Work poems
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A Lay Of St. Nicholas
© Richard Harris Barham
Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;
I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!'
The Wind-Struck Music
© Robinson Jeffers
Ed Stiles and old Tom Birnam went up to their cattle on the
bare hills
Song I
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Dear people, swelled in fool's wisdom
And clinging to error so fanciful,
To the skies, adorned in hosts of fair stars,
Look up - and make bright your dimlit minds!
Love
© Nicholas Breton
Foolish love is only folly;
Wanton love is too unholy;
Greedy love is covetous;
Idle love is frivolous;
But the gracious love is it
That doth prove the work of it.
That Other Maud Muller
© James Whitcomb Riley
Maud Muller worked at making hay,
And cleared her forty cents a day.
The Treadmill Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
Thanksgiving
© William Stanley Braithwaite
MY heart gives thanks for many things;
For strength to labor day by day,
Insomnia
© Madison Julius Cawein
It seems that dawn will never climb
The eastern hills;
And, clad in mist and flame and rime,
Make flashing highways of the rills.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Theologian's Tale; Elizabeth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Ah, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;
Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!"
The Curse Of Hungary
© John Hay
Saloman looked from his donjon bars,
Where the Danube clamors through sedge and sand,
And he cursed with a curse his revolting land,--
With a king's deep curse of treason and wars.
Loss And Waste
© Jean Ingelow
Up to far Osteroe and Suderoe
The deep sea-floor lies strewn with Spanish wrecks,
O'er minted gold the fair-haired fishers go,
O'er sunken bravery of high carv褠decks.
A Ballad
© Charles Lamb
In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;
In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:
There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,
Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.
The Storm
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Stooping over London, skies convulsed
With thunder moved: a rumour of storm remote
Hushed them, and birds flew troubled. The gradual clouds
Up from the West climbing, above the East
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 02 - part 01
© Torquato Tasso
THE ARGUMENT.
Ismeno conjures, but his charms are vain;
The Fish
© Rupert Brooke
In a cool curving world he lies
And ripples with dark ecstasies.
The kind luxurious lapse and steal
Shapes all his universe to feel
1914 III: The Dead
© Rupert Brooke
Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.
Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
And we have come into our heritage.
The King's Daughter
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the kings daughter.
The Lost Range
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Only a few of us understood his ways and his outfit queer,
His saddle horse and his pack-horse, as lean as a winter steer,
The Dead
© Rupert Brooke
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
