Work poems

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Sonnet On The American War. "She has gone down! Woe for the world, and all"

© Frances Anne Kemble

She has gone down! Woe for the world, and all

Its weary workers! gazing from afar

The Muses Threnodie: Sixth Muse

© Henry Adamson

From thence we passing by the Windy Gowle,
Did make the hollow rocks with echoes yowle,
And all alongst the mountains of Kinnoull,
Where did we shoot at many fox and fowl.

Poems For Piraye (9 To 10 OClock Poems)

© Nazim Hikmet

Remembering you is good
in prison
amid the news
of victory and death
as my fortieth year passes...

The Army of the Rear

© Henry Lawson

I LISTENED through the music and the sounds of revelry,

And all the hollow noises of that year of Jubilee;

A Dialogue, intitled, The Kind Master And The Dutiful Servant

© Jupiter Hammon

Master.
Come my servant, follow me,
According to thy place;
And surely God will be with thee,
And send the heav'nly grace.

The Golden Corpse

© Stephen Vincent Benet

Stripped country, shrunken as a beggar's heart,
Inviolate landscape, hardened into steel,
Where the cold soil shatters under heel
Day after day like armor cracked apart.

"The Undying One" - Canto IV

© Caroline Norton

On she goes, and the waves are dashing
Under her stern, and under her prow;
Oh! pleasant the sound of the waters splashing
To those who the heat of the desert know.

O'Connell

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

So let the verse in echoing accents ring,
So proudly sing,
With intermittent wail,
The nation's dead, but sceptred King,
The glory of the Gael.

Said I to Myself, Said I

© William Schwenck Gilbert

When I went to the Bar as a very young man

(Said I to myself - said I),

The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,
In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door
And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was
Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause
His dextrous knife was balancing a bit
Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.

The Paint-Kings

Fair Ellen was long the delight of the young,
No damsel could with her compare;
Her charms were the theme of the heart and the tongue.
And bards without number in extacies sung,
The beauties of Ellen the fair.

The Hidden Room

I marvel if my heart,
Hath any room apart,
Built secretly its mystic walls within;
With subtly warded key.
Ne'er yielded unto me--
Where even I have surely never been.

A Dead Year

© Jean Ingelow

I took a year out of my life and story--
A dead year, and said, "I will hew thee a tomb!
'All the kings of the nations lie in glory;'
Cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom;
Swathed in linen, and precious unguents old;
Painted with cinnabar, and rich with gold.