War poems
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To The Pious Memory Of The Accomplished Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew
© John Dryden
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the Blest;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Song To A Fair Young Lady Going Out Of Town In The Spring
© John Dryden
Ask not the cause why sullen spring
So long delays her flow'rs to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year?
Chloris is gone; and Fate provides
To make it spring where she resides.
Heroic Stanzas
© John Dryden
Consecrated to the Glorious Memory of His
Most Serene and Renowned Highness, Oliver,
Late Lord Protector of This Commonwealth, etc.
(Oliver Cromwell)
Alexander's Feast; Or, The Power Of Music
© John Dryden
Now strike the golden lyre again:
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Break his bands of sleep asunder
Song For Saint Cecilia's Day, 1687
© John Dryden
The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.
Ode
© John Dryden
Now all those charms, that blooming grace,
That well-proportioned shape, and beauteous face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies!
Not wit nor piety could Fate prevent;
The Medal
© John Dryden
Thus inborn broils the factions would engage,
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age,
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast.
Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom Of Fifteen)
© John Dryden
Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed
By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:
An Ode, On The Death Of Mr. Henry Purcell
© John Dryden
Late Servant to his Majesty, and
Organist of the Chapel Royal, and
of St. Peter's Westminster
Religio Laici
© John Dryden
Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote, and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.
Absalom And Achitophel
© John Dryden
Him staggering so when Hell's dire agent found,
While fainting virtue scarce maintain'd her ground,
He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies:
Mac Flecknoe
© John Dryden
All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long:
Informational Decay
© Tiel Aisha Ansari
I heard an echo in a hollow place.
No sound of blowing wind or drifting sand,
some ancient voice was this, a captive trace
of gone-by speech, of argument, demand,
A Day At Union Station
© Tiel Aisha Ansari
Discards
Unused tickets moulder in the grass.
Shed feathers scatter before the wind.
Echoes of hurried feet crowd the roof.
I Will Not Eat My Poem
© Jerome Rothenberg
I kill for pleasure
not for gain.
A man much more
than you my hands
Pardoned Out
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Im pardoned out. Again the stars
Shine on me with their myriad eyes.
So long Ive peered twixt iron bars,
Im awed by this expanse of skies.
Daft
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In the warm yellow smile of the morning,
She stands at the lattice pane,
And watches the strong young binders
Stride down to the fields of grain.
High Noon
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Times finger on the dial of my life
Points to high noon! And yet the half-spent day
Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,
Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.
Old And New
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays,
Old times, old loves, old friendships, and old wine
Why should the old monopolise all praise?
Then let the new claim mine.
A Waltz-Quadrille
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The band was playing a waltz-quadrille,
I felt as light as a wind-blown feather,
As we floated away, at the callers will,
Through the intricate, mazy dance together.
