Time poems
/ page 288 of 792 /
The Silent Singer
© Alma Frances McCollum
(Eugene Field)
THE lights are all low, for the sun's in the west,
Elegy XIV. Declining an Invitation To Visit Foreign Countries
© William Shenstone
While others, lost to friendship, lost to love,
Waste their best minutes on a foreign strand,
Be mine, with British nymph or swain to rove,
And court the Genius of my native land.
The Latest Decalogue
© Arthur Hugh Clough
Thou shalt have one God only; who
Would be at the expense of two?
The Ring And The Book - Chapter VI - Giuseppe Caponsacchi
© Robert Browning
Again the morning found me. I will work,
Tie down my foolish thoughts. Thank God so far!
I have saved her from a scandal, stopped the tongues
Had broken else into a cackle and hiss
Around the noble name. Duty is still
Wisdom: I have been wise. So the day wore.
The Younger Brutus
© Giacomo Leopardi
When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay,
In ruin vast, the strength of Italy,
Shame
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
Maybe, in my previous a-being,
Ive cut the throats of my Mom and Dad,
If in this one Lord of all the living! -
I have been doomed to suffering like that.
By The Seaside : The Building Of The Ship
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
On the deck another bride
Is standing by her lover's side.
Shadows from the flags and shrouds,
Like the shadows cast by clouds,
Broken by many a sunny fleck,
Fall around them on the deck.
A Child's Battles
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Praise of the knights of old
May sleep: their tale is told,
And no man cares:
The praise which fires our lips is
A knight's whose fame eclipses
All of theirs.
The Fountain Of Youth
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
READ AT THE MEETING OF THE HARVARD ALUMNI
ASSOCIATION, JUNE 25, 1873
Italy : 51. Marco Griffoni
© Samuel Rogers
War is a game at which all are sure to lose, sooner or
later, play they how they will; yet every nation has
delighted in war, and none more in their day than the
little republic of Genoa, whose galleys, while she had
The Man of Sentiment
© Kenneth Slessor
Part One
[A walled garden of York. It is an August Sunday, and the baying of deep church-bells is blown faintly in a warm wind. Laurence Sterne, prebendary, aged forty-six, and Catherine de Fromantel, a girl who sings at Ranelagh, are dawdling through the arbours, and pause at a path which runs between hedges and cypress-trees round a corner some fifty yards away. Catherine has walked down such a path before, it is to be feared, and halts cautiously upon its fringes.]
Laurence:
Nay, 'tis no Devil's walk,
Angkor
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Out of the Forest into a terrible splendour
Of noon, the pinnacles of the temple--portals,
Stone Faces, immense in carven ruin
Above the trembling of giant trees emerge.
Under The Locusts
© John Crowe Ransom
WHAT do the old men say,
Sitting out of the sun?
Many strange and common things,
And so would any one.
Peter Bell The Third
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Is it a party in a parlour,
Crammed just as they on earth were crammed,
Some sipping punch-some sipping tea;
But, as you by their faces see,
All silent, and all-damned!
Peter Bell, by W. Wordsworth.
O, Time And Change, They Range And Range
© William Ernest Henley
O, Time and Change, they range and range
From sunshine round to thunder! -
The Plugger
© Edgar Albert Guest
He isn't very brilliant and his pace is often slow,
There's nothing very flashy in his style;
Keep Your Whip In Your Hand
© George Ade
Each man is like a noble steed;
When he's a colt I take him;
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Fifth
© William Wordsworth
HIGH on a point of rugged ground
Among the wastes of Rylstone Fell
Above the loftiest ridge or mound
Where foresters or shepherds dwell,
The Willow-Tree
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Domine, Domine!
Sing we a litany,
Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary;
Domine, Domine!
Sing we a litany,
Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere!
