Work poems
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The Battle Of The Lake Regillus
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
A Lay Sung at the Feast of Castor and Pollux on the Ides of Quintilis in the year of the City CCCCLI.
I.
Laurance - [Part 3]
© Jean Ingelow
But when that other heard, "It is the end,"
His heart was sick, and he, as by a power
Far stronger than himself, was driven to her.
Reason rebelled against it, but his will
Required it of him with a craving strong
As life, and passionate though hopeless pain.
The Old School List
© James Kenneth Stephen
In a wild moraine of forgotten books,
On the glacier of years gone by,
As I plied my rake for order's sake,
There was one that caught my eye:
The Idumean Cantos 1-12
© Basilio Ponce de Leon
Along the bridge corpulence
In the form of great pigs
Hopping on pogo-sticks
Is headed for their own
Pilgrimage down Southward.
Don Juan: Canto The Seventh
© George Gordon Byron
O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly
Around us ever, rarely to alight?
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: XCV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE IS NOT A POET
I would not, if I could, be called a poet.
I have no natural love of the ``chaste muse.''
If aught be worth the doing I would do it;
The Shepheardes Calender: September
© Edmund Spenser
Hobbinol.
Diggon Dauie, I bidde her god day:
Or Diggon her is, or I missaye.
Geometry
© John Crowe Ransom
Hickory shoots unnumbered rise,
Sallow and wasting themselves in sighs,
Children begot at a criminal rate
In the sight of a God that is profligate.
Hudibras: Part 2 - Canto I
© Samuel Butler
Quoth she, I grant it is in vain.
For one that's basted to feel pain,
Because the pangs his bones endure
Contribute nothing to the cure:
Yet honor hurt, is wont to rage
With pain no med'cine can asswage.
The End of the Book
© Charles Harpur
My work is finished that has been to me
My only solace for this many a day.
Crystal Gazer
© Sylvia Plath
Gerd sits spindle-shaped in her dark tent,
Lean face gone tawn with seasons ,
Skin worn down to the knucklebones
At her tough trade; without time's taint
The burnished ball hangs fire in her hands, a lens
Fusing time's three horizons.
To The Authoress Of "Aurora Leigh"
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Were Shakspeare born a twin, his lunar twin
(Not of the golden but the silver bow)
Metamorphoses: Book The Tenth
© Ovid
The End of the Tenth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
M'Gillviray's Dream
© Thomas Bracken
A Forest-Ranger's Story.
JUST nineteen long years, Jack, have passed o'er my shoulders
Woodnotes
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
II
As sunbeams stream through liberal space
And nothing jostle or displace,
So waved the pine-tree through my thought
And fanned the dreams it never brought.
The Prince's Progress
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Till all sweet gums and juices flow,
Till the blossom of blossoms blow,
The long hours go and come and go,
The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth,
Waiting for one whose coming is slow:
Hark! the bride weepeth.
Keep A-Pluggin' Away
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I'VE a humble little motto
That is homely, though it's true,
Psalm VI.
© John Milton
Lord in thine anger do not reprehend me
Nor in thy hot displeasure me correct;
Pity me Lord for I am much deject
Am very weak and faint; heal and amend me,
Easter-Day
© Robert Browning
XXXII.
Then did the Form expand, expand
I knew Him through the dread disguise,
As the whole God within his eyes
Embraced me.
Morning Song Of The Bees
© Louisa May Alcott
"Awake! awake! for the earliest gleam
Of golden sunlight shines
