Trust poems
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To a Young Lady, on Her Birthday
© Samuel Johnson
This tributary verse receive, my fair,
Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer,
To The Best Of Women, My Mother
© Arthur Henry Adams
I would give it all up at a word from you, Mother o' mine!
But the strife has begun
I Said It To You
© Paul Eluard
I said it to you for the clouds
I said it to you for the tree of the sea
For each wave for the birds in the leaves
For the pebbles of sound
For familiar hands
The Letter of Cupid
© Thomas Hoccleve
Hir wordes spoken been so sighingly
And with so pitous cheere and contenance,
That every wight that meeneth trewely
Deemeth that they in herte han swich greuance.
They sayn so importable is hir penance
The Labourer
© George Meredith
For a Heracles in his fighting ire there is never the glory that
follows
Forebearance
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun;
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk;
Disillusioned
© Corinna
People holding hands, daring to love,
children playing, no one left out,
believing in a God, high above,
no reasons given to cry out loud.
To Edward Dowden: On Receiving From Him A Copy Of "The Life Of Shelley"
© William Watson
First, ere I slake my hunger, let me thank
The giver of the feast. For feast it is,
Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio
© John Keats
I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lines To A Steamboat
© George MacDonald
Dark stranger on the teeming map of fate
Fabric, that seemst a thing alike apart
From aught that nature or that art create;
To me a mystery thou ever art;
And awe and wonder stir me when thy frame
I view, strange birth of water and of flame.
This is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong
© Edward Thomas
This is no case of petty right or wrong
That politicians or philosophers
After A Journey
© Thomas Hardy
I come to interview a Voiceless ghost;
Whither, O whither will its whim now draw me?
The Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie
© Robert Burns
Wi' glowrin een, and lifted han's
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's;
He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it!
He gaped wide, but naething spak,
At length poor Mailie silence brak.
The Regiment of Princes
© Thomas Hoccleve
Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse
Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde,
Rhymed Plea For Tolerance - Prefatory Dialogue
© John Kenyon
Ye, thus who write in spite of critic law,
How had their satire kept your freaks in awe!
And, to sole sway controlling her pretence,
Bound Fancy down to compromise with Sense!
The Pathfinders
© Vance Palmer
NIGHT, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying,
The wan trees whisper and the winds make moan,
Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying
In gaunt waste places that they made their own,
Beyond the ploughed lands where the corn is sown.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter X - The Pope
© Robert Browning
Then Stephen, Pope and seventh of the name,
Cried out, in synod as he sat in state,
While choler quivered on his brow and beard,
Come into court, Formosus, thou lost wretch,
That claimedst to be late the Pope as I!
The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11
© Publius Vergilius Maro
SCARCE had the rosy Morning raisd her head
Above the waves, and left her watry bed;
