War poems

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The Point Of View: I

© Edith Nesbit

I

There was never winter, summer only: roses,

A Flower Of The Fields

© Madison Julius Cawein

Bee-bitten in the orchard hung
The peach; or, fallen in the weeds,
Lay rotting: where still sucked and sung
The gray bee, boring to its seed's
Pink pulp and honey blackly stung.

Nature And Art. To My Friend Charles Booth Nettleton

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

I.

THE young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair,

The Black Shawl

© Alexander Pushkin

As of senses bereft, at a black shawl I stare,

And my chill heart is tortured with deadly despair.

When the Bear Comes Back Again

© Henry Lawson

Oh, the scene is wide an dreary an the sun is settin red,

An the grey-black sky of winters comin closer overhead.

To Hope

© Mathilde Blind

OH come, thou power divine,

Thou lovely spirit with the wings of light,

In Ambush

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

THE crescent moon, with pallid glow,
Swept backward like a bended bow:
Across, a shaft of phantom light
Thrilled, like an arrow winged for flight.

Car Showroom by Jonathan Holden: American Life in Poetry #161 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20

I may be a little sappy, but I think that almost everyone is doing the best he or she can, despite all sorts of obstacles. This poem by Jonathan Holden introduces us to a young car salesman, who is trying hard, perhaps too hard. Holden is the past poet laureate of Kansas and poet in residence at Kansas State University in Manhattan.

Car Showroom

A Sonnet Upon The Pitiful Burning Of The Globe Playhouse In

© Anonymous

Now sit thee down, Melpomene,
Wrapp'd in a sea-coal robe,
And tell the doleful tragedy
That late was play'd at Globe;

Just a Love Letter

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

NEW YORK, July 20, 1883.
DEAR GIRL:
The town goes on as though
It thought you still were in it;

A Hunting Song

© Edith Wharton

Hunters, where does Hope nest?

Not in the half-oped breast,

Queen Mab: Part IV.

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

'How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,

Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,

Sonnet XIX. To A Friend, Who Asked How I Felt When The Nurse First Presented My Infant To Me

Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scanned that face of feeble infancy;
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my babe might be!

The Loom of Years

© Alfred Noyes

In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,

In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,

Shemselnihar

O my lover! the night like a broad smooth wave
Bears us onward, and morn, a black rock, shines wet.
How I shuddered-I knew not that I was a slave,
Till I looked on thy face:- then I writhed in the net.
Then I felt like a thing caught by fire, that her star
Glowed dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.