Truth poems
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Aside
© Karl Shapiro
Mail-day, and over the world in a thousand drag-nets
The bundles of letters are dumped on the docks and beaches,
And all that is dear to the personal conscious reaches
Around us again like filings around iron magnets,
And war stands aside for an hour and looks at our faces
Of total absorption that seem to have lost their places.
Chicago Castanets
© George Ade
Through all the moving thoroughfares
And in the contending marts of trade;
Clifton Chapel
© Sir Henry Newbolt
This is the Chapel: here, my son,
Your father thought the thoughts of youth,
Sonnett - II
© James Russell Lowell
What were I, Love, if I were stripped of thee,
If thine eyes shut me out whereby I live.
The Grandmother
© Alfred Tennyson
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.
From 'The Hills Of Life'
© Albert Durrant Watson
ERE yet the dawn
Pushed rosy fingers up the arch of day
And smiled its promise to the voiceless prime,
Love sat and patterns wove at life's great loom.
The Wanderer From The Fold
© Emily Jane Brontë
How few, of all the hearts that loved,
Are grieving for thee now;
And why should mine to-night be moved
With such a sense of woe?
"Love is not love . . . "
© Lesbia Harford
When I was still a child
I thought my love would be
Noble, truthful, brave,
And very kind to me.
The Eve Of Election
© John Greenleaf Whittier
FROM gold to gray
Our mild sweet day
Of Indian Summer fades too soon;
But tenderly
A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton
© James Thomson
And what new wonders can ye show your guest!
Who, while on this dim spot, where mortals toil
Clouded in dust, from motion's simple laws,
Could trace the secret hand of Providence,
Wide-working through this universal frame.
To A Beautiful Child On Her Birthday With A Wreath Of Flowers
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Whilst others give thee wondrous toys,
Or jewels rich and rare,
I bring but flowersmore meet are they
For one so young and fair.
Eight Sonnets
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
I shall remember only of this hour--
And weep somewhat, as now you see me weep--
The pathos of your love, that, like a flower,
Fearful of death yet amorous of sleep,
Droops for a moment and beholds, dismayed,
The wind whereon its petals shall be laid.
Sweet Marie
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
You were very fair to meet once, Marie,
With your eyes like some blue hiding flower,
Nonsuited.
© James Brunton Stephens
"DEAR RICHARD, come at once;" so ran her letter;
The letter of a married female friend:
The Cathedral
© James Russell Lowell
Far through the memory shines a happy day,
Cloudless of care, down-shod to every sense,
Pray for the Dead
© Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton
PRAY for the deadwho bids thee not?
Do all our human loves grow pale,
Or are the old needs all forgot
When men have passed within the veil?
To Her Whose Name
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;
The Maid of Gerringong
© Henry Kendall
Rolling through the gloomy gorges, comes the roaring southern blast,
With a sound of torrents flying, like a routed army, past,
