All Poems

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The Lover In Winter Plaineth For The Spring

© Anonymous

Westron wind, when wilt thou blow
That small rain down can rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!

I Vex Me Not With Brooding On The Years

© Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I vex me not with brooding on the years

That were ere I drew breath; why should I then

The shining dead men, rank on rank, appear,
Their voices raised in one great cry, to hail
The gunners prone, for whom reveille clear
Their silver bugles blow in morning pale.
Your battle, God! to make men great; and here,
In that cause, dead, unvanquished, we prevail.

Cyprian, in my dream

© Sappho

Cyprian, in my dream
the folds of a purple
kerchief shadowed
your cheeks -- the one

The Fate Of Bass

© Mary Hannay Foott

On the snow-line of the summit stood the Spaniard's English slave;

And the frighted condor westward flew afar--

April

© Hilaire Belloc

The month has treacherous clouds and moves in fears.
This April shames the month itself with smiles:
In whose new eyes I know no heaven of tears,
But still serene desire and between whiles,
So great a look that even April's grace
Makes only marvel at her only face.

The Lord Helps His Devotees

© Sant Surdas

The voice falters

when it sings of the deeds of the Lord

Disenchantment Of Death

© Madison Julius Cawein

Hush! She is dead! Tread gently as the light
Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold.
Look:--In death's ermine pomp of awful white,
Pale passion of pulseless slumber virgin cold:
Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might--
Death! and how death hath made it vastly old.

Youth And Manhood

© Henry Timrod

Another year! a short one, if it flow
Like that just past,
And I shall stand - if years can make me so -
A man at last.

A Summer Morning

© Robert Fuller Murray

Never was sun so bright before,
No matin of the lark so sweet,
No grass so green beneath my feet,
Nor with such dewdrops jewelled o'er.

Ovid. Trist. Lib. V. Elegy XII.

© William Cowper

You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,

And save from withering my poetic powers;

The Little Left Hand - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Place
A Country Town in England.

An English Girl

© William Schwenck Gilbert

A wonderful joy our eyes to bless,

In her magnificent comeliness,

Twenty-One Love Poems IX

© Adrienne Rich

The Cumberland

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war;

Gallipoli

Isles of the Aegean, Troy, and waters of Hellespont!
You we have known from of old,
Since boyhood stammering glorious Greek was entranced
In the tale that Homer told.

To the Troubler of the World

At last we know you, War-lord. You, that flung
The gauntlet down, fling down the mask you wore,
Publish your heart, and let its pent hate pour,
You that had God for ever on your tongue.

Written Upon The Rocks At Tunbridge,

© Mary Barber

Hither, amongst the Crouds, that shun
The smoaky Town, and sultry Sun,
In cooling Springs to seek for Health,
Or throw away superfluous Wealth,
A Native of Hibernia came,
Thus writ her Thoughts, but not her Name.

Phyrne

Phryne had talents for mankind,
Open she was, and unconfin'd,
Like some free port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And Agents from each foreign state,
Here first their entry made.