Truth poems

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To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us

© Benjamin Jonson

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
While I confess thy writings to be such
As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much.

Goodbye

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

And so goodbye, my love, my dear, and so goodbye,

E'en thus from my sad heart go hence, depart;

BRAVE the anger of the wealthy! Scorn their bitter lying spite!
Tell the Truth in simple language, when you know that you are right!
And theyll read it by the slush-lamps in the station huts at night,

Jinny the Just

© Matthew Prior

Releas'd from the noise of the butcher and baker
Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her,
And from the soft duns of my landlord the Quaker,

Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
Thou who dearer art to me than all the world beside;
For I love thee as no other man can love.

A Better Answer

© Matthew Prior

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face;
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled!
Prithee quit this caprice, and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

On The Report Of A Monument To Be Erected In Westminster Abbey, To The Memory Of A Late Author (Chur

© James Beattie

Bufo, begone! with thee may Faction's fire,
That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire.
Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd,
What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good!

The Seasons: Winter

© James Thomson

OH! bear me then to high, embowering, Shades;
To twilight Groves, and visionary Vales;
To weeping Grottos, and to hoary Caves;
Where Angel-Forms are seen, and Voices heard,
Sigh'd in low Whispers, that abstract the Soul,
From outward Sense, far into Worlds remote.

Julian and Maddalo : A Conversation

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow
Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand
Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand,

The Dirge of Wallace

© Thomas Campbell

When Scotland's great Regent, our warrior most dear,
The debt of his nature did pay,
T' was Edward, the cruel, had reason to fear,
And cause to be struck with dismay.

Athens: An Ode

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

ERE from under earth again like fire the violet kindle, [Str. I.

Ere the holy buds and hoar on olive-branches bloom,

Ode to the Memory of Burns

© Thomas Campbell

Soul of the Poet ! wheresoe'er,
Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume
Her wings of immortality ;
Suspend thy harp in happier sphere,
And with thine influence illume
The gladness of our jubilee.

Our Dead Singer

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

H. W. L.

PRIDE of the sister realm so long our own,

Gertrude of Wyoming

PART IOn Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming!
Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall,
And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring,
Of what thy gentle people did befall;

Lady Clare

IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

Alfred. Book IV.

"I come," the stranger said, "from fields of fame,
A Saxon born, and Aribert my name.
I come from Devon's shores, where Devon's lord
Waves o'er the prostrate Dane the British sword.
Freedom might yet revisit Britain's coast,
Did Alfred live to lead her victor host."

The Task: Book II. -- The Time-Piece

In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.