Time poems
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Earl Rodericks Bride
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
It was the Black Earl Roderick
Who rode towards the south;
Corydon: A Pastoral
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Nay, a simple swain
That tends his flock on yonder plain,
Naught else, I swear by book and bell.
But she that passed, you marked her well.
Was she not smooth as any be
That dwell herein in Arcady?
The Cottage
© Jones Very
The house my earthly parent left
My heavenly parent still throws down,
For 'tis of air and sun bereft,
Nor stars its roof with beauty crown.
The Key (A Moorish Romance)
© Thomas Hood
"On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the key of their ancestors' houses in Spain; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning and again planting the crescent on the ancient walls of the Alhambra."Scott's Travels in Morocco and Algiers.
"Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing?" Sancho Panza in Don Quixote
The Moor leans on his cushion,
Who does she think she is....
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I asked the Zebra:
Are you black with white stripes?
Catching the Moles by Judith Kitchen: American Life in Poetry #106 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 20
© Ted Kooser
By describing the relocation of the moles which ravaged her yard, Washington poet Judith Kitchen presents an experience that resonates beyond the simple details, and suggests that children can learn important lessons through observation of the natural world.
Catching the Moles
First we tamp down the ridges
that criss-cross the yard
I Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry
© Vachel Lindsay
Oh, sweating thieves, and hard-boiled scalawags,
That still will boast your pride until the doom,
Smashing every caste rule of the world,
Reaching at last your Hindu goal to smash
The caste rules of old India, and shout:
"Down with the Brahmins, let the Romany reign."
Third Sunday After Epiphany
© John Keble
I marked a rainbow in the north,
What time the wild autumnal sun
From his dark veil at noon looked forth,
As glorying in his course half done,
Flinging soft radiance far and wide
Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side.
Eclogue VII
© Virgil
Corydon.
"Libethrian Nymphs, who are my heart's delight,
Grant me, as doth my Codrus, so to sing-
Next to Apollo he- or if to this
We may not all attain, my tuneful pipe
Here on this sacred pine shall silent hang."
Sport In The Meadows
© John Clare
Maytime is to the meadows coming in,
And cowslip peeps have gotten eer so big,
Dialogues
© Pietro Aretino
ANTONIA What did you see? Tell me, please!
NANNA In the cell I saw four sisters, the General, and the three milky-white and ruby-red young friars, who were taking off the reverend fathers cassock and garbing him in a big velvet coat. Then hid his tonsure under a small golden skullcap, over which they placed a velvet cap ornamented with crystal droplets and surmounted by a white plume. Then, having buckled his sword at his side, the blissful General, to speak frankly, started strutting back and forth with the big-balled stride of a Bartolomeo Colleoni. In the meantime the sisters removed their habits and the friars took off their tunics. The latter put on the sisters` robes and the sisters that is, three of them put on the friars`. The fourth nun rolled herself up in Generals cassock, seated herself pontifically, and began to imitate a superior laying down the law for the convent.
The Shadowy Waters: Introduction
© William Butler Yeats
I walked among the seven woods of Coole:
Shan-walla, where a willow-bordered pond
Sonnet LXV. To Dr. Parry Of Bath
© Charlotte Turner Smith
With some botanic drawings which had been made
some years.
IN happier hours, ere yet so keenly blew
Adversity's cold blight, and bitter storms,
The Muses Threnodie: Third Muse
© Henry Adamson
These be the first memorials of a bridge,
Good Monsier, that we truely can alledge.
Thus spoke good Gall, and I did much rejoyce
To hear him these antiquities disclose;
Which I remembering now, of force must cry
Gall, sweetest Gall, what ailed thee to die?
The DreamHouse
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Often we talk of the house that we will build
For airier and less jostled days than these
We chafe in, and send Fancy roaming wide
Down western valleys with a choosing eye
Introduction To The True-Born Englishman
© Daniel Defoe
Speak, satire; for there's none can tell like thee
Whether 'tis folly, pride, or knavery
When Bessie Died
© James Whitcomb Riley
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;
If the white feet into the grave had tripped--"
