Work poems
/ page 256 of 355 /
Regarding Art
© Nazim Hikmet
Sometimes, I, too, tell the ah's
of my heart one by one
like the blood-red beads
of a ruby rosary strung
on strands of golden hair!
The Door of Hope
© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
The president has thus disclosed
In words his noblest plan:
"The door of hope shall not be closed
Upon the Negro man.
Things I Didn't Know I Loved
© Nazim Hikmet
I didn't know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn't worked the earth love it
I've never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love
The Spirit Of Wine
© William Ernest Henley
The Spirit of Wine
Sang in my glass, and I listened
With love to his odorous music,
His flushed and magnificent song.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Poet's Tale; Lady Wentworth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt.
A widower and childless; and he felt
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom,
That like a presence haunted every room;
For though not given to weakness, he could feel
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal.
The Moment I Knew My Life Had Changed
© Maria Mazziotti Gillan
It was not until later
that I knew, recognized the moment
for what it was, my life before it,
a gray landscape, shapeless and misty;
I Dream Of My Grandmother And Great-grandmother
© Maria Mazziotti Gillan
I imagine them walking down rocky paths
toward me, strong, Italian women returning
at dusk from fields where they worked all day
on farms built like steps up the sides
Sister M. B.s Arrival In Montreal , 1654.
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
It is now two hundred years and more
Since first set foot on Canadian shore
That saint-like heroine, fair and pure,
Prepared all things for Christ to endure;
Resigning rank and kindred ties,
And her sunny home neath Frances skies.
F?sulan Idyl
© Walter Savage Landor
She drew back
The boon she tendered, and then, finding not
The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,
Dropt it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.
On the Dark, Still, Dry Warm Weather
© Gilbert White
Th'imprison'd winds slumber within their caves
Fast bound: the fickle vane, emblem of change,
At Ithaca
© Hilda Doolittle
Over and back,
the long waves crawl
and track the sand with foam;
night darkens, and the sea
You Mustn't Show Weakness
© Yehuda Amichai
You mustn't show weakness
and you've got to have a tan.
But sometimes I feel like the thin veils
of Jewish women who faint
at weddings and on Yom Kippur.
Just Whistle A Bit
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Just whistle a bit, if the day be dark,
And the sky be overcast:
If mute be the voice of the piping lark,
Why, pipe your own small blast.
