Time poems

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The Invitation

© Edith Nesbit

DELIA, my dear, delightful Lady,
  Time flies in town, you say,
  New gowns shine fresh as May,
  The Park is glad and gay,
Ah--but the woods are green and shady--
  Come, Delia, come away!

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The Doves

© William Cowper

Reasoning at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things whom instinct leads
Are rarely known to stray.

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Light

© George MacDonald

Dull horrid pools no motion making!
No bubble on the surface breaking!
The dead air lies, without a sound,
Heavy and moveless on the marshy ground.

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Sonnet XLVI: Let others sing of knights and paladines

© Samuel Daniel

XLVI

  Let others sing of knights and paladines

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Spasskoe

© Boris Pasternak

In Spasskoe, unforgettable September sheds its leaves.

Isn’t it time to close up the summer-house?

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Brahmā, Vişņu, Śiva

© Rabindranath Tagore

nasad asin, no sad asit tadanim;
nasid raja no vioma paro yat.
kim avarivah? kuha? kasya sarmann?
Ambhah kim asid, gahanam gabhiram?

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At Day-Close In November

© Thomas Hardy

The ten hours' light is abating,
  And a late bird flies across,
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting,
  Give their black heads a toss.

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The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War by James Doyle: American Life in Poetry #9 Ted Koo

© Ted Kooser

In eighteen lines—one long sentence—James Doyle evokes two settings: an actual parade and a remembered one. By dissolving time and contrasting the scenes, the poet helps us recognize the power of memory and the subtle ways it can move us.

The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War

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Scenes From The Faust Of Goethe

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

CHORUS:
Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,
Though none can comprehend Thee:
And all Thy lofty works
Are excellent as at the first day.

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The Deeds Of Anger

© Edgar Albert Guest

I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around
An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound;
I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed,
An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last;
But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret,
For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget.

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Tale XIV

© George Crabbe

dwell,
While he was acting (he would call it) well;
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell;
There was no fraud, and he demanded cause
Why he was troubled when he kept the laws?"
  "My laws!" said Conscience.  "What," said he, "

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An Ode On The Peace

© Helen Maria Williams

I.

As wand'ring late on Albion's shore

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Sonnet XLVI.

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Written at Penhurst, in Autumn 1788.
YE towers sublime! deserted now and drear!
Ye woods! deep sighing to the hollow blast,
The musing wanderer loves to linger near,

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Elegy VI. To Charles Diodati, When He Was Visiting In The Country (Translated From Milton)

© William Cowper

With no rich viands overcharg'd, I send

Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend;

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New College Gardens, Oxford

© Edith Nesbit


The enchantment of the dreaming limes,
  The magic of the quiet hours,
Breathe unheard tales of other times
  And other destinies than ours;

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Lines Written In The Highlands After A Visit To Burns's Country

© John Keats

There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain,
Where patriot battle has been fought, where glory had the gain;
There is a pleasure on the heath where Druids old have been,
Where mantles grey have rustled by and swept the nettles green;

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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.

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The Lute-Player

© William Watson

She was a lady great and splendid,
 I was a minstrel in her halls.
A warrior like a prince attended
 Stayed his steed by the castle walls.

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The Birds Of Cirencester

© Francis Bret Harte

Did I ever tell you, my dears, the way

That the birds of Cisseter--"Cisseter!" eh?

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Flower-De-Luce: Palingenesis

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I lay upon the headland-height, and listened
To the incessant sobbing of the sea
  In caverns under me,
And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened,
Until the rolling meadows of amethyst
  Melted away in mist.