Time poems
/ page 32 of 792 /
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third
© George Gordon Byron
I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!
II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers
Why didn't Ya Say so Before
© Burke Johnny
One night feelin' gay sure I went to a play,Fell in love with a girl in the pit
Oh, My Goodie Gracious
© Burke Johnny
Oh, herself Anastatia felt mopish and queer, She hadn't been well, I should say, for a year,The bright healthy color is gone from her cheek, And it's only just once in a year that she'll speak
The Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne
© Gelett Burgess
WAKE! For the Hack can scatter into flightShakespere and Dante in a single Night! The Penny-a-liner is Abroad, and strikesOur Modern Literature with blithering Blight.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story
© Robert Browning
(Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger)
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXVIII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
First time he kissed me, he but only kissedThe fingers of this hand wherewith I write;And ever since, it grew more clean and white,Slow to world-greetings, quick with its
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The first time that the sun rose on thine oathTo love me, I looked forward to the moonTo slacken all those bonds which seemed too soonAnd quickly tied to make a lasting troth
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXVII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My own Belovèd, who hast lifted meFrom this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blownA life-breath, till the forehead hopefullyShines out again, as all the angels see,Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,Who camest to me when the world was gone,And I who looked for only God, found thee!I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXV
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borneFrom year to year until I saw thy face,And sorrow after sorrow took the placeOf all those natural joys as lightly wornAs the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turnBy a beating heart at dance-time
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XX
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Belovèd, my Belovèd, when I thinkThat thou wast in the world a year ago,What time I sat alone here in the snowAnd saw no footprint, heard the silence sinkNo moment at thy voice, but, link by link,Went counting all my chains as if that soThey never could fall off at any blowStruck by thy possible hand,-why, thus I drinkOf life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,Never to feel thee thrill the day or nightWith personal act or speech,-nor ever cullSome prescience of thee with the blossoms whiteThou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight
Waggawocky
© Brooks Shirley
A parody on "Jabberwocky, the Chattertonian poem" in Mr. Lewis Carroll's fairy book "Alice through the Looking Glass."
Sink-we Scento
© Brooks Shirley
"After five years the Thames is to receive no sewage." -- Sir B. Hall.
"An autumn evening in the modest square"
© Joseph Brodsky
An autumn evening in the modest squareof a small town proud to have made the atlas(some frenzy drove that poor mapmaker witless,or else he had the daughter of the mayor).
To the Gentleman who offer'd 50 Pounds to any Person who should write the best POEM by May next on five Subjects, viz. Life, Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell
© Brereton Jane
But fifty Pounds! -- A sorry Sum!You'd more need offer half a Plumb:Five weighty Subjects well to handle?Sir, you forget the Price of Candle;And Leather too; when late and soon,I shall be paceing o'er my Room,Bite close my Nails, and scratch my Head,When other People are in Bed
We sat entwined an hour or two together
© Christopher John Brennan
We sat entwined an hour or two together(how long I know not) underneath pine-treesthat rustled ever in the soft spring weatherstirr'd by the sole suggestion of the breeze:
