Time poems
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
© George Gordon Byron
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now;
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow;
While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott.
Ghosts In England
© Robinson Jeffers
At East Lulworth the dead were friendly and pitiful, I saw them
peek from their ancient earthworks on the coast hills
The Pauper's Christmas Carol
© Thomas Hood
Full of drink and full of meat,
On our SAVIOUR'S natal day,
CHARITY'S perennial treat;
Thus I heard a Pauper say:
The Coach Of Life
© Alexander Pushkin
But midday finds our courage wane,
We're shaken now: and at this hour
Both hills and dales inspire dread.
We shout: "Hold on, drive slower, fool!"
A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air
© James Whitcomb Riley
They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
Our Heritage
© Alexander Bathgate
A Perfect peaceful stillness reigns,
Not e'en a passing playful breeze
To A Jar Of Wine
© Eugene Field
How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts,
And bare the cruel knave's design;
How through thy fascinating arts
We discount Hope, O gracious wine!
And passing rich the poor man feels
As through his veins thy affluence steals.
The End is Near the Beginning
© David Gascoyne
Several men are standing on the pier
Unloading the sea
The device on the trolley says MOTHER'S MEAT
Which means Until the end.
Envoy
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Young Knight, the lists are set to-day!
Hereafter shall be time to pray
Additions: The Fire at Tranter Sweatley's
© Thomas Hardy
She cried, "O pray pity me!" Nought would he hear;
Then with wild rainy eyes she obeyed,
She chid when her Love was for clinking off wi' her.
The pa'son was told, as the season drew near
To throw over pu'pit the names of the peäir
As fitting one flesh to be made.
Understanding
© Edgar Albert Guest
When I was young and frivolous and never stopped to think,
When I was always doing wrong, or just upon the brink;
When I was just a lad of seven and eight and nine and ten,
It seemed to me that every day I got in trouble then,
And strangers used to shake their heads and say I was no good,
But father always stuck to me it seems he understood.
Epitaph On A Beloved Friend
© George Gordon Byron
Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear!
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re'echo'd to thy parting breath,
Wilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
The River-Merchant's Wife
© Li Po
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?
I Saw Children Playing
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
No! they still are playing, chatting in a ring,
Eager voices seeking other games to know.
Lone I go protestinghear them laugh and sing,
Feeling not my absence, heeding not my woe.
The Psychological Craze
© Lesbia Harford
I in the library,
Looking for books to read,
Pulled one out twice to see
If it fulfilled my need.
Sonnet XVIII
© Caroline Norton
ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON.
[Inscribed, with deep and earnest sympathy, to her Mother, The Countess of Carlisle.]
SINCE in the pleasant time of opening flowers
That flow'r, Her life, was doom'd to fade away,--
