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The Death of Abraham Lincoln

© William Cullen Bryant

Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude VII.

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Touched by the pathos of these rhymes,

The Theologian said: "All praise

Yon, in the depths of the evening's track,
Like a herd of blind bullocks that seek their fellows,
Wild, as in terror, the tempest bellows.
And suddenly, there, o'er the gables black
That the church, in the twilight, around it raises
All scored with lightnings the steeple blazes.

The Duel

© Alexander Pushkin

FROM "EUGENE ONEGIN "

The Rose: A Ballad

© James Russell Lowell

I

In his tower sat the poet

The Lost Ones

© Francis Ledwidge

But where are all the loves of long ago?
O little twilight ship blown up the tide,
Where are the faces laughing in the glow
Of morning years, the lost ones scattered wide
Give me your hand, O brother, let us go
Crying about the dark for those who died.

The Christmas Beetle

© Leon Gellert

When Christmas comes the Christmas heat'll

bring once more the Christmas Beetle

To James Russell Lowell

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

Here let us keep him, here he saw the light,--
His genius, wisdom, wit, are ours by right;
And if we lose him our lament will be
We have "five hundred"--_not_ "as good as he."

The Fools

© Muriel Stuart

BELOW, the street was hoarse with cries,
With groan of carts and scuffling feet,
With laughter worse than blasphemies,
Was choked with dust and blind with heat,
This room was still-too still for peace.

Telepathy

© James Russell Lowell

'And how could you dream of meeting?'
Nay, how can you ask me, sweet?
All day my pulse had been beating
The tune of your coming feet.

The Wind

© James Brunton Stephens

The wind stood up and gave a shout.
He whistled on his fingers and
Kicked the withered leaves about
And thumped the branches with his hand

The Spring of Love

© Friedrich Rückert

Dearest, thy discourses steal
From my bosom's deep, my heart
How can I from thee conceal
My delight, my sorrow's smart?

The Poetry Of Shelley

© George Meredith

See'st thou a Skylark whose glistening winglets ascending
Quiver like pulses beneath the melodious dawn?
Deep in the heart-yearning distance of heaven it flutters -
Wisdom and beauty and love are the treasures it brings down at eve.

The Gifts

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair;
I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there--
I give a day to pluck it and to wear!

The Unchanged

IF we could salvage Babylon

From times's grim heap of dust and bones;

The Seven Sisters

Or, The Solitude Of Binnorie

SEVEN Daughter had Lord Archibald,

Twenty-One Love Poems VI

The Inner Fields

Floating like stars upon a strip of sky.
This world behind is made of truer stuff
Than the manufactured tissue of earth's grace.
There we can walk and see the gods go by
And sip from Hebe's cup nectar enough
To make for us heavenly limbs and deathless face.