Time poems

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When I come in f'om de co'n-fiel' aftah wo'kin' ha'd all day,
It 's amazin' nice to fin' my suppah all erpon de way;
An' it 's nice to smell de coffee bubblin' ovah in de pot,
An' it 's fine to see de meat a-sizzlin' teasin'-lak an' hot.

Having drifted apart

© Saigyo

Having drifted apart,
Why should folk
Despise each other? For
Not known and unknowing
Times there were once before…

The Comet

© Jessie Pope

Last week we started out in glee,

The boys and Bertha, Aunt and me,

To John Milton

© John Clare

Poet of mighty power, I fain
Would court the muse that honoured thee,
And, like Elisha's spirit, gain
A part of thy intensity;
And share the mantle which she flung
Around thee, when thy lyre was strung.

The Satin Shoes

© Thomas Hardy

'If ever I walk to church to wed,
As other maidens use,
And face the gathered eyes,' she said,
'I'll go in satin shoes!'

The Murrumbidgee Shearer

© Anonymous

Come, all you jolly natives, and I'll relate to you
Some of my observations - adventures, too, a few.
I've travelled about the country for miles full many a score,
And oft-times would have hungered, but for the cheek I bore.

Florence

© Alfred Austin

City acclaimed from far-off days
Fair, and baptized in field of flowers,
Once more I scan, with eager gaze,
Your soaring domes, your storied towers.

Robert Buchanan

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

T WAS the body of Judas Iscariot

Lay in the Field of Blood;

The Mothers Last Watch

© Caroline Norton

Written on the occasion of the death of the infant daughter of Her Grace the Duchess of Sutherland.
I.
HARK, through the proudly decorated halls,
How strangely sounds the voice of bitter woe,

Ralph Waldo Emerson

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

OUT of the cloud that dimmed his sunset light,
Into the unknown firmament withdrawn
Beyond the mists and shadows of the night,
We mourn the friend and teacher who has gone.

Spiritual Education.

© Robert Crawford

Within time's stress, amid the facts of life,
Not in monastic solitudes, we find
A way to that is higher than ourselves.

Dawn

The immortal spirit hath no bars
To circumscribe its dwelling place;
My soul hath pastured with the stars
Upon the meadow-lands of space.

To the Spirit of Music

How sweet is wandering where the west
Is full of thee, what time the morn
Looks from his halls of rosy rest
Across green miles of gleaming corn!

To S.M. a Young African Painter

To show the lab'ring bosom's deep intent,

And thought in living characters to paint,

Kilmeny

© James Hogg

Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen;

But it wasna to meet Duneira's men,

The Labourer In The Vineyard

Through torn spaces between spearing leaves
The lake glows with waters combed sideways,
And climbing up to reach the vine-spire vanes
The mountain crests beyond the far shore
Paint their sky of glass with rocks and snow.