Time poems
/ page 299 of 792 /
Roses
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Oh, wind of the spring-time, oh, free wind of May,
When blossoms and bird-song are rife;
Oh, joy for the season, and joy for the day,
That gave me the roses of life, of life,
That gave me the roses of life.
On A Summers Day
© Hayyim Nahman Bialik
When high noon on a summers day
makes the sky a fiery furnace
and the heart seeks a quiet corner for dreams,
then come to me, my weary friend.
The Suicide
© James Weldon Johnson
For fifty years,
Cruel, insatiable Old World.
You have punched me over the heart
Till you made me cough blood.
Loves Harvest
© Alfred Austin
Nay, do not quarrel with the seasons, dear,
Nor make an enemy of friendly Time.
Silence
© Peter McArthur
One who was skilled in runes the gravings read,
And learned the wondrous image was the god
Of endless Silence. The searchers mutely bowed,
And mourned that faith so lofty should be dead;
And I their prone idolatry applaud
When strife and tumult in my paths are loud.
Shelley's Skylark.
© Thomas Hardy
Somewhere afield here something lies
In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust
That moved a poet to prophecies -
A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust
With Dog And Gun
© Edgar Albert Guest
Out in the woods with a dog an' gun
Is my idea of a real day's fun.
The Sakiyeh
© Mathilde Blind
Poor Brutes! Who in unconsciousness sublime,
Replenishing the ever-empty jars,
Endow the waste with palms and harvest gold:
And men, who move in rhythm with moving stars,
Should shrink to give the borrowed lives they hold:
Bound blindfold to the groaning wheel of Time.
"Love, Dearest Lady, Such As I Would Speak"
© Thomas Hood
Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye;
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,
A Winter Walk
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WE never had believed, I wis,
At primrose time when west winds stole
Like thoughts of youth across the soul,
In such an altered time as this,
The Author's Farewell to the Bushmen
© Henry Lawson
Some carry their swags in the Great North-West,
Where the bravest battle and die,
The Wisdom Of Merlyn
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.
The Valediction
© William Cowper
Farewell, false hearts! whose best affections fail,
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale;
Kings Chapel
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is it a weanling's weakness for the past
That in the stormy, rebel-breeding town,
Swept clean of relics by the levelling blast,
Friar Pedro's Ride
© Francis Bret Harte
It was the morning season of the year;
It was the morning era of the land;
No Time Like The Old Time
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THERE is no time like the old time, when you and I were young,
When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of spring-time sung!
The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed,
But oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first!
