Thankful poems
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To Sleep
© William Wordsworth
FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!
Daphles. An Argive Story
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
But the Queen's host by skilful champions led,
Its powers meanwhile concentred to a head,
Lay, an embattled force with wary eye,
Ready to ward or strike whene'er the cry
Of coming foemen on their ears should fall,
Nigh the huge towers which guard the capital.
The Pen And The Album
© William Makepeace Thackeray
"I am Miss Catherine's book," the album speaks;
"I've lain among your tomes these many weeks;
I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.
Thou Who Art Enthroned Above!
© George Sandys
Thou who art enthroned above!
Thou by whom we live and move!
Thee we bless; thy praise be sung,
While an ear can hear a tongue.
The Borough. Letter XI: Inns
© George Crabbe
All the comforts of life in a Tavern are known,
'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to
The Hermit
© Thomas Parnell
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.
Sabbath Sonnet
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!
Sonnet III
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
When I do think my meanest line shall be
More in Time's use than my creating whole,
St. Michael And All Angels
© John Keble
Ye stars that round the Sun of righteousness
In glorious order roll,
The Witch of Hebron
© Charles Harpur
Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.
Book Eighth: Retrospect--Love Of Nature Leading To Love Of Man
© William Wordsworth
WHAT sounds are those, Helvellyn, that are heard
Up to thy summit, through the depth of air
Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed?
© Isaac Watts
Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?
At The Seaside
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
O SOLITARY shining sea
That ripples in the sun,
O gray and melancholy sea,
O'er which the shadows run;
Viva Perpetua
© Archibald Lampman
The night is passing. In a few short hours
I too shall suffer for the name of Christ.
A boundless exaltation lifts my soul!
I know that they who left us, Saturus,
Perpetua, and the other blessed ones,
Await me at the opening gates of heaven.
The Wattle Tree
© Dora Wilcox
Winter is not yet gone - but now
The birds are carolling from the bough.
And the mist has rolled away
Leaving more beautiful the day.
The sun is out - O come with me
To look upon the wattle tree!
The Prisoner Of Chillon
© George Gordon Byron
Sonnet on Chillon
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
