Time poems

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Confession

© Charles Baudelaire

Une fois, une seule, aimable et douce femme,
À mon bras votre bras poli
S'appuya (sur le fond ténébreux de mon âme
Ce souvenir n'est point pâli);

Melody To A Scene Of Former Times

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Art thou indeed forever gone,
Forever, ever, lost to me?
Must this poor bosom beat alone,
Or beat at all, if not for thee?

The Witch's Daughter

© John Greenleaf Whittier

It was the pleasant harvest time,
When cellar-bins are closely stowed,
And garrets bend beneath their load,

I was sitting with my microscope, upon my parlor rug,
With a very heavy quarto and a very lively bug;
The true bug had been organized with only two antennae,
But the humbug in the copperplate would have them twice as many.

False Weight

© George Moses Horton

If thou art fair, deal, lady, fair,
And let the scales be even;
Forbid the poising beam to rear,
And pull thee down from heaven.

A Harvest Song

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

THE noon was as a crystal bowl
The red wine mantled through;
Around it like a Viking's beard
The red-gold hazes blew,
As tho' he quaffed the ruddy draught
While swift his galley flew.

Lydlinch Bells

© William Barnes

When skies wer peäle wi' twinklèn stars,

An' whislèn aïr a-risèn keen;

Pleasing Dad

© Edgar Albert Guest

When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three,
I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.
He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;
Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;
And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad
Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.

You Should at Times Go Out

© Elizabeth Daryush

You should at times go out
from where the faithful kneel,
visit the slums of doubt
and feel what the lost feel;

Italy : 28. An Interview

© Samuel Rogers

Pleasure, that comes unlooked-for, is thrice-welcome;
And, if it stir the heart, if aught be there,
That may hereafter in a thoughtful hour
Wake but a sigh, 'tis treasured up among

Fragment XII

© James Macpherson

But when thou returnedst from war,
how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face
was like the sun after rain; like the
moon in the silence of night; calm as
the breast of the lake when the loud
wind is laid.