Time poems
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Fact Or Fancy?
© James Russell Lowell
In town I hear, scarce wakened yet,
My neighbor's clock behind the wall
Record the day's increasing debt,
And _Cuckoo! Cuckoo!_ faintly call.
The Phantom Fleet
© Alfred Noyes
The sunset lingered in the pale green West:
In rosy wastes the low soft evening star
Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest;
And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.
Flower and Song
© William Herbert Carruth
I dug a little flower
From out the forest-shade,
And set it in my garden
Where light and sunshine played.
Regret
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
There is a haunting phantom called Regret,
A shadowy creature robed somewhat like Woe,
But fairer in the face, whom all men know
By her sad mien and eyes forever wet.
The King Of England
© Sir Henry Newbolt
In that eclipse of noon when joy was hushed
Like the bird's song beneath unnatural night,
Prosopopoia : or, Mother Hubbards Tale
© Edmund Spenser
Yet he the name on him would rashly take,
Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make
A servant to the vile affection
Of such, as he depended most upon;
And with the sugrie sweete thereof allure
Chast Ladies eares to fantasies impure.
The Artilleryman's Vision
© Walt Whitman
While my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,
And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes,
The Young that Died in Beauty
© William Barnes
If souls should only sheen so bright
In heaven as in ethly light,
An nothen better wer the cease,
How comely still, in sheape an feace,
Sunday After Ascension
© John Keble
The Earth that in her genial breast
Makes for the down a kindly nest,
Where wafted by the warm south-west
It floats at pleasure,
Yields, thankful, of her very best,
To nurse her treasure:
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part. 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VI. -- The Wraith Of Od
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Life Is A Dream - Act III
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
FIRST SOLDIER [within]. He is here within this tower.
Dash the door from off its hinges;
Enter all
Wingless Victory
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Worms feed upon the bodies of the brave
Who bled for us: but we bewildered see
Viler worms gnaw the things they died to save.
Old clouds of doubt and weariness oppress.
Happy the dead, we cry, not now to be
In the day of this dissolving littleness!
The Songs Of Night
© Edgar Albert Guest
The moon swings low in the sky above,
And the twinkling stars shine bright,
Fragments
© Robert Louis Stevenson
Or rather to behold her when
She plies for me the unresting pen,
And when the loud assault of squalls
Resounds upon the roof and walls,
And the low thunder growls and I
Raise my dictating voice on high.
I've Seen Again The One Child
© Paul Verlaine
I've seen again the One child: verily,
I felt the last wound open in my breast,
The last, whose perfect torture doth attest
That on some happy day I too shall die!
A Small Moment by Cornelius Eady: American Life in Poetry #197 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
I suspect that one thing some people have against reading poems is that they are so often so serious, so devoid of joy, as if we poets spend all our time brooding about mutability and death and never having any fun. Here Cornelius Eady, who lives and teaches in Indiana, offers us a poem of pure pleasure.
Ballad of Reading Gaol - I
© Oscar Wilde
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
The Way of Wooing
© William Schwenck Gilbert
A maiden sat at her window wide,
Pretty enough for a Prince's bride,
At Aunty's House
© James Whitcomb Riley
One time, when we'z at Aunty's house--
'Way in the country!--where
The Perpetual Wooing
© Eugene Field
The dull world clamors at my feet
And asks my hand and helping sweet;
