Work poems
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The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator
© Anne Sexton
The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
The Kiss
© Anne Sexton
My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby , you fool!
Kenmare River
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
'Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry,
'Tis pretty to be in Ballindoon,
Now to be Still and Rest
© Peder Kofod Trojel
Now to be still and rest, while the heart remembers
All that is learned and loved in the days of long past,
To stoop and warm our hands at the fallen embers,
Glad to have come to the long ways end at last.
He Had So Much Work To Do
© Henry Lawson
Jim was trucking for a sawmill to make money for the home,
He was making, out of Mudgee, for the family to come,
And a load-chain snapped the switch-bar, and Black Anderson found Jim,
In the morning, in a creek-bed, with a log on top of him.
The Stedfast Shepherd
© George Wither
Hence away, thou Syren, leave me!
Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;
Which Shall It Be
© Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace;
``No, for a thousand crowns, not him,''
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
Sonnet XIV. On The Religious Memory Of Mrs. Catharine Thomson, My Christian Friend, Deceas'd 16 Dece
© John Milton
When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever
The Princess (part 2)
© Alfred Tennyson
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
The Prisoner: Pt 1
© Emily Jane Brontë
In the dungeon crypts idly did I stray,
Reckless of the lives wasting there away;
"Draw the ponderous bars; open, Warder stern!"
He dare not say me naythe hinges harshly turn.
Soothsay
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Let no man ask thee of anything
Not yearborn between Spring and Spring.
The Hermit of Mont-Blanc
© Mary Darby Robinson
High, on the Solitude of Alpine Hills,
O'er-topping the grand imag'ry of Nature,
Where one eternal winter seem'd to reign;
An HERMIT'S threshold, carpetted with moss,
Where's My Billy Goat Gone To?
© Henry Clay Work
Take my home! Take my farm!
Yes, me too (if you want to);
But tell me! tell me!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Pretty little Billy, Billy - Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
The Great Slob
© Charles Bukowski
I was always a natural slob
I liked to lay upon the bed
in undershirt (stained, of
course) (and with cigarette
Margaritae Sorori
© William Ernest Henley
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
