Time poems
/ page 494 of 792 /
The Sundial
© Thomas Love Peacock
The ivy o'er the mouldering wall
Spreads like a tree, the growth of years:
In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Lang
© Richard Lovelace
CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
Disorder
© Gamaliel Bradford
My life is governed by the clock,
All duly mapped and plotted;
And only with a nervous shock
I miss the time allotted.
Trust in God
© Charles Harpur
Deep trust in Godfor that I still have sought
Through all the grim doubts that bemock the soul,
Open, Time
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Open, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
Like a leaf at Michaelmas
Swooning from the tree,
Sonnet 107: "Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul..."
© William Shakespeare
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 5.
© William Cowper
Adam. Restrain, restrain thy step
Whoe'er thou art, nor with thy songs inveigle
Him, who has only cause for ceaseless tears.
Men And Dreamers
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT'S one o' my idees that men ain't all of fightin' stock,
They ain't all built fer ploughin' or fer hewin' out a rock;
An' they ain't all made fer battlin' up against life's steady stream,
There must be some of us on earth God put here jes' to dream;
Leastwise it strikes me that way if it wasn't so, I guess,
Instead o' dreamin' here I 'd be out hustlin' fer success.
Time And The Garden
© Yvor Winters
The spring has darkened with activity.
The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree:
Jack Of The Tules
© Francis Bret Harte
Shrewdly you question, Senor, and I fancy
You are no novice. Confess that to little
Of my poor gossip of Mission and Pueblo
You are a stranger!
Queen Mab: Part V.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Thus do the generations of the earth
Go to the grave and issue from the womb,
The Peasant And His Angry Lord
© Jean de La Fontaine
'TWAS vain that Gregory a pardon prayed;
For trivial faults the peasant dearly paid;
His throat enflamed-his tender back well beat-
His money gone-and all to make complete,
Without the least deduction for the pain,
The blows and garlic gave the trembling swain.
Among the Hills
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang
Good morrow to the cotter;
And once again Chocoruas horn
Of shadow pierced the water.
At The Top Of My Voice - First Prelude
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
My most respected
comrades of posterity!
The Barren Moors
© William Ellery Channing
ON your bare rocks, O barren moors,
On your bare rocks I love to lie!
They stand like crags upon the shores,
Or clouds upon a placid sky.
