So dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend,
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.

Then from the purple dark I saw arise,
Silent, the pale form of the Nazarene,
With deathless light of message in His eyes,
And that vast human pity in His mien,
Purer than purest depths of summer skies,
Not less unfathomed and not less serene.

The Ages

© William Cullen Bryant

I.

When to the common rest that crowns our days,

Sober Song by Barton Sutter: American Life in Poetry #6 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Rhyme has a way of lightening the spirit of a poem, and in this instance, the plural, spirits, is the appropriate word choice. Lots of readers can relate to "Sober Song," which originally appeared in North Dakota Quarterly. Barton Sutter is a Minnesota poet, essayist, and fiction writer who has won awards in all three genres.

Sober Song

Song. Translated From The German

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear,
If vengeance and death to thy bosom be dear,
The dastard shall perish, deaths torment shall prove,
For fate and revenge are decreed from above.

Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain

© William Wordsworth

I
A TRAVELLER on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
Pursued his vagrant way, with feet half bare;
Stooping his gait, but not as if to gain

Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts III.-V.

© John Logan

What venerable father stands aghast
In yonder porch? Beneath the weight of years,
And crush of sorrow to the earth he bends.
He wrings his hands; casts a wild look to heaven,
And rends his hoary locks. He comes this way.
Heavens, it is Albemarle!-

To Giovanni Bellini

© Richard Monckton Milnes

Thou didst not slight with vain and partial scorn
The inspirations of our nature's youth,
Knowing that Beauty, wheresoe'er 'tis born,
Must ever be the foster--child of Truth.

The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto VI.

© Sir Walter Scott

XI
Albert Graeme.
It was an English ladye bright,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)
And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.

The Enquiry

O SAY, if into sudden storm
Some future cloud we may not shun
Should burst, and Loves bright world deform,
His and your Poet leaving one
Scorning and scorned of heartless men,
Beloved, would you love me then?

Greeting Poem

There was a sound in the wind to-day,

Like a joyous cymbal ringing!

The Wound

© Gwen Harwood

The tenth day, and they give
my mirror back. Who knows
how to drink pain, and live?
I look, and the glass shows
the truth, fine as a hair,
of the scalpel's wounding care.

Beauty And The Beast

© Charles Lamb

"My Lord, I swear upon my knees,
"I did not mean to harm your trees;
"But a lov'd Daughter, fair as spring,
"Intreated me a Rose to bring;
"O didst thou know, my lord, the Maid!"-