Best poems
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Astrophel and Stella: 107
© Sir Philip Sidney
Stella since thou so right a Princesse artOf all the powers which life bestowes on me,That ere by them ought vndertaken be,They first resort vnto that soueraigne part;Sweete for a while giue respite to my hart,Which pants as though it still should leape to thee:And on my thoughts giue my LieftenancyTo this great cause, which needs both vse and art
The Methodist Jesus
© Shields Carol
Little Lord Jesus was a sissy butWe liked him anywayHe was like George WashingtonAnd never told lies -- onlyMuch more important we knew that.
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Or whether doth my mind being crown'd with you
© William Shakespeare
Or whether doth my mind being crown'd with youDrink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?Or whether shall I say mine eye saith trueAnd that your love taught it this alchemy?To make of monsters, and things indigest,Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,Creating every bad a perfect bestAs fast as objects to his beams assemble?Oh, 'tis the first, 'tis flatt'ry in my seeing,And my great mind most kingly drinks it up,Mine eye well knows what with his gust is greeing,And to his pallate doth prepare the cup
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
© William Shakespeare
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalageThy merit hath my duty strongly knit,To thee I send this written ambassageTo witness duty, not to shew my wit
Shakespeare's Sonnets: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
© William Shakespeare
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'stIn one of thine, from that which thou depart'st,And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'stThou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convert'st;Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,Without this, folly, age, and cold decay;If all were minded so, the times should cease,And threescore year would make the world away:Let those whom nature hath not made for store,Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish;Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more,Which bount'ous gift thou should'st in bounty cherish
To Julia in Shooting Togs
© Seaman Owen
Whenas to shoot my Julia goes,Then, then, (methinks) how bravely showsThat rare arrangement of her clothes!
The Iliad, Book XII
© Alexander Pope
Furious he spoke, and rushing to the wall,Calls on his host; his host obey the call;With ardour follow where their leader flies:Redoubling clamours thunder in the skies
Bleinheim, a Poem
© Philips John
From low and abject themes the grov'ling museNow mounts aërial, to sing of armsTriumphant, and emblaze the martial actsOf Britain's hero; may the verse not sinkBeneath his merits, but detain a whileThy ear, O Harley, (though thy country's wealDepends on thee, though mighty Anne requiresThy hourly counsels) since with ev'ry artThy self adorn'd, the mean essays of youthThou wilt not damp, but guide, wherever found,The willing genius to the muses' seat:Therefore thee first, and last, the muse shall sing
Paradise Regain'd: Book IV (1671)
© John Milton
PErplex'd and troubl'd at his bad successThe Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope,So oft, and the perswasive RhetoricThat sleek't his tongue, and won so much on Eve,So little here, nay lost; but Eve was Eve,This far his over-match, who self deceiv'dAnd rash, before-hand had no better weigh'dThe strength he was to cope with, or his own:But as a man who had been matchless heldIn cunning, over-reach't where least he thought,To salve his credit, and for very spightStill will be tempting him who foyls him still,And never cease, though to his shame the more;Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time,About the wine-press where sweet moust is powr'd,Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;Or surging waves against a solid rock,Though all to shivers dash't, the assault renew,Vain battry, and in froth or bubbles end;So Satan, whom repulse upon repulseMet ever; and to shameful silence brought,Yet gives not o're though desperate of success,And his vain importunity pursues
Paradise Regain'd: Book III (1671)
© John Milton
SO spake the Son of God, and Satan stoodA while as mute confounded what to say,What to reply, confuted and convinc'tOf his weak arguing, and fallacious drift;At length collecting all his Serpent wiles,With soothing words renew'd, him thus accosts
Paradise Regain'd: Book II (1671)
© John Milton
MEan while the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'dAt Jordan with the Baptist, and had seenHim whom they heard so late expresly call'dJesus Messiah Son of God declar'd,And on that high Authority had believ'd,And with him talkt, and with him lodg'd, I meanAndrew and Simon, famous after knownWith others though in Holy Writ not nam'd,Now missing him thir joy so lately found,So lately found, and so abruptly gone,Began to doubt, and doubted many days,And as the days increas'd, increas'd thir doubt:Sometimes they thought he might be only shewn,And for a time caught up to God, as onceMoses was in the Mount, and missing long;And the great Thisbite who on fiery wheelsRode up to Heaven, yet once again to come
