Wish poems
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The Purgatory Of St. Patrick - Act III
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
LUIS. Oh, that name
Do not mention! do not kill me
By repeating what doth thrill me
To the centre of my frame
As with lightning. Yes, I know
That at length Polonia died.
The Appeal Of The Chorus
© Aristophanes
But now for the gentle reproaches he bore
On the part of his friends, for refraining before
To embrace the profession, embarking for life
In theatrical storms and poetical strife.
The Vicissitudes Experienced In The Christian Life
© William Cowper
I suffer fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.
A Child in the Garden
© Henry Van Dyke
Then just within the gate I saw a child, -
A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear;
He held his hands to me, and softly smiled
With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear:
"Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me;"
"I am the little child you used to be."
Curiosity
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
MAMMY'S in de kitchen, an' de do' is shet;
All de pickaninnies climb an' tug an' sweat,
The Angler's Ballad
© Charles Cotton
AWAY to the brook,
All your tackle out look,
Here's a day that is worth a year's wishing;
See that all things be right,
For 'tis a very spite
To want tools when a man goes a-fishing.
Aside
© Karl Shapiro
Mail-day, and over the world in a thousand drag-nets
The bundles of letters are dumped on the docks and beaches,
And all that is dear to the personal conscious reaches
Around us again like filings around iron magnets,
And war stands aside for an hour and looks at our faces
Of total absorption that seem to have lost their places.
Oh Albania, Poor Albania
© Pashko Vasa
Gather round, maidens, gather round, women
Who with your fair eyes know what weeping is,
Come, let us lament poor Albania,
Who is without honour and reputation,
She has become a widow, a woman with no husband,
She is like a mother who has never had a son!
A Congratulatory Poem
© Aphra Behn
All that is Wit, all that is Eloquence.
The Births of finest Thought and Noblest Sense,
Easie and Natural from your Language break,
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!
Stray Birds 11- 20
© Rabindranath Tagore
11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.
On ------ Embroydring
© Thomas Parnell
How justly art when Cælia aids so well
Contends her ms nature to excell
On The Receipt Of My Mother's Picture Out Of Norfolk
© William Cowper
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thinethy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me
A Masque Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634. (Comus)
© John Milton
The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of
deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus
appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an enchanted chair;
to
whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to
rise.
Becoming A Dad
© Edgar Albert Guest
Old women say that men don't know
The pain through which all mothers go,
Metamorphoses: Book The Eleventh
© Ovid
The End of the Eleventh Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
To my honoured Friend Mr. George Sandys
© Henry King
It is, Sir, a confest intrusion here
That I before your labours do appear,
Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim
Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.
To a Man who Wished to Die
© Leon Gellert
And now that you are dead, - If I should die
Upon this ground,
And open my new eye,
Id leave my body dead,
Just like a garment shed
Without a sound;
The Parsonage Improved
© Henry James Pye
Where gentle Deva's lucid waters glide
In slow meanders thro' the winding vale,
