Smile poems
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The Mountain Of The Lovers
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I.
LOVE scorns degrees! the low he lifteth high,
The high he draweth down to that fair plain
Whereon, in his divine equality,
Hiawatha's Photographing
© Lewis Carroll
From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;
Madonna Of The Evening Flowers
© Amy Lowell
Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes.
To A Lady, Who Invited The Author Into The Country.
© Mary Barber
I grieve your Brother has the Gout;
Tho' he's so stoically stout,
I've heard him mourn his Loss of Pain,
And wish it in his Feet again.
What Woe poor Mortals must endure,
When Anguish is their only Cure!
The Borough. Letter I
© George Crabbe
"DESCRIBE the Borough"--though our idle tribe
May love description, can we so describe,
If Those Who Love Us
© Edgar Albert Guest
F those who love us find us true
And kind and gentle, and are glad
When each grim working day is through
To have us near them, why be sad?
The Wind of Death
© Ethelwyn Wetherald
The wind of death, that softly blows
The last warm petal from the rose,
For The Commemoration Services
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
FOUR summers coined their golden light in leaves,
Four wasteful autumns flung them to the gale,
Four winters wore the shroud the tempest weaves,
The fourth wan April weeps o'er hill and vale;
The Travelling Companion
© Lord Alfred Douglas
Into the silence of the empty night
I went, and took my scorned heart with me,
And all the thousand eyes of heaven were bright;
But Sorrow came and led me back to thee.
Stings
© Sylvia Plath
Bare-handed, I hand the combs.
The man in white smiles, bare-handed,
Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet,
The throats of our wrists brave lilies.
He and I
Murdering Beauty
© Thomas Carew
I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face,
Since ruin harbours there in every place ;
The Happy Man
© James Thomson
He's not the happy man, to whom is given
A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven;
The Knightly Guerdon
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Untrue to my Ulric I never could be,
I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie,
Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore,
And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er:
My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd,
As I gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest!
A Pastoral Courtship
© Thomas Randolph
Let's enter, and discourse our Loves;
These are, my dear, no tell-tale groves!
There dwell no Pyes, nor Parrots there,
To prate again the words they heare.
Nor babling Echo, that will tell
The neighbouring hills one syllable.
With A Copy of: "In Memoriam"
© George MacDonald
Dear friend, you love the poet's song,
And here is one for your regard.
You know the "melancholy bard,"
Whose grief is wise as well as strong;
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part III
© Caroline Norton
And either tries to hide the thoughts that wring
Their secret hearts; and both essay to bring
Some happy topic, some yet lingering dream,
Which they with cheerful words shall make their theme;
But fail,--and in their wistful eyes confess
All their words never own of hopelessness.
Aforetime
© Thomas Sturge Moore
Thou findest parables;
With fond imagination
Adorning truth
For the successive
Unpersuaded
Generations.
Tale I
© George Crabbe
THE DUMB ORATORS; OR THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETY.
That all men would be cowards if they dare,
