Work poems

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'Ah, Koelue . . .'

© Isaac Rosenberg

Ah, Koelue!
Had you embalmed your beauty, so
It could not backward go,
Or change in any way,

The Village Saturday Night

© Giacomo Leopardi

The dearest day of all the week
Is this, of hope and joy so full;
To-morrow, sad and dull,
The hours will bring, for each must in his thought
His customary task-work seek.

Casey's Table D'Hote

© Eugene Field

Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue,

When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true!

Ode to Duty

© William Wordsworth

. Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!

O Duty! if that name thou love

Are the fields of my fancy less fair through a window thats narrowed and barred?
Are the morning stars dimmed by the glare of the gas-light that flares in the yard?
No! And what does it matter to me if to-morrow I sail from the land?
I am free, as I never was free! I exult in my loneliness grand!

Moonlight On The Door

© William Barnes

A-swaÿèn slow, the poplar's head,

Above the slopèn thatch did ply,

A Second Letter From B. Sawin, Esq.

© James Russell Lowell

I spose you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me,

Exacly ware I be myself,--meanin' by thet the holl o' me.

The Song Of Iron

© Lola Ridge

Not yet hast Thou sounded
Thy clangorous music,
Whose strings are under the mountains…
Not yet hast Thou spoken
The blooded, implacable Word…

The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto IV

© Edmund Spenser

To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa
guides the faithfull knight,
Where brothers death to wreak Sansjoy
doth chalenge him to fight.

A Dutch Picture. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Simon Danz has come home again,
From cruising about with his buccaneers;
He has singed the beard of the King of Spain,
And carried away the Dean of Jaen
And sold him in Algiers.

The Last Review

© Henry Lawson

Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet
And Im weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.

The Straight Goer

© William Henry Ogilvie

The ringing, hanging hen-roost thief-we have no use for him;

When they tear him up and eat him not a single eye grows dim;

A Million Young Work Men

© Carl Sandburg

A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads,

And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red roses.