Work poems

 / page 156 of 355 /
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The Lonely Life

© Giacomo Leopardi

The morning rain, when, from her coop released,

  The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from

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Julian and Maddalo : A Conversation

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow
Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand
Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand,

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Athens: An Ode

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

ERE from under earth again like fire the violet kindle,  [Str. I.

  Ere the holy buds and hoar on olive-branches bloom,

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The Flower's Lesson

© Louisa May Alcott

  Night came again, and the fire-flies flew;
  But the bud let them pass, and drank of the dew;
  While the soft stars shone, from the still summer heaven,
  On the happy little flower that had learned the lesson given.

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Ode V: Against Suspicion

© Mark Akenside

I.

Oh fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien;

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The Task: Book II. -- The Time-Piece

© William Cowper

In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.

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The Undertaking

© John Donne

I have done one braver thing
Than all the Worthies did,
And yet a braver thence doth spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.

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Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree,

© William Wordsworth

which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a  beautiful prospect.
NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?

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In The Waste Hour

© William Ernest Henley

Nay, there were we,
Her five strong sons!
To her Death came--the great Deliverer came! -
As equal comes to equal, throne to throne.
She was a mother of men.

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227. Verses on Friars’ Carse Hermitage (First Version)

© Robert Burns

THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these maxims on thy soul.

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Polish Flowers

© Julian Tuwim

A box with paints from childhood's time:
The colors of town are earth and grime.
An old worker at a dark doorway squats,
The spuds in his bowl are powdery dry.
It's a face of yellowish and gray spots
In the midst of hunger, cold, dirt and slime.

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The Old Pioneers

© Frank Dalby Davison

h, these old friends of ours! Sixty years back,

Bearded and booted, they followed the track,

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L'ile Sainte Croix

© Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton

WITH tangled brushwood overgrown,
  And here and there a lofty pine,
  Around whose form strange creepers twine,
And crags that mock the wild sea's moan,

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90. Epistle to James Smith

© Robert Burns

Whilst I—but I shall haud me there,
Wi’ you I’ll scarce gang ony where—
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,
But quat my sang,
Content wi’ you to mak a pair.
Whare’er I gang.

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Sophia’s Fool’s-Cap

© Ann Taylor

SOPHIA was a little child,

Obliging, good, and very mild,

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To The Poet, John Dyer

© William Wordsworth

BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made
That work a living landscape fair and bright;
Nor hallowed less with musical delight
Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed,

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208. Song—To the Weaver’s gin ye go

© Robert Burns

MY heart was ance as blithe and free
As simmer days were lang;
But a bonie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.

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146. Address to Edinburgh

© Robert Burns

EDINA! Scotia’s darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow’rs,
Where once, beneath a Monarch’s feet,
Sat Legislation’s sov’reign pow’rs:

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Earth-Bound

© Alfred Noyes

Ghosts? Love would fain believe,
  Earth being so fair, the dead might wish to return!
  Is it so strange if, even in heaven, they yearn
  For the May-time and the dreams it used to give?

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Meeting Of The Alumni Of Harvard College

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

I THANK you, MR. PRESIDENT, you've kindly broke the ice;
Virtue should always be the first,--I 'm only SECOND VICE--
(A vice is something with a screw that's made to hold its jaw
Till some old file has played away upon an ancient saw).