Work poems

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Anhelli - Chapter 8

© Juliusz Slowacki

And they came to a subterranean lake,
and proceeded along the shores of the dark water,
which stirred not, but was golden in places from the light of torches.

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When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd

© Walt Whitman


When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

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The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey

© Hannah More

VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,

Awhile my idle strain attend:

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Summer Toils

© Kristijonas Donelaitis

"Of course, it is not nice for a gray-headed man,
To be shamed by the work of a young nincompoop,
When he intends to get more dollars for his pay,
And e'en is not ashamed to pry out more seed grain.
O what became of the bewhiskered Prussian days,
When hired help was so cheep and so obedient?

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Cadenus And Vanessa

© Jonathan Swift

THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began
Accusing the false creature, man.

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The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido

© Robert Browning

YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,

Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:

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The Men Who Made Australia

© Henry Lawson

There'll be royal times in Sydney for the Cuff and Collar Push,

 There’ll be lots of dreary drivel and clap-trap

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Accolon Of Gaul: Part III

© Madison Julius Cawein

The eve now came; and shadows cowled the way

  Like somber palmers, who have kneeled to pray

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The Bush Fire

© Henry Lawson

Ah, better the thud of the deadly gun, and the crash of the bursting shell,
Than the terrible silence where drought is fought out there in the western hell;
And better the rattle of rifles near, or the thunder on deck at sea,
Than the sound—most hellish of all to hear—of a fire where it should not be.

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From A School Anthology

© Joseph Brodsky

1. E. Larionova

E. Larionova. Brunette. A colonel's

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On The Purple And White Carnation

© Caroline Norton

She spoke, and wept; and the echo again
Repeated the curse, but all in vain--
The tyrant laughed as he fluttered away,
Spreading his rainbow wings to the day,
And settling at random his feathered darts
To spoil sweet flowers, or break fond hearts.

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Jimmy

© Edgar Albert Guest

I NEVER knew him, for he never grew

Up as so many strong little ones do;

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Ryton Firs

© Lascelles Abercrombie

  All round the knoll, on days of quietest air,
  Secrets are being told; and if the trees
  Speak out — let them make uproar loud as drums —
  'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd.

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The Calls [unfinished]

© Wilfred Owen

A dismal fog-hoarse siren howls at dawn.
I watch the man it calls for, pushed and drawn
Backwards and forwards, helpless as a pawn.
But I'm lazy, and his work's crazy.

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Sonnet Of Motherhood XLV

© Zora Bernice May Cross

Kiss me. Kiss her. The miracle is wrought—
The simple beauty out of simple love—
Mother and father, child and God—all One—
Eternal trinity for ever sought.
O, blessed from her quiet place above,
Your mother kisses us—a life’s work done.

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Poulain The Prisoner

© Augusta Davies Webster

One single ray: and where its light could fall
  His rusty nail carved saints and angels there,
  And warriors, and slim girls with braided hair,
  And blossomy boughs, and birds athwart the air.
Rude work, but yet a world. And light for all
  Was one slant ray upon a prison wall.

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Corpus Christi

© Evelyn Underhill

Come, dear Heart!

The fields are white to harvest: come and see

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A Divine Pastorall

© Thomas Parnell

I know I cannot speak his mercy's through,
Yet what I can, of what I ought Ile do,
Mean as they are, my notes to him belong,
Mean as it is, he will reward my song.
Go on, my Muse go on, & gratefully express
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.

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Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth

© George Gordon Byron

If from great nature's or our own abyss

  Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,

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James McCosh

© Robert Seymour Bridges

The laws of nature that he loved to trace
Have worked, at last, to veil from us his face;  
The dear old elms and ivy-covered walls
Will miss his presence, and the stately halls
His trumpet voice. And in their joys
Sorrow will shadow those he called “my boys”!