All Poems
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Another Tattered Rhymster In The Ring
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Another tattered rhymster in the ring,
With but the old plea to the sneering schools,
That on him too, some secret night in spring
Came the old frenzy of a hundred fools
Sonnet To Expression
© Helen Maria Williams
Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace
Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre,
Cheery Old Age.
© Robert Crawford
The old man is not miserable, nay, cheery
For such a grey old fellow. Life's still good,
And he at many points is yet in touch
With the material; and what if now
An Impetuous Resolve
© James Whitcomb Riley
When little Dickie Swope's a man,
He's go' to be a Sailor;
To a Lady of Quality, Fitting Up Her Library
© William Shenstone
Ah! what is science, what is art,
Or what the pleasure these impart?
Ye trophies, which the learn'd pursue
Through endless, fruitless toils, adieu!
The Toiler
© Edgar Albert Guest
He swore that he'd be true to her,
If she would only marry him;
That as his wife, throughout his life
She'd never know a moment grim.
Hymn To Spiritual Desire
© Madison Julius Cawein
Come, oh, come and partake
Of necromance banquets of Beauty; and slake
Thy thirst in the waters of Art,
That are drawn from the streams
Of love and of dreams.
Dora
© Charles Harpur
Im happy now in thinking how happy I was then,
When towards the glowing west my love went homeward down the glen;
Went homeward down the glen, while my comfort surer grew,
Till methought the old-faced hills at looked as they were happy too.
Sleep
© James Whitcomb Riley
Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half awink
Muse on me--, drifting out upon thy dreams,
Internal Migration: On Being On Tour
© Alan Dugan
As an American traveler I have
to remember not to get actionably mad
The Best Of All
© Gamaliel Bradford
Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.
Beauty
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I think of a flower that no eye ever has seen,
That springs in a solitary air.
Is it no one's joy? It is beautiful as a queen
Without a kingdom's care.
To A Picture Of Eleonora Duse As "Francesca da Rimini "
© Sara Teasdale
Oh flower-sweet face and bended flower-like head!
Oh violet whose purple cannot pale,
Or forest fragrance ever faint or fail,
Or breath and beauty pass among the dead!
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 04:
© Conrad Aiken
She played this tune. And in the middle of it
Abruptly broke it off, letting her hands
Fall in her lap. She sat there so a moment,
With shoulders drooped, then lifted up a rose,
One great white rose, wide opened like a lotos,
And pressed it to her cheek, and closed her eyes.
Dedicatory Poem: To George Sigerson, Poet And Scholar
© Padraic Colum
Two men of art, they say, were with the sons
Of Milé,a poet and a harp player,
When Milé, having taken Ireland, left
The land to his sons rule; the poet was
Cir, and fair Cendfind was the harp player.
Breitmann In Holland. Scheveningen, Or De Maidens Coorse
© Charles Godfrey Leland
HET vas Mijn Heer van Torenborg,
Ride oud oopon de sand,
Und vait to hear a paardeken;
Coom tromplin from de land.
Winter at St Andrews
© Robert Fuller Murray
Thus I unto my friend replied,
When, on a chill late autumn morn,
He pointed to the tree, and cried,
`The leaves are off Queen Mary's Thorn!'
