Time poems

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Georgic 4

© Publius Vergilius Maro

Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now

Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less

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Parody

© George Canning

For one long term, or e'er her trial came,


Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells

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Remarks On The Bright And Dark Side

© Benjamin Tompson

But may a Rural Pen try to set forth

Such a Great Fathers Ancient Grace and worth

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When Friends Drop In

© Edgar Albert Guest

It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best
Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed,
And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng,
With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song,
But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin,
And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.

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Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 04

© Torquato Tasso

XLIII

The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe,

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The Renewal

© Robert Laurence Binyon

No more of sorrow, the world's old distress,
Nor war of thronging spirits numberless,
Immortal ardours in brief days confined,
No more the languid fever of mankind

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Fortune

© Madison Julius Cawein

Within the hollowed hand of God,
Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate,
That have no time nor period,
And know no early and no late.

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The Hidden Tide

© Roderic Quinn

WITHIN the world a second world  


 That circles ceaselessly:  

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The Roman: A Dramatic Poem

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

SCENE I.
A Plain in Italy-an ancient Battle-field. Time, Evening.
Persons.-Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the Unity of Italy, the Overthrow of Austrian Domination, and the Restoration of a great Roman Republic.--A number of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. 'The Monk' is musing.
Enter Dancers.

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A Letter To Monsieur Boileau Despreaux, Occasioned By The Victory At Blenheim

© Matthew Prior

Since hired for life, thy servile Muse must sing

Successive conquests and a glorious King;

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The Zenana

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

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Hudibras: Part 2 - Canto II

© Samuel Butler

Quoth RALPHO, Honour's but a word
To swear by only in a Lord:
In other men 'tis but a huff,
To vapour with instead of proof;
That, like a wen, looks big and swells,
Is senseless, and just nothing else.

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Full moon at Tierz: before the storming of Huesca.

© Rupert John Cornford

The past, a glacier, gripped the mountain wall,
And time was inches, dark was all.
But here it scales the end of the range,
The dialectic's point of change,
Crashes in light and minutes to its fall.

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Lines On The Place De La Concorde At Paris,

© Amelia Opie


PROUD Seine, along thy winding tide
Fair smiles yon plain expanding wide,
And, deckt with art and nature's pride,
  Seems formed for jocund revelry.

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In the House of the Voice of Maria Callas by Steve Orlen: American Life in Poetry #143 Ted Kooser, U

© Ted Kooser

Here is Arizona poet Steve Orlen's lovely tribute to the great opera singer, Maria Callas. Most of us never saw her perform, or even knew what she looked like, but many of us listened to her on the radio or on our parents' record players, perhaps in a parlor like the one in this poem.

In the House of the Voice of Maria Callas

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I Tell My Heart

© Margaret Widdemer

I TELL my heart, to hush her aching
When we are sleeping, when we're waking,
Of things we loved well, she and I,
Upon a time that is gone by:

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A Song for Old Love

© Muriel Stuart

  There shall be a song for both of us that day

  Though fools say you have long outlived your songs,

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The Twa Dogs

© Robert Burns

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' auld King Coil,
Upon a bonie day in June,
When wearin' thro' the afternoon,
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.

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Of The Nature Of Things: Book VI - Part 03 - Extraordinary And Paradoxical Telluric Phenomena

© Lucretius

In chief, men marvel nature renders not

Bigger and bigger the bulk of ocean, since

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The Story Of A Soul.

© James Brunton Stephens

WHO can say "Thus far, no farther," to the tide of his own nature?

Who can mould the spirit's fashion to the counsel of his will?