War poems
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Two Infants II
© Khalil Gibran
A prince stood on the balcony of his palace addressing a great multitude summoned for the occasion and said, "Let me offer you and this whole fortunate country my congratulations upon the birth of a new prince who will carry the name of my noble family, and of whom you will be justly proud
On A Country Life
© James Thomson
I hate the clamours of the smoky towns,
But much admire the bliss of rural clowns;
Where some remains of innocence appear,
Where no rude noise insults the listening ear;
The Widow and Her Son XXI
© Khalil Gibran
Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds
The Life of Love XVI
© Khalil Gibran
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.
The Dance To Death. Act IV
© Emma Lazarus
The City Hall at Nordhausen. Deputies and Burghers assembling.
To the right, at a table near the President's chair, is seated
the Public Scrivener. Enter DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, and HENRY
SCHNETZEN with an open letter in his hand.
Deptford
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Well is it, shrouded Sun, thou spar'st no ray
To illumine this sad street! A light more bare
Would but discover more this bald array
Of roofs dejected, window patched that stare
A fine Old English Gentleman
© Charles Dickens
I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate,
Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
Song of Man XXV
© Khalil Gibran
I was here from the moment of the
Beginning, and here I am still. And
I shall remain here until the end
Of the world, for there is no
Ending to my grief-stricken being.
Leave Me, My Blamer XIII
© Khalil Gibran
Advise me not, my blamer, for
Calamities have opened my heart and
Tears have cleanses my eyes, and
Errors have taught me the language
Of the hearts.
La Pipe (The Pipe)
© Charles Baudelaire
Je suis la pipe d'un auteur;
On voit, à contempler ma mine
D'Abyssinienne ou de Cafrine,
Que mon maître est un grand fumeur.
Coeur De Lion At The Bier Of His Father
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Torches were blazing clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
A Poet's Death is His Life IV
© Khalil Gibran
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens
Words For Departure
© Louise Bogan
Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten.
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements,
The window-sills were wet from rain in the night,
Birds scattered and settled over chimneypots
As among grotesque trees.
The Masque Of Pandora
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THE VOICE.
Not finished till I breathe the breath of life
Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks.
An Ode to Master Anthony Stafford to hasten Him into the Country
© Thomas Randolph
COME, spur away,
I have no patience for a longer stay,
The Pietous Complainte Of The Soule.
© Thomas Hoccleve
I meanë thus: if ony part of grace Reserued be, in tresoure or ellës where,That thu, for me purveyë and purchaseWolde vouchësaff, gret wondere but there wereI-nowgh for me: nought ellës I require; Do somwhat, than, aftir thi propirte,And schewe whi thu art cleped charite.
But now, allas, ful weel I may recorde, Whil I had myght and space of tyme I-nowgh,Of this mattere, towchid I no word,Ne, to seint, I tho my self[ë] drowgh,
That in myne nede for me may spekë now, As for no service that I have to him do:Wot I not, whom to make my monë to.
Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
LAST high star of the years whose thunder
Still mens listening remembrance hears,
Last light left of our fathers years,
Watched with honour and hailed with wonder
Thee too then have the years borne under,
Thou too then hast regained thy peers.
Scarlet Flowers
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.
