Travel poems
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Gotham - Book II
© Charles Churchill
How much mistaken are the men who think
That all who will, without restraint may drink,
The Old Cumberland Beggar
© William Wordsworth
. I saw an aged Beggar in my walk;
And he was seated, by the highway side,
The Driftwood Gatherers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Along the deep shelve of the abandoned shore
Bowed, with slow pace and careful eyes that keep
The track they travel, move an aged pair.
The full voice of the Atlantic holds the air
Porphyrion
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Yet into vacancy the troubled heart
Brings its own fullness: and Porphyrion found
The void a prison, and in the silence chains.
What The Wind Said
© James Whitcomb Riley
'I muse to-day, in a listless way,
In the gleam of a summer land;
I close my eyes as a lover may
At the touch of his sweetheart's hand,
And I hear these things in the whisperings
Of the zephyrs round me fanned':--
Marmion: Canto V. - The Court
© Sir Walter Scott
Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone;
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
Uriconium An Ode
© Wilfred Owen
It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Reaching the Hermitage
© Li Po
At evening I make it down the mountain.
Keeping company with the moon.
The Poor Of The Borough. Letter XX: Ellen Orford
© George Crabbe
"No charms she now can boast,"--'tis true,
But other charmers wither too:
The Loving Shepherdess
© Robinson Jeffers
She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.
Bateese And His Little Decoys
© William Henry Drummond
O I'm very very tire Marie,
I wonder if I'm able hol' a gun
An' me dat 's alway risin' wit' de sun
An' travel on de water, an' paddle ma canoe
Dublin Roads
© Padraic Colum
WHEN you were a lad that lacked a trade,
Oh, many's the thing you'd see on the way
From Kill-o'-the-Grange to Ballybrack,
And from Cabinteely down into Bray,
When you walked these roads the whole of a day.
At The Saturday Club
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I start; I wake; the vision is withdrawn;
Its figures fading like the stars at dawn;
Crossed from the roll of life their cherished names,
And memory's pictures fading in their frames;
Yet life is lovelier for these transient gleams
Of buried friendships; blest is he who dreams!
Here's To Thy Health
© Robert Burns
Here's to thy health, my bonie lass,
Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee;
To ---, Written At Venice
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Not only through the golden haze
Of indistinct surprise,
With which the Ocean--bride displays
Her pomp to stranger eyes;--
The Dead Ship Of Harpswell
© John Greenleaf Whittier
What flecks the outer gray beyond
The sundown's golden trail?
Traveller's Song
© George MacDonald
Bands of dark and bands of light
Lie athwart the homeward way;
Now we cross a belt of Night,
Now a strip of shining Day!
Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth
© Ovid
The End of the Sixth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
Hero And Leander. The Sixth Sestiad
© George Chapman
No longer could the Day nor Destinies
Delay the Night, who now did frowning rise
