Time poems

 / page 222 of 792 /
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Wood Magic

© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream,
  And we, who silently roamed hand in hand,
  Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land,
Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam.

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Letter To Maria Gisborne

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;

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Elegy V

© Henry James Pye

Thee, sad Melpomene, I once again

  Invoke, nor ask the idly plaintive verse:

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A Love Song

© Virna Sheard

Oh haste, my Sweet!  Impatient now I wait,
The crescent moon swings low, it groweth late,
A night bird sings, of Life, and Love, and Fate!

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Hesiod: Or, The Rise Of Woman

© Thomas Parnell

Gold-scepter'd Juno next exalts the Fair;
Her Touch endows her with imperious Air,
Self-valuing Fancy, highly-crested Pride,
Strong sov'reign Will, and some Desire to chide:
For which, an Eloquence, that aims to vex,
With native Tropes of Anger, arms the Sex.

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Dow's Flat

© Francis Bret Harte

Dow's Flat.  That's its name;
  And I reckon that you
Are a stranger?  The same?
  Well, I thought it was true,--
For thar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place at first
  view.

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The Botanic Garden (Part VI)

© Erasmus Darwin

 "Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
 "Sweet MAY! thy radiant form unfold;
 "Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
 "And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.

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The Ghetto

© Lola Ridge

Cool, inaccessible air
Is floating in velvety blackness shot with steel-blue lights,
But no breath stirs the heat
Leaning its ponderous bulk upon the Ghetto
And most on Hester street…

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Answer to Prayer

© James Weldon Johnson

Der ain't no use in sayin' de Lawd won't answer prah;
If you knows how to ax Him, I knows He's bound to heah.
De trouble is, some people don't ax de proper way,
Den w'en dey git's no answer dey doubts de use to pray.

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On Clergymen Preaching Politics

© John Byrom

Indeed, Sir Peter, I could wish, I own,
That parsons would let politics alone;
Plead, if they will, the customary plea,
For such like talk, when o'er the dish of tea:
But when they tease us with it from the pulpit,
I own, Sir Peter, that I cannot help it.

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L'Homme Moyen Sensuel

© Ezra Pound

Yet Radway went. A circumspectious prig!
And then that woman like a guinea-pig
Accosted, that's the word, accosted him,
Thereon the amorous calor slightly frosted him.
(I burn, I freeze, I sweat, said the fair Greek,
I speak in contradictions, so to speak.)

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The Present Age

© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Say not the age is hard and cold--
I think it brave and grand;
When men of diverse sects and creeds
Are clasping hand in hand.

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Cyder: Book I

© John Arthur Phillips

  What Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
  To Orchats, timeliest when to press the Fruits,
  Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verse
  Adventrous I presume to sing; of Verse
  Nor skill'd, nor studious: But my Native Soil
  Invites me, and the Theme as yet unsung.

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Lily

© Henry Lawson

I SCORN the man—a fool at most,

  And ignorant and blind—

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Despair

© Ada Cambridge

O what is life, if we must hold it thus
As wind-blown sparks hold momentary fire?
What are these gifts without the larger boon?
O what is art, or wealth, or fame to us
Who scarce have time to know what we desire?
O what is love, if we must part so soon?

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The Cupboard

© Robert Graves

Mary: That cupboard, dearest mother,
With shining crystal handles?
There's nought inside but rags and jags
And yellow tallow candles.

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An Inventor

© Augusta Davies Webster

I thought this time 'twas done at last,
the workings perfected, the life in it;
and there's the flaw again, the petty flaw,
the fretting small impossibility
that has to be made possible.

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Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 2.

© William Cowper

How exquisitely sweet
This rich display of flowers,
This airy wild of fragrance,
So lovely to the eye,
And to the sense so sweet.

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Dialogue In Verse

© Christopher Marlowe

_Friend._ Let him give her gay gold rings
  Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay];
  [F]or were her lovers lords or kings,
  They should not carry the wench away.

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The Old Leaven

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

Maurice:
No, Mark, I'm not so easily cross'd;
'Tis true that I've had a run
Of bad luck lately; indeed, I've lost;
Well! somebody else has won.