Time poems
/ page 84 of 792 /Spring In War Time
© Sara Teasdale
I feel the spring far off, far off,
The faint, far scent of bud and leaf --
Oh, how can spring take heart to come
To a world in grief,
Deep grief?
The Sinner and The Spider
© John Bunyan
Not filthy as thyself in name or feature.
My name entailed is to my creation,
My features from the God of thy salvation.
Homage To Quintus Septimus Florentis Christianus
© Ezra Pound
I
(Ex libris Graecæ)
Theodorus will be pleased at my death,
And .someone else will be pleased at the death of Theodoras,
And yet everyone speaks evil of death.
Uncle Out O Debt An Out O Danger
© William Barnes
His meäre's long vlexy vetlocks grow'd
Down roun' her hoofs so black an' brode;
Her head hung low, her taïl reach'd down
A-bobbèn nearly to the groun'.
The cwoat that uncle mwostly wore
Wer long behind an' straïght avore,
The Conference
© Charles Churchill
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
How Soon The Servant Sun
© Dylan Thomas
A leg as long as trees,
This inward sir,
Mister and master, darkness for his eyes,
The womb-eyed, cries,
And all sweet hell, deaf as an hour's ear,
Blasts back the trumpet voice.
Lines.If we should ever meet again
© Louisa Stuart Costello
If we should ever meet again
When many tedious years are past;
Senlin: A Biography Pt. 01:His Dark Origins
© Conrad Aiken
He lights his pipe with a pointed flame.
'Yet, there were many autumns before I came,
And many springs. And more will come, long after
There is no horn for me, or song, or laughter.
A Character
© William Wordsworth
I marvel how Nature could ever find space
For so many strange contrasts in one human face:
There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom
And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.
The Gipsy's Camp
© John Clare
How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp,
My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp,
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
The Choice of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
Pardon sweete flower of matchless Poetrie,
And fairest bud the red rose euer bare ;
A Frightful Release
© Gertrude Stein
A BAG which was left and not only taken but turned away was not found