Time poems
/ page 283 of 792 /Marguerite
© John Greenleaf Whittier
What to her was the song of the robin, or warm
morning light,
As she lay in the trance of the dying, heedless of
sound or sight?
Australia's Forgotten Flag
© Henry Lawson
Oh! the Cross of deepest blue,
With the bright stars shining through,
Manfred: A Dramatic Poem. Act II.
© George Gordon Byron
CHAMOIS HUNTER
No, no -- yet pause -- thou must not yet go forth:
Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide--
But whither?
Midnight
© Thomas Hood
Unfathomable Night! how dost thou sweep
Over the flooded earth, and darkly hide
The mighty city under thy full tide;
Making a silent palace for old Sleep,
Elegy For Poe With The Music Of A Carnival Inside It
© Larry Levis
There is this sunny place where I imagine him.
A park on a hill whose grass wants to turn
Into dust, & would do so if it weren't
For the rain, & the fact that it is only grass
The Mystery Of Gilgal
© John Hay
The darkest, strangest mystery
I ever read, or heern, or see,
Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall,--
Tom Taggart's of Gilgal.
Boulogne To Amiens And Paris (3 to 11 P.M.; 3rd Class)
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Strong extreme speed, that the brain hurries with,
Further than trees, and hedges, and green grass
Lucy and Colin
© Thomas Tickell
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face,
To My Dear Friend Mr. E[ldred] R[evett]. On His Poems Moral
© Richard Lovelace
Thus the repeated acts of Nestor's age,
That now had three times ore out-liv'd the stage,
And all those beams contracted into one,
Alcides in his cradle hath outdone.
The Song of Ninian Melville
© Henry Kendall
Sing the song of noisy Ninny - hang the Muses - spit it out!
(Tuneful Nine ye needn't help me - poet knows his way about!)
Monody On Henry Headley
© William Lisle Bowles
To every gentle Muse in vain allied,
In youth's full early morning HEADLEY died!
Unpublished Poem I
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
JONES plays the deuce with his grammar,
Knocks time and tense into tin-tacks ;
Brown, the big Visigoth, wielding blunt hammer,
Mauls right and left the Queen's syntax.
Lines, Written In The Memory Of Elizabeth Smith
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Daughter of heav'n! if here, e'en here,
The wing of tow'ring thought was thine;
If, on this dim and mundane sphere,
Fair truth illum'd thy bright career,
With morning-star divine;
Ode To The Cuckoo
© John Logan
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome ring.
The Fruit Of Love's Desire.
© Robert Crawford
The fruit of love's desire is sweet
For any man and maid to eat.
However ripened in time's air,
No other can with it compare.
The August Weeds
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I wandered between woods
On a grassy down, when still
Clouds hung after rain
Over hollow and hill;
Peach Blossom Spring
© Wang Wei
A fisherman floated on, enjoying Spring.
The shores, he found, were covered in Peach Blossom.
The Rivulet
© William Cullen Bryant
This little rill, that from the springs
Of yonder grove its current brings,
Plays on the slope a while, and then
Goes prattling into groves again,
Isabel
© Charles Stuart Calverley
Now o'er the landscape crowd the deepening shades,
And the shut lily cradles not the bee;
The red deer couches in the forest glades,
And faint the echoes of the slumberous sea: