Time poems
/ page 343 of 792 /
Boyhood
© Washington Allston
Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded days!
The minutes parting one by one like rays,
Song To Celia - I
© Benjamin Jonson
Come, my Celia, let us prove
While we may the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He at length our good will sever.
The Princess (prologue)
© Alfred Tennyson
Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day
Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun
Goodbye
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And so goodbye, my love, my dear, and so goodbye,
E'en thus from my sad heart go hence, depart;
Sanity
© Claire Nixon
Ive held you all these years,
supporting you through all.
I plead for your hand just this once,
then I realise I was always alone,
Domestic Work, 1937
© Natasha Trethewey
Windows and doors flung wide,
curtains two-stepping
forward and back, neck bones
bumping in the pot, a choir
of clothes clapping on the line.
Letter Home
© Natasha Trethewey
--New Orleans, November 1910Four weeks have passed since I left, and still
I must write to you of no work. I've worn down
the soles and walked through the tightness
of my new shoes calling upon the merchants,
The Husband Of To-Day
© Edith Nesbit
EYES caught by beauty, fancy by eyes caught;
Sweet possibilities, question, and wonder--
Less Time
© André Breton
Less time than it takes to say it, less tears than it takes to die; I've taken account of everything,
there you have it. I've made a census of the stones, they are as numerous as my fingers and some
Against A Sickness: To The Female Double Principle God
© Alan Dugan
She said: Im god and all
of this and that world and love
Jinny the Just
© Matthew Prior
Releas'd from the noise of the butcher and baker
Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her,
And from the soft duns of my landlord the Quaker,
Death, that struck when I was most confiding
© Emily Jane Brontë
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
In my certain faith of joy to be-
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
My Pretty Child
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Mo páistin deas, I did not know
How cold the winter's blast could blow
Into her heart, with what despair
Earth drew her bloom and blossom fair,
How lone a man might come and go
When you were herehow could I know?
The Snow-Messengers
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE pine-trees lift their dark bewildered eyes--
Or so I deem--up to the clouded skies;
No breeze, no faintest breeze, is heard to blow:
In wizard silence falls the windless snow.
On The Report Of A Monument To Be Erected In Westminster Abbey, To The Memory Of A Late Author (Chur
© James Beattie
Bufo, begone! with thee may Faction's fire,
That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire.
Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd,
What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good!
The Centerarian's Story
© Walt Whitman
GIVE me your hand, old Revolutionary;
The hill-top is nigh-but a few steps, (make room, gentlemen
Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and
extra years;
You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done;
Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.
The Seasons: Winter
© James Thomson
OH! bear me then to high, embowering, Shades;
To twilight Groves, and visionary Vales;
To weeping Grottos, and to hoary Caves;
Where Angel-Forms are seen, and Voices heard,
Sigh'd in low Whispers, that abstract the Soul,
From outward Sense, far into Worlds remote.
The Lonely Life
© Giacomo Leopardi
The morning rain, when, from her coop released,
The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from
Julian and Maddalo : A Conversation
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow
Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand
Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand,
