All Poems
/ page 1011 of 3210 /The Fair Morning
© Jones Very
The clear bright morning, with its scented air
And gaily waving flowers, is here again;
Blooms Of May
© James Whitcomb Riley
But yesterday!...
O blooms of May,
And summer roses--Where-away?
O stars above,
And lips of love
And all the honeyed sweets thereof!
To Anna
© Amelia Opie
This faded lip may oft to thee
As gay a smile, my Anna, wear,
As when in youth, from sorrow free,
I only shed the transient tear.
The Promise
© Katharine Tynan
To you and you it shall be given,
As unto Mary her lost Heaven;
Her Son and your son come
Alive out of the grave and gloom.
An Ode To Fortune
© Eugene Field
O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I call,
Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown
Keeping His First Wife Now
© Henry Lawson
ITS OH! for a rivet in marriage bonds,
And a splice in the knot untied
The Fickle One
© Pablo Neruda
She was made of black motherofpearl
Made of darkpurple grapes,
And she lashed my blood
With her tail of fire.
Cat
© Emily Dickinson
She sights a Bird she chuckles
She flattens then she crawls
She runs without the look of feet
Her eyes increase to Balls
The Talking Oak
© Alfred Tennyson
Once more the gate behind me falls;
Once more before my face
I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls,
That stand within the chace.
What Is Love?
© Paramahansa Yogananda
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals
Singing the winters harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets - sun and moon lit
The Four Seasons : Winter
© James Thomson
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
Composure
© Charles Baudelaire
Lighten up, you bitch, stop being so bitter.
You lobbied for night. It falls. Right here.
The air, a haziness, wimples the town.
Peace for some, for the others the jitters.
Sonnet 27: Because I Oft
© Sir Philip Sidney
Because I oft in dark abstracted guise
Seem most alone in greatest company,
With dearth of words, or answers quite awry,
To them that would make speech of speech arise,
On A Lady With A Foul Breath
© Thomas Parnell
Art thou alive? It cannot be,
There's so much Rottenness in Thee,
To The Sub-Prior
© Sir Walter Scott
Men of good are bold as sackless
Men of rude are wild and reckless,
Lie thou still
In the nook of the hill.
For those be before thee that wish thee ill.
Quand Meme
© Edith Nesbit
AGE pauses on his toilsome way
To let youth pluck her flowers of play;
Flowers are not always, but we may
Cut thorns and thistles any day.
To The Unknown God
© George Essex Evans
O wilt Thou on the day when all is sifted,
All heights of Heaven, all depths of Hell laid bare,