Smile poems
/ page 354 of 369 /
Confession (to Alina Osipova, 1826)
© Alexander Pushkin
(tr. by Genia Gurarie, 10.95 - 4.99)
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.
An Elegy
© Alexander Pushkin
The senseless years' extinguished mirth and laughter
Oppress me like some hazy morning-after.
But sadness of days past, as alcohol -
The more it age, the stronger grip the soul.
My course is dull. The future's troubled ocean
Forebodes me toil, misfortune and commotion.
Casey at the Bat
© Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
The Boiling Water
© Kenneth Koch
A serious moment for the
telephone is when it rings.
And a person answers, it is
Angelica, or is it you.
The Shrubbery, Written in a Time of Affliction
© William Cowper
But fix'd unalterable care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shows the same sadness ev'rywhere,
And slights the season and the scene.
Epitaph on a Hare
© William Cowper
Here lies, whom hound did neer pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot neer tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsmans hallo,
Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq.
© William Cowper
Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd
From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.
The Task: Book V, The Winter Morning Walk (excerpts)
© William Cowper
'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires th' horizon: while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
The Task: Book IV, The Winter Evening (excerpts)
© William Cowper
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
On Receipt Of My Mother's Picture
© William Cowper
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Vanity of the World
© William Cowper
God gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no good.
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food.
To Mary
© William Cowper
The twentieth year is well nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
The Lifeguard
© James Dickey
In a stable of boats I lie still,
From all sleeping children hidden.
The leap of a fish from its shadow
Makes the whole lake instantly tremble.
With my foot on the water, I feel
The moon outside
An Hymn In Honour Of Beauty
© Edmund Spenser
AH whither, Love, wilt thou now carry me?
What wontless fury dost thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?
Whilst seeking to aslake thy raging fire,
Sonnet XXI
© Edmund Spenser
WAs it the worke of nature or of Art?
which tempred so the feature of her face:
that pride and meeknesse mixt by equall part,
doe both appeare t'adorne her beauties grace.
Sonnet LXXXI
© Edmund Spenser
Fayre is my loue, when her fayre golden heares,
with the loose wynd ye wauing chance to marke:
fayre when the rose in her red cheekes appeares,
or in her eyes the fyre of loue does sparke.
Sonnet XVII
© Edmund Spenser
THe glorious portraict of that Angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil:
and this worlds worthlesse glory to embase,
what pen, what pencill can expresse her fill?
Sonnet XL
© Edmund Spenser
MArk when she smiles with amiable cheare,
And tell me whereto can ye lyken it:
when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare,
an hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
Sonnet XXXIX
© Edmund Spenser
SWeet smile, the daughter of the Queene of loue,
Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art:
with which she wonts to temper angry loue,
when all the gods he threats with thundring dart.
Visions of the worlds vanitie.
© Edmund Spenser
One day, whiles that my daylie cares did sleepe,
My spirit, shaking off her earthly prison,
Began to enter into meditation deepe
Of things exceeding reach of common reason;
