Time poems
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Debtor’s Prison Road
© Heather McHugh
tick fitfully, they always have
appointments. Punctual, six-sharp,
they are David's; they have lodged in his
death tent, have stuck in his mud sleep. Bad luck
La Belle Juive
© Henry Timrod
Is it because your sable hair
Is folded over brows that wear
At times a too imperial air;
Living at the End of Time
© Robert Bly
There is so much sweetness in children’s voices,
And so much discontent at the end of day,
And so much satisfaction when a train goes by.
The Bungalows
© John Ashbery
Impatient as we were for all of them to join us,
The land had not yet risen into view: gulls had swept the gray steel towers away
So that it profited less to go searching, away over the humming earth
Than to stay in immediate relation to these other things—boxes, store parts, whatever you wanted to call them—
Whose installedness was the price of further revolutions, so you knew this combat was the last.
And still the relationship waxed, billowed like scenery on the breeze.
The Lepracaun Or Fairy Shoemaker
© William Allingham
Little Cowboy, what have you heard,
Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Helen Of Troy
© Sara Teasdale
Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn
The flames' red wings soar upward duskily.
This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
Here And There: Or This World And The Next: Being Suitable Thoughts For A New Year
© Hannah More
Here bliss is short, imperfect, insincere,
But total, absolute, and perfect there.
Lost In The Mist
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
THE thin white snow-streaks pencilling
That mountain's shoulder gray,
While in the west the pale green sky
Smiled back the dawning day,
vegas
© Charles Bukowski
a marvelous description of a gazelle
is hell;
the cross sits like a fly on my window,
my mother’s breath stirs small leaves
in my mind;
Prisoners
© Denise Levertov
We taste other food that life,
like a charitable farm-girl,
holds out to us as we pass—
but our mouths are puckered,
a taint of ash on the tongue.
Small Woman on Swallow Street
© William Stanley Merwin
Four feet up, under the bruise-blue
Fingered hat-felt, the eyes begin. The sly brim
The Toad And Spyder. A Duell
© Richard Lovelace
The all-confounded toad doth see
His life fled with his remedie,
And in a glorious despair
First burst himself, and next the air;
Then with a dismal horred yell
Beats down his loathsome breath to hell.
Lob
© Edward Thomas
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling
In search of something chance would never bring,
Care of Birds for their Young
© James Thomson
As thus the patient dam assiduous sits,
Not to be tempted from her tender task,
Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight,
Tho' the whole loosen'd spring around her blows,
A Jacobite's Exile
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
The weary day runs down and dies,
The weary night wears through:
And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
And never a flower wi' dew.
The Fair Youth Sonnets (18 - 77, 87 - 126)
© William Shakespeare
Comprising the largest grouping of poems, the Fair Youth sonnets are addressed to the same young man in the Procreation Sonnets. But their themes and subjects are more drastically varied.
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The French Revolution as It Appeared to Enthusiasts at Its Commencement
© André Breton
Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!
For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood
