Famous poems

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On A Fork of Byron's.

© James Brunton Stephens

LIKE any other fork. — No mark you meet with

To point some psychological conceit with.

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The Outlaw

© William Henry Ogilvie

Our realm was the fenceless ranges. We fed in the bluegrass swamps.
The green of the branching wilga was the roof of our noonday camps.
We drank at the pools in the lignum, where die mist and moonlight meet,
Stealing like wraiths through the darkness with the dew on our shoeless feet.

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Oedipus Tyrannus or Swellfoot The Tyrant

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

  'Choose Reform or Civil War,
When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs,
A Consort-Queen shall hunt a King with hogs,
Riding on the IONIAN MINOTAUR.'

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Don Juan: Canto The First

© George Gordon Byron

I want a hero: an uncommon want,

When every year and month sends forth a new one,

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Orlando Furioso Canto 10

© Ludovico Ariosto

ARGUMENT

Another love assails Bireno's breast,

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A Day At Tivoli - Prologue

© John Kenyon

  Yet, if All die, there are who die not All;
  (So Flaccus hoped), and half escape the pall.
  The Sacred Few! whom love of glory binds,
  "That last infirmity of noble minds,
  "To scorn delights, and live laborious days,"

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The Famous Speech-Maker Of England Or Baron (Alias Barren) Lovel’s Charge At The Assizes At Exon, Ap

© Jonathan Swift

From London to Exon,
By special direction,
Came down the world's wonder,
Sir Salathiel Blunder,

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Don Juan: Canto The Seventh

© George Gordon Byron

O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly

Around us ever, rarely to alight?

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The Ox tamer

© Walt Whitman

IN a faraway northern county, in the placid, pastoral region,

Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my recitative, a famous Tamer of

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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.

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Requiescat

© William Makepeace Thackeray

Under the stone you behold,
Buried, and coffined, and cold,
Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold.

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Jack o' the Cudgel

© William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the famous town of Windsor, on a fine summer morn,
Where the sign of Windsor Castle did a tavern adorn;
And there sat several soldiers drinking together,
Resolved to make merry in spite of wind or weather.

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Clare's Dragoons

© Thomas Osborne Davis

_Viva la_, for Ireland's wrong!
  _Viva la_, for Ireland's right!
_Viva la_, in battle throng,
  For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright!

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Written On A Lady’s Fan

© Henry James Pye

In ancient times when like La Mancha's Knight

  The adventurous Hero sallied forth to fight,

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The Witch of Hebron

© Charles Harpur

Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.

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The Third Booke Of Qvodlibets

© Robert Hayman


Kings doe correct those that Rebellious are,
And their good Subjects worthily preferre:
Iust Epigrams reproue those that offend,
And those that vertuous are, she doth commend.

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Pelleas And Ettarre

© Alfred Tennyson

King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap
Left by the Holy Quest; and as he sat
In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors
Were softly sundered, and through these a youth,
Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields
Past, and the sunshine came along with him.

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The First Booke Of Qvodlibets

© Robert Hayman


Though my best lines no dainty things affords,
My worst haue in them some thing else then words.

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Possum Trot

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things,
  An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings;
  But in spite of all my travelling an' of all I think I know,
  I 've got one notion in my head, that I can't git to go;
  An' it is that the folks I meet in any other spot
  Ain't half so good as them I knowed back home in Possum Trot.

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Results Ridiculous

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Sing, Heavenly Muse, in lines that flow
More smoothly than the wandering Po,
Of man's descending from the height
Of Heaven itself, the blue, the bright,
To Hell's unutterable throe.