Time poems

 / page 217 of 792 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Ballad Of Jesus Of Nazareth

© Edgar Lee Masters

It matters not what place he drew
At first life's mortal breath,
Some say it was in Bethlehem,
And some in Nazareth.
But shame and sorrow were his lot
And shameful was his death.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Paul's Voyage

© John Newton

If Paul in Caesar's court must stand,
He need not fear the sea;
Secured from harm, on every hand,
By the divine decree.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Kalevala - Rune XXXI

© Elias Lönnrot

KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL.


star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Villa Franca

© James Russell Lowell

Wait a little: do _we_ not wait?

Louis Napoleon is not Fate,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Feud: A Border Ballad

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

They sat by their wine in the tavern that night,
But not in good fellowship true:
The Rhenish was strong and the Burgundy bright,
And hotter the argument grew.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To The Dandelion

© James Russell Lowell

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,

Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Childhood

© Arthur Rimbaud

I.
That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents or court,
nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;
his domain, insolent azure and verdure,
runs over beaches called by the shipless waves,
names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Shadow-of-a-Leaf

© Alfred Noyes

Bird, squirrel, bee, and the thing that was like no other
  Played in the woods that day,
Talked in the heart of the woods, as brother to brother,
  And prayed as children pray, –
Make me a garland, Lady, a garland, Mother,
  For this wild rood of may.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

O Seasons, O Chateaux

© Arthur Rimbaud


O seasons, O chateaux,
Where is the flawless soul?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Record

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

HE sleeps, his head upon his sword,
His soldier's cloak a shroud;
His church-yard is the open field,--
Three times it has been plough'd:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

A Bonus

© Elizabeth Smart

That day i finished
A small piece
For an obscure magazine
I popped it in the box

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

I never felt at Home—Below

© Emily Dickinson

I never felt at Home—Below—-
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home—I know—
I don't like Paradise—

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Ploughman

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

CLEAR the brown path, to meet his coulter's gleam!
Lo! on he comes, behind his smoking team,
With toil's bright dew-drops on his sunburnt brow,
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough!

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Body And Soul: A Metaphysical Argument

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Man openeth the case
Body, from the arrogance
Of the Soul thou seekest shield,
Makest prayer the old mis--chance

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Six Sonnets On Dante's Divine Comedy

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I

Oft have I seen at some cathedral door

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

By The Fire

© Aldous Huxley

We who are lovers sit by the fire,

  Cradled warm 'twixt thought and will,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Admetus: To my friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson

© Emma Lazarus

He who could beard the lion in his lair,

To bind him for a girl, and tame the boar,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sir Walter Raleigh (The night before his death)

© Sir Walter Raleigh

Even such is time, which takes in trust
  Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us nought but age and dust;
  Which in the dark and silent grave,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

To A Dead Journalist

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

The busy trade of life is over now,
The intricate toil which was so hard for bread,
The strife each day renewed 'neath this poor brow
By this frail hand to be interpreted,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Help

© Franklin Pierce Adams


Come, live with us and be our cook,
And we will all the whimsies brook
That German, Irish, Swede, and Slav
And all the dear domestics have.