Truth poems
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The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm
© Wallace Stevens
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer nightWas like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
Poem Written At Morning
© Wallace Stevens
A sunny day's complete Poussiniana
Divide it from itself. It is this or that
And it is not.
By metaphor you paint
Millenial Hymn to Lord Shiva
© Kathleen Raine
Earth no longer
hymns the Creator,
the seven days of wonder,
the Garden is over
Ode on Intimations of Immortality
© William Wordsworth
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
The Perfect High
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "its always the same, old men or brighteyed youth,
Its always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
The Right Honourable Edmund Burke
© William Lisle Bowles
Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind
Science has stored, and Piety refined,
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 12
© William Langland
The glose graunteth upon that vers a greet mede to truthe.
And wit and wisdom,' quod that wye, " was som tyme tresor
To kepe with a commune - no catel was holde bettre -
And muche murthe and manhod' - and right with that he vanysshed.
Winter: My Secret
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.
Reynard the Fox - Part 1
© John Masefield
Poor Polly's dying struck him queer,
He was a darkened man thereafter,
Cowed, silent, he would wince at laughter
And be so gentle it was strange
Even to see. Life loves to change.
A Sophistical Argument
© Lesbia Harford
Great crane o'ertopping the delicate trees
Why do you seem so fair,
Swaying and raising your load with ease
High in the misty air?
The Cambaroora Star
© Henry Lawson
Then he stood up on a sudden, with a face as pale as death,
And he gripped my hand a moment, while he seemed to fight for breath:
`Tom, old friend,' he said, `I'm going, and I'm ready to -- to start,
For I know that there is something -- something crooked with my heart.
Tom, my first child died. I loved her even better than the pen --
Tom -- and while the STAR was dying, why, I felt like I did THEN.
Hermann And Dorothea - V. Polyhymnia
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE COSMOPOLITE.
BUT the Three, as before, were still sitting and talking together,
The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, and the Well
© Henry Lawson
THERE WAS a Squatter in the land
So runs the truthful tale I tell
There also were three cornstalks, and
There also was the Squatters Well.
The League of Nations
© Henry Lawson
Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore!
The Big Five met in the world's light as many had met before,
And the future of man is settled and there shall be no more war.
A Vision of Poesy - Part 02
© Henry Timrod
It is not winter yet, but that sweet time
In autumn when the first cool days are past;
A week ago, the leaves were hoar with rime,
And some have dropped before the North wind's blast;
But the mild hours are back, and at mid-noon,
The day hath all the genial warmth of June.
Black Bonnet
© Henry Lawson
A day of seeming innocence,
A glorious sun and sky,
And, just above my picket fence,
Black Bonnet passing by.
The Song of Australia
© Henry Lawson
The centuries found me to nations unknown
My people have crowned me and made me a throne;
My royal regalia is love, truth, and light
A girl called Australia I've come to my right.
Knocked Up
© Henry Lawson
I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow --
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.
The Change Has Come
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
THE change has come, and Helen sleeps
Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps
