Story About Chicken Soup
© Louis Simpson
In my grandmother’s house there was always chicken soup
And talk of the old country—mud and boards,
Bahaman
© Bliss William Carman
To T. B. M.
IN the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship
General William Booth Enters Into Heaven
© Roald Dahl
[BASS DRUM LOUDER]
Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole!
Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl!
Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean,
Rulers of empires, and of forests green!
from Lyrics of the Street
© Julia Ward Howe
Outside the Party
Thick throng the snow-flakes, the evening is dreary,
Glad rings the music in yonder gay hall;
On her who listens here, friendless and weary,
Heavier chill than the winters doth fall.
Family Love
© Amado Ruiz de Nervo
I adore my dear mother,
I adore my dear father too;
No one loves me as much
As they know how to love me.
Korner And His Sister
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Green wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory, as an altar keepest;
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was pour'd,
Thou of the Lyre and Sword!
The Supper
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Blind Roger
Set the glass in my hand. I'm blind and old,
But still I shun to be left in the cold.
Through A Porthole
© Leon Gellert
If you could lie upon this berth, this berth
whereon I lie,
If you could see a tiny peak uplift its
tingled tusk,
Coyote, with Mange
© Mark Wunderlich
Oh, Unreadable One, why
have you done this to your dumb creature?
Why have you chosen to punish the coyote
The Old Man Drew the Line
© Carl Rakosi
Ah, companero,
you were born
on the wrong day
when God was paradoxical.
You’ll have to
find yourself an old dog.
