Time poems
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The Lion For Real
© Allen Ginsberg
I came home and found a lion in my living room
Rushed out on the fire escape screaming Lion! Lion!
Two stenographers pulled their brunnette hair and banged the window shut
I hurried home to Patterson and stayed two days
A Poem To His Magesty, Presented To The Lord Keeper. To The Right Hon. Sir John Somers, Lord Keeper
© Joseph Addison
If yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,
Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares;
The Days Of Our Youth
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
These are the days of our youth, our days of glory and honour.
Pleasure begotten of strength is ours, the sword in our hand.
Wisdom bends to our will, we lead captivity captive,
Kings of our lives and love, receiving gifts from men.
To A Young Poet
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird.
Bird and wing together
Go down, one feather.
The Recalcitrants
© Thomas Hardy
Let us off and search, and find a place
Where yours and mine can be natural lives,
Where no one comes who dissects and dives
And proclaims that ours is a curious case,
That its touch of romance can scarcely grace.
Spirit Whose Work Is Done
© Walt Whitman
SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
Your Hand
© Paul Celan
Your Hand full of Hours, you came to me and I said:
Your Hair is not brown.
So you lifted it, lightly, onto the Balance of Grief, it was
Heavier than I
A Memory (From A Sonnet- Sequence)
© Rupert Brooke
Somewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept
Softly along the dim way to your room,
The Hands That Hang Down
© Ada Cambridge
O Lord, I am so tired!
My heart is sick and sore.
I work, and work, and do no good-
And I can try no more!
The Duellist - Book I
© Charles Churchill
The clock struck twelve; o'er half the globe
Darkness had spread her pitchy robe:
Elegy II. On The Death Of The University Beadle At Cambridge (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Thee, whose refulgent staff and summons clear,
Minerva's flock longtime was wont t'obey,
Although thyself an herald, famous here,
The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd away.
He calls on all alike, nor even deigns
To spare the office that himself sustains.
The Heart of the Swag
© Henry Lawson
Oh, the track through the scrub groweth ever more dreary,
And lower and lower his grey head doth bow;
"Oh, oh Rosalie"
© Lesbia Harford
Oh, oh Rosalie,
Oh, oh Rosalie,
What would you have of me?
Oh, oh Rosalie.
Pauline Pavlovna
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Ah! your heart said that?
You trust your heart, then! 'T is a serious risk!-
How is it you and others wear no mask?
HE.
The Moralizer Corrected. A Tale
© William Cowper
A hermit (or if chance you hold
That title now too trite and old),
Sonnet 21: Your Words, My Friend
© Sir Philip Sidney
Your words, my friend, (right healthful caustics) blame
My young mind marr'd, whom Love doth windlass so,
That mine own writings like bad servants show
My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame;
When Ham And Sham And Japhet: A Sailor's Song
© Harry Kemp
When Ham and Shem and Japhet
They walked the capstan round
The Ark
© Jones Very
There is no change of time and place with Thee;
Where'er I go, with me 'tis still the same;
A Tryst
© Celia Thaxter
From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took it away,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.
