Time poems
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Song of the Old Boundary Rider
© Vance Palmer
Fat and full of health are the valleys of the Condamine,
There the yellow maize and the green tobacco grow,
Through the little gardens runs the trailing passion-vine,
And softly to the North the white downs flow.
A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map
© Stephen Spender
A stopwatch and an ordnance map.
At five a man fell to the ground
From A Lost Anthology
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
IN A STRANGE LAND.
By an unnamed river-anchorage have we raised a shrine to Apollo. If these strange winds cool the grass where he sleeps, we know not, nor if he will hear us. But round about grows the dark laurel, and here also the young oak fattens her acorns against the end of the wheat-harvest.
Sir Eldred Of The Bower : A Legendary Tale: In Two Parts
© Hannah More
There was a young and valiant Knight,
Sir Eldred was his name;
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.
Improvisations: Light And Snow: 03
© Conrad Aiken
The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The Temptress
© James Weldon Johnson
Old Devil, when you come with horns and tail,
With diabolic grin and crafty leer;
I say, such bogey-man devices wholly fail
To waken in my heart a single fear.
From The Woods
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHY should I, with a mournful, morbid spleen,
Lament that here, in this half-desert scene,
My lot is placed?
At least the poet-winds are bold and loud,--
Lamia. Part I
© John Keats
Upon a time, before the faery broods
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
A Christmas Eve Choral
© Bliss William Carman
Halleluja!
What sound is this across the dark
While all the earth is sleeping? Hark!
Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!
I Have Been To Hy-Brasail
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
I have been to Hy-Brasail,
And the Land of Youth have seen,
Much laughter have I heard there,
And birds amongst the green.
Monody On The Death Of The Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan
© George Gordon Byron
When the last sunshine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps itself away,
My name came from. . . by Emmett Tenorio Melendez: American Life in Poetry #180 Ted Kooser, U.S. Po
© Ted Kooser
What's in a name? All of us have thought at one time or another about our names, perhaps asking why they were given to us, or finding meanings within them. Here Emmett Tenorio Melendez, an eleven-year-old poet from San Antonio, Texas, proudly presents us with his name and its meaning.
My name came from. . .
Disappointment
© Ovid
But oh, I suppose she was ugly; she wasn't elegant;
I hadn't yearned for her often in my prayers.
Yet holding her I was limp, and nothing happened at all:
I just lay there, a disgraceful load for her bed.
A Triptych
© Arthur Symons
II. ISOTTA TO THE ROSE: RIMINI
The little country girl who plucks a rose
Goes barefoot through the sunlight to the sea,
And singing of Isotta as she goes.
The Drunken Father
© Robert Bloomfield
Poor Ellen married Andrew Hall,
Who dwells beside the moor,
Where yonder rose-tree shades the wall,
And woodbines grace the door.
