Truth poems
/ page 89 of 257 /
The Triumph of Dead : Chap. 2
© Mary Sidney Herbert
That night, which did the dreadful hap ensue
That quite eclips'd, nay, rather did replace
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
© George Gordon Byron
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now;
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow;
While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott.
Selflove And Truth Incompatible
© William Cowper
From thorny wilds a monster came,
That filled my soul with fear and shame;
The Wold Wall
© William Barnes
Here, Jeäne, we vu'st did meet below
The leafy boughs, a-swingèn slow,
Truth.
© Robert Crawford
We sometimes hap on truth in a strange attire,
As even the gods were wont for their designs
To take on bestial forms; subduing so
Their natures, even their divinity,
To the achievement of a mortal thing.
This Southern Land of Ours
© Charles Harpur
With alien hearts to frame our laws
And cheat us as of old,
The Phantom Curate
© William Schwenck Gilbert
A bishop once - I will not name him see -
Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;
From pulpit shackles never set them free,
And found a sin where sin was unintentional.
All pleasures ended in abuse auricular -
The Bishop was so terribly particular.
Shakuntala Act 1
© Kalidasa
King Dushyant in a chariot, pursuing an antelope, with a bow and quiver, attended by his Charioteer.
Suta (Charioteer). [Looking at the antelope, and then at the king]
When I cast my eye on that black antelope, and on thee, O king, with thy braced bow, I see before me, as it were, the God Mahésa chasing a hart (male deer), with his bow, named Pináca, braced in his left hand.
Come Si Quando
© Robert Seymour Bridges
How thickly the far fields of heaven are strewn with stars !
Tho* the open eye of day shendeth them with its glare
To Aubrey De Vere
© George MacDonald
Ray of the Dawn of Truth, Aubrey de Vere,
Forgive my play fantastic with thy name,
The Wood-Spring To The Poet
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Give, Poet, give!
Thus only shalt thou live.
Give! for 'tis thy joyous doom
To charm, to comfort, to illume.
His Youth
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
Idyll VII. Harvest-Home
© Theocritus
He spake and paused; and thereupon spake I.
"I too, friend Lycid, as I ranged the fells,
Have learned much lore and pleasant from the Nymphs,
Whose fame mayhap hath reached the throne of Zeus.
But this wherewith I'll grace thee ranks the first:
Thou listen, since the Muses like thee well.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Yet it is pitiful how friendships die,
Spite of our oaths eternal and high vows.
Some fall through blight of tongues wagged secretly,
Some through strifes loud in empty honour's house.
Andrew Rykmans Prayer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Andrew Rykman's dead and gone;
You can see his leaning slate
In the graveyard, and thereon
Read his name and date.
Dedication
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
THE SEA gives her shells to the shingle,
The earth gives her streams to the sea;
An Attempt To Remember The "Grandmother's Apology"
© Horace Smith
And Willie, my eldest born, is gone, you say, little Anne,
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man;
He was only fourscore years, quite young, when he died;
I ought to have gone before, but must wait for time and tide.
From A Bachelors Private Journal
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SWEET Mary, I have never breathed
The love it were in vain to name;
Though round my heart a serpent wreathed,
I smiled, or strove to smile, the same.
