Truth poems
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To The Memory Of Thomas Shipley
© John Greenleaf Whittier
GONE to thy Heavenly Father's rest!
The flowers of Eden round thee blowing,
And on thine ear the murmurs blest
Of Siloa's waters softly flowing!
The Lover Of The Queen Of Sheba
© Arthur Symons
To SAROJINI NAIDU
A YOUTH OF SHEBA. THE QUEEN OF SHEBA.
THE HERALD. KING SOLOMON.
Threnodia Augustalis: Overture - A Solemn Dirge
© Oliver Goldsmith
ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,
And waken every note of woe;
When truth and virtue reach the skies,
'Tis ours to weep the want below!
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 06
© William Langland
"This were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
That [myghte] folwen us ech a foot' - thus this folk hem mened.
Of The Son of Man
© George MacDonald
I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust
To look with jealousy on her designs;
On The Reverend Mr. Hunter, Who received A Degree From The University Of Oxford
© Hannah More
Go, happy spirit, seek that blissful land
Where zealous Michael leads the glorious band
The Psalm Of A Sojourner
© Henry Van Dyke
Thou hast taken me into the tent of the world, O God:
Beneath thy blue canopy I have found shelter:
Therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest.
Song II
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Why flatter thyself, Tyrant,
In ways great in evil?
The Lord's goodness ceases not
Keeping watch on the pious.
Men and Women
© James Kenneth Stephen
. IN THE BACKS.
As I was strolling lonely in the Backs,
I met a woman whom I did not like.
I did not like the way the woman walked:
Girl At Midnight
© Weldon Kees
But I must dream once more of cities burned away,
Corrupted wood, and silence on the piers.
Love is a sickroom with the roof half gone
Where nights go down in a continual rain.
Sonnet XII "What Gossamer Lures Thee Now? What Hope, What Name"
© Henry Timrod
What gossamer lures thee now? What hope, what name
Is on thy lips? What dreams to fruit have grown?
Cordelia
© William Michael Rossetti
They turn on her and fix their eyes,
But cease not passing inward;--one
Sneering with lips still curled to lies,
Sinuous of body, serpent-wise;
Her footfall creeps, and her looks shun
The very thing on which they dwell.
Ode On Lord Hay's BirthDay
© James Beattie
A Muse, unskill'd in venal praise,
Unstain'd with flattery's art;
Who loves simplicity of lays
Breathed ardent from the heart;
Night Thoughts In Age
© John Hall Wheelock
Light, that out of the west looked back once more
Through lids of cloud, has closed a sleepy eye;
Lines: Written In 'Letters Of An Italian Nun And An English Gentleman'
© George Gordon Byron
'Away, away, your fleeting arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.'
The Drowned Alive
© Charles Harpur
But what are these down in its bed
That trail so long and look so red,
Moving as in conscious sport?
Are they weeds of curious sort?
But Ill drive to them and see
Into all their mystery.
