War poems
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A Question
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
I.
SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence
I know not, rose upon this mortal frame
Like the sun o'er the mountains, all aflame,
Haunted
© Edith Nesbit
THE house is haunted; when the little feet
Go pattering about it in their play,
I tremble lest the little one should meet
The ghosts that haunt the happy night and day.
Similar
© Edgar Albert Guest
A warship and a woman's hat
Are just alike, I state,
They 're big and ugly, cost a heap,
And soon get out date.
The Flowers Of Finae
© Thomas Osborne Davis
Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough Sheelin,
A cool, gentle breeze from the mountain is stealing,
While fair round its islets the small ripples play,
But fairer than all is the Flower of Finae.
The Liner
© John Le Gay Brereton
The foamy waves are swishing
As patiently we thud,
But O the wave of wishing
That surges in my blood!
The Wanderer From The Fold
© Emily Jane Brontë
How few, of all the hearts that loved,
Are grieving for thee now;
And why should mine to-night be moved
With such a sense of woe?
At The Pantomime
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE house was crammed from roof to floor,
Heads piled on heads at every door;
This
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
This is what I most want
unpursued, alone
to reach beyond the light
that I am furthest from.
The Word
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known
Man to himself, a witness swift and sure,
Peaks
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A storm may rage in the world below,
It may tear great trees apart;
But here on the mountain top, I know
That it cannot touch my heart.
A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton
© James Thomson
And what new wonders can ye show your guest!
Who, while on this dim spot, where mortals toil
Clouded in dust, from motion's simple laws,
Could trace the secret hand of Providence,
Wide-working through this universal frame.
How The Women Went From Dover
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE tossing spray of Cocheco's fall
Hardened to ice on its rocky wall,
As through Dover town in the chill, gray dawn,
Three women passed, at the cart-tail drawn!
Eight Sonnets
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
I shall remember only of this hour--
And weep somewhat, as now you see me weep--
The pathos of your love, that, like a flower,
Fearful of death yet amorous of sleep,
Droops for a moment and beholds, dismayed,
The wind whereon its petals shall be laid.
The Fugitive
© John Le Gay Brereton
Behold the arrogant humbled, and rejoice
The grasping hand holds naught but flying dust,
And Envy meets the pitiless grin of Fate.
Take warning of your own hearts inward voice,
Bid your own soul be humble and distrust
The yelping promises of greed and hate.
The Cathedral
© James Russell Lowell
Far through the memory shines a happy day,
Cloudless of care, down-shod to every sense,
Wax Job
© Charles Bukowski
man, he said, sitting on the steps
your car sure needs a wash and wax job
I can do it for you for 5 bucks,
I got the wax, I got the rags, I got everything
I need.
A Rivulet
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
It is a lovely stream; its wavelets purl
As if they echoed to the fall and rise
Italy : 4. The Great St. Bernard
© Samuel Rogers
Night was again descending, when my mule,
That all day long had climbed among the clouds,
Higher and higher still, as by a stair
Let down from heaven itself, transporting me,
