Time poems

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Allegory Of The Cave

© Stephen Dunn

He climbed toward the blinding light
and when his eyes adjusted
he looked down and could see

Oh You Are Coming

© Sara Teasdale

Oh you are coming, coming, coming,
How will hungry Time put by the hours till then? --
But why does it anger my heart to long so
For one man out of the world of men?

Longing

© Sara Teasdale

I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.

Gray Eyes

© Sara Teasdale

It was April when you came
The first time to me,
And my first look in your eyes
Was like my first look at the sea.

A November Night

© Sara Teasdale

There was a new frail yellow moon to-night --
I wish you could have had it for a cup
With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .

Let It Be Forgotten

© Sara Teasdale

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold.
Let it be forgotten forever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

Did You Never Know?

© Sara Teasdale

Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me
That your love would never lessen and never go?
You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted,
You were too young to know.

Frances

© Charlotte Bronte

SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams,
But, rising, quits her restless bed,
And walks where some beclouded beams
Of moonlight through the hall are shed.

Gilbert

© Charlotte Bronte

I. THE GARDEN.ABOVE the city hung the moon,
Right o'er a plot of ground
Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced
With lofty walls around:

Preference

© Charlotte Bronte

NOT in scorn do I reprove thee,
Not in pride thy vows I waive,
But, believe, I could not love thee,
Wert thou prince, and I a slave.

Apostasy

© Charlotte Bronte

THIS last denial of my faith,
Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard;
And, though upon my bed of death,
I call not back a word.

Winter Stores

© Charlotte Bronte

WE take from life one little share,
And say that this shall be
A space, redeemed from toil and care,
From tears and sadness free.

The Missionary

© Charlotte Bronte

Lough, vessel, plough the British main,
Seek the free ocean's wider plain;
Leave English scenes and English skies,
Unbind, dissever English ties;

I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start
Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall
The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart
Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;
Over against my bed, there shone a gleam
Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream.

Pleasure

True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
In palaces and towers where
The voice of Grandeur dwells.

Evening Solace

THE human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.

The Teacher's Monologue

The room is quiet, thoughts alone
People its mute tranquillity;
The yoke put on, the long task done,
I am, as it is bliss to be,

Mementos

I scarcely think, for ten long years,
A hand has touched these relics old;
And, coating each, slow-formed, appears,
The growth of green and antique mould.