Travel poems
/ page 93 of 119 /
Turtle, Swan
© Mark Doty
Because the road to our house
is a back road, meadowlands punctuated
by gravel quarry and lumberyard,
there are unexpected travelers
some nights on our way home from work.
Once, on the lawn of the Tool
Homesick In Heaven
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE DIVINE VOICE
Go seek thine earth-born sisters,--thus the Voice
That all obey,--the sad and silent three;
These only, while the hosts of Heaven rejoice,
Smile never; ask them what their sorrows be;
Robinson At Home
© Weldon Kees
Curtains drawn back, the door ajar.
All winter long, it seemed, a darkening
Began. But now the moonlight and the odors of the street
Conspire and combine toward one community.
Thirty Bob a Week
© John Davidson
I couldn't touch a stop and turn a screw,
And set the blooming world a-work for me,
Like such as cut their teeth -- I hope, like you --
On the handle of a skeleton gold key;
I cut mine on a leek, which I eat it every week:
I'm a clerk at thirty bob as you can see.
The Traveled Man
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Sometimes I wish the railroads all were torn out,
The ships all sunk among the coral strands.
I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,
With tales of those who visit foreign lands.
Church-Musick
© George Herbert
Sweetest of sweets, I thank you: when displeasure
Did through my bodie wound my minde,
You took me thence; and in your house of pleasure
A daintie lodging me assign'd.
An English Wood
© Robert Graves
This valley wood is pledged
To the set shape of things,
And reasonably hedged:
Here are no harpies fledged,
The Travellers' Curse after Misdirection
© Robert Graves
(from the Welsh)May they stumble, stage by stage
On an endless Pilgrimage
Dawn and dusk, mile after mile
At each and every step a stile
Aurora Leigh: Book One
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I, alas,
A wild bird scarcely fledged, was brought to her cage,
And she was there to meet me. Very kind.
Bring the clean water, give out the fresh seed.
A Farewell to Agassiz
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
How the mountains talked together,
Looking down upon the weather,
When they heard our friend had planned his
Little trip among the Andes
Ghost Glen
© Henry Kendall
"Shut your ears, stranger, or turn from Ghost Glen now,
For the paths are grown over, untrodden by men now;
Shut your ears, stranger," saith the grey mother, crooning
Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in.
The Assassin
© Anne Sexton
The correct death is written in.
I will fill the need.
My bow is stiff.
My bow is in readiness.
A Contemplation
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Then let my Contemplation soar
And Heav'n my Subject be
Though low on Earth in nature poor
Some prospect we may see
Going Gone
© Anne Sexton
Over stone walls and barns,
miles from the black-eyed Susans,
over circus tents and moon rockets
you are going, going.
The Death Baby
© Anne Sexton
I was an ice baby.
I turned to sky blue.
My tears became two glass beads.
My mouth stiffened into a dumb howl.
They say it was a dream
but I remember that hardening.
At The Sign Of The Skull
© Madison Julius Cawein
_It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!"
With every man in this life below--
But the things of this world are a fleeting show._
Good-Night
© Edward Thomas
The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;
I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;
Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town
In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.
The Widow's Home
© Mary Darby Robinson
Close on the margin of a brawling brook
That bathes the low dell's bosom, stands a Cot;
O'ershadow'd by broad Alders. At its door
A rude seat, with an ozier canopy
