War poems
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To Marion
© George Gordon Byron
Marion! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
Song Of Four Faries
© John Keats
Salamander.
Sweet Dusketha! paradise!
Off, ye icy Spirits, fly!
Frosty creatures of the sky!
Sonnets from the Portuguese 44: Beloved, thou has brought me many flowers
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
The Two Elizabeths
© John Greenleaf Whittier
AMIDST Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt,
A high-born princess, servant of the poor,
Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt
To starving throngs at Wartburg's blazoned door.
The City (1925)
© Carl Rakosi
Under this Luxemburg of heaven,
upright capstan,
small eagles. . . .
is the port of N.Y. . . . .
Lines written under the conviction that it is not wise to read Mathematics in November after one’s fire is out
© James Clerk Maxwell
In the sad November time,
When the leaf has left the lime,
Paradise Lost : Book X.
© John Milton
Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
The Troubadour. Canto 4
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
But he was safe!--that very day
Farewell, it had been her's to say;
And he was gone to his own land,
To seek another maiden's hand.
I Genitori Perduti
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
The dove-white gulls
on the wet lawn in Washington Square
Song XIII. - Winter
© William Shenstone
No more, ye warbling birds! rejoice:
Of all that cheer'd the plain,
Echo alone preserves her voice,
And she-repeats my pain.
Past-Lives Therapy
© Charles Simic
They explained to me the bloody bandages
On the floor in the maternity ward in Rochester, N.Y.,
Cured the backache I acquired bowing to my old master,
Made me stop putting thumbtacks round my bed.
Love Song: I and Thou
© Alan Dugan
Nothing is plumb, level, or square:
the studs are bowed, the joists
The Troubadour And Richard Coeur De Lion
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The Troubadour's Song
"Thine hour is come, and the stake is set,"
The Soldan cried to the captive knight,
"And the sons of the Prophet in throngs are met
To gaze on the fearful sight.
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
© Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
The Plate
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Now he has silver in him. When sometime
Death shall boil down unnecessary fat
Mid-March
© Lizette Woodworth Reese
The days go out with shouting; nights are loud;
Wild, warring shapes the wood lifts in the cold;
The moon’s a sword of keen, barbaric gold,
Plunged to the hilt into a pitch black cloud.
The Envoy of Mr. Cogito
© Zbigniew Herbert
let your sister Scorn not leave you
for the informers executioners cowards—they will win
they will go to your funeral and with relief will throw a lump of earth
the woodborer will write your smoothed-over biography
A Letter to her Husband, absent upon Publick employment
© Anne Bradstreet
My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life, nay more,
My joy, my Magazine of earthly store,
