Strength poems

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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Quintus

The Island: Canto IV.

© George Gordon Byron

I.

White as a white sail on a dusky sea,

Lights Along the Mile

© Alfred Thomas Chandler

THE NIGHT descends in glory, and adown the purple west

The young moon, like a crescent skiff, upon some fairy quest,

L'Ennemi (The Enemy)

© Charles Baudelaire

Ma jeunesse ne fut qu'un ténébreux orage,
Traversé çà et là par de brillants soleils;
Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage,
Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils.

Z---------'s dream

© Anne Brontë

Unwonted weakness o'er me crept;
I sighed - nay, weaker still - I wept!
Wept, like a woman o'er the deed
I had been proud to do: -
As I had made his bosom bleed;
My own was bleeding too.

Let You Not Say Of Me When I Am Old

In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;
I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;
Impious no less in ruin than in strength,
When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,
Let you not say, "Upon this reverend site
The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer."

The Fever-Dream

© Caroline Norton

IT was a fever-dream; I lay
Awake, as in the broad bright day,
But faint and worn I drew my breath
Like those who wait for coming death;

Nightmare At Noon

© Stephen Vincent Benet

But do not call it loud. There is plenty of time.
There is plenty of time, while the bombs on London fall
And turn the world to wind and water and fire.
There is time to sleep while the fire-bombs fall on London,
They are stubborn people in London.

Oh For A Day Of Spring

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Oh for a day of Spring,
A day of flowers and folly,
Of birds that pipe and sing
And boyhood's melancholy!
I would not grudge the laughter,
The tears that followed after.

A Tribute of Grasses

© Hamlin Garland

To W. W.

SERENE, vast head, with silver cloud of hair

Ode On Venice

© George Gordon Byron

I.
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,